41. Dane
Chapter 41
Dane
I throw on a pair of shorts and toss my towel in the hamper before walking toward the kitchen. Whatever they’re up to in there smells delicious, and my stomach gives a hungry rumble in appreciation. Swinging by my dad’s ended up taking a while, and spending the day coaching after helping Nash at Rosie’s house this morning means I’m wiped.
The kitchen and formal dining room, which we haven’t used yet, are empty. I double back and find my pack on the patio, but instead of joining them, I watch through the screen door for a moment.
All three of them are sitting on the new porch steps, looking into the fading sunset. Quinn is midstory about his first day at work, hands waving as he makes the other two laugh. Quinn’s bond is humming with happiness, and the sight of them together fills my soul, giving me a boost of energy.
We’ve tried to expand our pack a few times, but it was always a disaster. People we dated pissed me off when they ignored Quinn, and watching Nash push everyone away was exhausting. I’d assumed our pack was complete and we weren’t meant to have anyone else, but Rosie walked right into our world and shook up the whole thing. She may tease me for making my list, but I can’t stop counting all the ways she feels right.
It’s the little things—like when I got home and headed for a shower, I spotted her and Nash cooking together. He loves to feed people, but he rarely lets anyone help him. Yet Rosie was chopping something right next to him, the two of them singing along to a playlist.
Maybe I started out trying to prove something to her, but it looks as though she’s proving it to me. She belongs here with us, where we can nurture her natural fire and ensure she’s protected.I just have to keep making headway until she believes she fits perfectly with me.
That and deal with her family. Rosie hasn’t said much about the past; she and Nash have that in common. She doesn’t want it to define her, but I know enough that I want to do everything I can to keep her as far away from them as possible.
The back door needs oil, and Rosie looks at me over her shoulder when I open it.
“Yay! It’s happy-first-day-dinner time!” she says, jumping up excitedly. “You two go next door! We’ll bring it down.”
“What?”
Quinn hops up and tugs on my arm. “We’re borrowing her grandma’s picnic table.”
We weave through the backyard into hers, and sure enough, under big oaks twinkling with lights, a picnic table is already set with a tablecloth and plates. By the time I settle in next to Quinn, Nash is hauling over a big pot, Rosie trailing behind him with a tray.
“What’s all this?” Quinn asks, grin wide.
“A seafood boil,” Nash explains. “I was telling Rosie I used to make this all the time growing up with stuff my granddad and I caught. She helped me make it for you.”
“Yes!” Quinn wiggles in excitement next to me. He’s a foodie through and through.
Rosie laughs as she sets a tray with dips on the table. “We figured we could teach a city boy how to eat crawfish.”
“All you have to do to prove you’re a local is suck the head,” I add.
“ Dane Daniels , did you just make a dirty joke?” Rosie asks, acting scandalized.
I rope an arm around her waist, pulling her onto my lap. “I’m funny.” Nuzzling her neck, I murmur, “Thank you for this. It was very thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome,” she says a little shyly.
“I also love that you changed into a different pair of these pants.” I rub my hands along her thighs in approval over this deep red version.I love how she dresses and how unafraid she is to show all her curves.
Crawfish, corn, and potatoes spill onto the table in a heap.
Quinn’s mouth opens when he realizes I wasn’t joking about the head. He rubs his hands together. “I’m digging in. Show me how.”
Rosie gives him a tutorial that Nash and I make dirty, but after a few tries, Quinn becomes a pro.
“Where did you used to fish?” I ask Nash.
Rosie shifts to get off my lap, but I dig my fingers into her hip, anchoring her to me.
“Okay, okay, alpha.” Rosie laughs, grabbing her plate and situating herself until she’s comfortable.
“Over in Crawley out by Mosquito Cove. My grandpa worked except on Sunday mornings, when he would go fishing and let me tag along. I loved those days. We lived on canned food and takeout, but not on Sundays.”
Quinn raises his hand to his mouth, mumbling behind a bite, “This is really good. The sauce is spicy! I like.”
Nash tells us another story before he changes the subject back to Quinn. It’s one of only a few times I can remember him talking about growing up here, but tonight he’s relaxed and sharing freely. Quinn follows Nash’s story with a play-by-play of his day, including a hilarious anecdote about his first patient calling him Dr. Baby Face.
“It’s official. I’m now growing a mustache,” Quinn says, feigning outrage.
The entire meal is that easy. By the time I’m done eating a slice of the chocolate cake Rosie made, I’m full in a soul-contentment sort of way. We carry our dishes back inside, and I fill the sink for kitchen clean-up duty, shooing them out of the room. There isn’t much to clean up, but as I’m wiping down the counters, I find a container with my name.
Peering inside, I realize it’s chocolate chip cookies. The first bite makes me moan. I’m not even hungry, but they’re so damn good. I study the cookie, savoring it. Nobody in our pack is much of a baker, but I love sweets, and it’s been a long time since I’ve had a homemade version of my favorite. I think she added caramel. There are definitely extra chocolate chips… and maybe even salt? I don’t know, but they’re so good— and all mine.
My pride surges, my alpha instincts liking the fact that she made them for me, that she’s slowly letting me in.
I snag another cookie for the road, stashing the box on the top of the fridge so Nash won’t find them, before joining them on the couch. Quinn is snuggled between Nash’s legs, half-asleep, while Rosie works on her drawing tablet beside them. I plop down next to them, hauling her onto my lap. She lets out a startled giggle, and I feel Quinn send me a burst of support in the bond, encouraging me.
“Those cookies are definitely going on the list,” I murmur into her hair before inhaling her rose scent.
She smiles for me as she makes herself comfortable with her tablet, and Nash turns on a baseball game. Every once in a while, I ask her questions about the piece she’s drawing, and Nash and I pass ideas back and forth about her float.
I love the softness of the moment, the way my body adjusts to hers, learning the feel of her in my arms. When my touch ignites goosebumps or a spike in her scent, I make note of it, mapping her sensitive spots. Nothing about it is sexual, though whenever I’m around her my arousal is always burning in the background. It’s more about how intimate it is having her here in this ordinary moment.
By the time the game is heading into the bottom of the ninth, Rosie is slumped against me and Quinn is snoring softly. The fact that she feels comfortable enough to fall asleep snuggling me makes my alpha swell with satisfaction, and my heart gives a little flutter in my chest. I breathe in her rosy scent, loving the way it blends with Quinn’s and Nash’s to create this deep sense of home.
When the game ends, Nash and I carry our sleeping mates toward bed, and even though it’s been a night at home, it feels like the end of a really good date.
“I’m hooked,” I tell Nash as we gently lay our mates in the bed.
He claps my back on his way to the bathroom. “Now you’re catching up.”
I guess I am, because I don’t want to picture nights like this in the future without Rosie with us.