13. RYDER
Chapter thirteen
RYDER
The door closes behind Ashton and Tati with a soft click , leaving the room steeped in quiet. The faint scent of melon and citrus lingers in the air, but it’s Carleen’s sweet rain that anchors me, grounding me in this moment. I lean back into the couch, one arm stretched lazily along the backrest, my gaze tracking Carleen as she exhales, tilting her head back against the armchair with her eyes closed for just a moment.
She looks tired—not physically, but… emotionally . Like she’s been carrying too much weight for too long.
I had no expectations walking into this apartment earlier today. Culinova sent Ashton and me because of our reputation, because we’re good at what we do. But the second I stepped into this space and caught her scent, felt the weight of her presence, something shifted inside me.
Carleen Monroe.
I’ve wanted to meet her for a long time.
Her name carries weight in the culinary world. Not just because her dishes are practically art, but because she’s built something out of nothing—an empire carved out with her own two hands and stubborn grit. But her reputation isn’t just about her food—it’s about her as an Alpha.
And that’s where the stories get messy.
Leo, one of my former colleagues at another kitchen, had a lot to say about Carleen Monroe. None of it flattering. “She’s cold, man,” Leo had said one night after too many drinks. “Won’t give you the time of day unless you’re on her level. And even if you are, she’s all tease, no follow-through. She’ll pull you in, string you along, and then leave you wanting. No sex, barely a kiss, and definitely no bond.”
At the time, I’d taken his words with a grain of salt. Leo was the kind of Alpha who measured value in what someone could give him—emotionally, physically, financially. If Carleen didn’t entertain his advances, it probably bruised his ego. But now, sitting across from her, watching the way her brow creases in thought, the way her hand lingers briefly over the spot where Tati had been curled in her lap…
I know Leo’s full of shit.
Carleen isn’t cold. She isn’t some manipulative tease, stringing people along for sport. She’s guarded.
She’s careful.
And with good reason.
She opens her eyes, catching me watching her. Her brow arches slightly, and the corner of her lips pulls into a faint smirk.
“You’re staring, St. James,” she muses. I didn’t really see her when I first walked in, trying to be professional, and keep distance between us. But now that we’ve agreed to trial these feelings, I catalog her soft features. The pixie curls, the sharp lines of her jaw, the lines of muscle running down her arms. She’s fucking gorgeous.
I let out a slow exhale, tilting my head slightly as I study her. “Can you blame me?”
Her smirk widens slightly, but then it falters. Her gaze flickers to the door Tati and Ashton disappeared through, and something shifts in her expression—something softer, something more vulnerable.
“Did you agree to this for her?” The question slips out before I can stop it, but I don’t regret asking. “Did you agree to this—this trial, this… thing —because of her? Because she wanted it?”
Carleen stands, her shoulders straightening as she moves toward the kitchen. Her scent trails after her, wrapping around me. I stay seated for a moment, watching the way her jaw tightens, the way her hands clench briefly at her sides before she releases them with a sigh. She stops at the counter, her fingers running along the smooth marble surface before she turns her head just slightly to look at me.
“I’ve always wanted a big pack,” she says softly, her voice steady but threaded with something heavier. “The noise, the chaos, the love—it’s what I’ve always imagined for myself. But Tati and I… we move at different speeds.”
I stand, slowly making my way to the kitchen, careful not to crowd her. Carleen is all sharp edges and soft vulnerabilities right now and I’m not about to make her feel cornered.
“She deserves everything,” she continues, her fingers curling around the edge of the counter. “Every bit of love and care and attention. And I…”
I stop a few feet from her, leaning one hip against the counter as I cross my arms over my chest. “Why can’t you have both?”
She doesn’t answer right away and I can see the war playing out on her face—the hesitation, the longing, the stubbornness that’s kept her walls up for so long. I push away from the counter, taking a slow step toward her, my movements deliberate.
“You deserve everything too, Carleen,” I say softly, my voice dipping low, rough around the edges. My purr is just beneath the surface but I hold it back, unsure of how Carleen would take it in this moment.
Her eyes snap open, wide and searching. Both of us are caught in this electric pull—this undeniable thing vibrating in the air between us.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.
Her lips part slightly, her breath hitching again as she stares at me. She doesn’t move at first, doesn’t breathe. And then, slowly— so slowly —she nods.
I don’t waste a second.
My hands come up to cup her face, my thumbs brushing gently along her cheekbones as I tilt her head up. Her skin is warm beneath my palms, her scent overwhelming as I lean down and press my lips to hers.
It’s not a soft kiss. It’s deep and consuming, a tangle of breath and heat and something sharp and needy. Her lips are soft, yielding under mine, and I swear she tastes better than the dessert we’ve been perfecting all morning. But then, just for a split second, I feel it—the faintest stiffening in her shoulders, the slightest tension in her spine.
I pull back immediately, my hands lingering on her cheeks as I search her face. Her brown eyes are wide, her lips slightly swollen, her breathing uneven. I step back, letting my hands drop away as I give her space. “Carleen…” I start, my voice rough with restraint.
The last thing I want is to make her feel trapped. I lean casually against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest to make myself look a little less… big . Less imposing. She glances at me briefly, her brown eyes flicking up and then away again, like she’s trying to pull herself back together.
I offer her a small smile—soft, easy, something meant to reassure . “Carleen,” I start, keeping my voice low and steady, “I want you to know that I understand. You and Tati are different people. How you respond to me, to Ashton, to this —it’s going to be different. And that’s okay.”
Her shoulders drop slightly, her hands stilling as she takes a slow breath.
I press on, my tone firm but gentle. “But what I need you to know—what I need you to believe—is that I will never push farther than you’re comfortable with. Not now, not ever.”
Carleen’s gaze finally meets mine, something vulnerable and raw flashing in her brown eyes. Relief, maybe. Or gratitude.
“Thank you,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, holding her gaze. “I don’t know who put that fear in your eyes, who made you doubt that your ‘no’ would ever matter, but I swear to you—I will never disregard it. If you say stop, I stop. No questions, no arguments, no hesitation. But,” I continue, “I need something from you too. If one of us—me, Ashton, even Tati—ever crosses a line, if something feels wrong or too much, I need you to speak up. I need you to tell me. Can you do that?”
Carleen nods slowly, her brow creasing slightly. “Yeah… yeah, I think I can.”
“A simple word works,” I say, tilting my head slightly. “Something short, something easy. Like red. ”
Her lips part slightly, her head tilting as she processes that. “A safe word?” she asks, her voice laced with curiosity.
“Exactly. A safe word. It’s about trust, Carleen. If this trial—if we —are going to work, it needs to be built on trust from the ground up. And that means knowing when to stop, knowing when to back off, and knowing when to listen . ”
“Okay. Yeah. I can do that.” She shoots me a warm smile before pointing to the mess that is her kitchen. I know she’s deflecting but I don’t mention it, knowing that we all need a bit of time to process this. “We should probably finish cooking before those two tornadoes come back and devour everything in sight.”
I chuckle, pushing off the counter and moving back to the station where Ashton and I had been working earlier. “You’re not wrong,” I say, picking up a spoon and giving the dessert mixture one final stir.
We settle into an easy rhythm, something more comfortable than this morning. Carleen is no longer distracted and I feel a weight off my shoulders, seeing a future with the two women we’ve just met. The best part is seeing Carleen a bit more relaxed in this moment. There’s something softer about her now, more vulnerable.
Even as untraditional as Ashton and I always were, I thought there would be an Omega and maybe a Beta in our future. Seeing this now, being in Carleen’s kitchen, I can’t think of anything else I could have wanted.
As we work in silence, I can’t help but think about earlier—about the way she looked at me when I said her ‘no’ would always matter. Carleen Monroe isn’t cold. She isn’t cruel. She’s just… careful.
And if it takes a week, a month, or a year, I’ll make damn sure she knows she’s safe with me.
With us .
No matter how long it takes.