14. James/ Rafael
James/ Rafael
JAMES
I woke to warmth.
Not just the kind that came from sunlight bleeding in through the half-drawn curtains, but a deeper warmth. Solid and steady and wrapped around me. Rafael.
His arm was slung across my waist, heavy in the best way, and his face was buried in the curve of my neck, his breath tickling my skin with every slow exhale.
He was still out cold, the kind of deep sleep that only came when someone finally let themselves relax. I lay there for a while, soaking it in.
His scent was all over me. Cinnamon and cedar and something darker underneath, something uniquely him.
It had seeped into my sheets, into my skin, into the places I hadn’t even known were empty until he filled them.
I didn’t want to move. Not yet. Not when it felt this good.
His bare chest was pressed against my back, rising and falling with every inhale, steady and warm and alive. His beard scratched lightly against my shoulder.
When I shifted, just slightly, he murmured something low and unintelligible, tightening his hold like he wasn’t ready to let me go yet.
And maybe I wasn’t ready to move either.
But I knew the moment I got too comfortable, he’d wake up grumpy and hungry. And I wanted to do something for him. Something small and stupid and sweet.
He’d faced down my demons last night without hesitation. He'd held me when I couldn’t hold myself. The least I could do was feed the grumpy bear.
I carefully peeled myself away, moving slowly so I wouldn’t wake him. His brow furrowed the moment I slipped out from under his arm, but he didn’t stir.
Just grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like James before rolling onto his stomach and burying his face deeper into my pillow.
My heart ached a little, in the best way.
I tugged on a pair of sweats and padded barefoot into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
The apartment was still quiet, the air tinged with the after-scent of last night. Heat, sex, and the faint cinnamon that seemed to cling to Rafael wherever he went.
I opened the fridge, humming to myself. Not a full chorus, just the start of a tune. Something cheerful. Rafael would pretend to grumble about it later, I was sure.
I had eggs. Bacon. Bread. Cheese. Not fancy, but enough.
I got to work, frying the bacon first, because the smell alone was enough to wake the dead, or at least tempt a sleeping bear from his cave.
The sizzle filled the small kitchen, and I smiled as I cracked eggs into the pan, adding a sprinkle of salt and pepper, then sliding a couple of slices of sourdough into the toaster.
I thought about last night. About the way he’d kissed me like I mattered.
The way he’d whispered my name like it was sacred. The way he held me afterward like he didn’t plan to let go.
He’d told me he’d let me stand beside him next time. And I believed him.
I plated the food and made coffee, setting everything on a tray like I actually knew what I was doing.
It wasn’t fancy. Eggs a little lopsided, bacon slightly curled, toast barely buttered, but it was made with all the ridiculous affection currently crammed into my chest.
I slipped back into the bedroom as quietly as I could.
Rafael was still sprawled across the bed, limbs tangled in the sheets, one hand curled under the pillow like a giant, half-naked menace of comfort and grumpiness.
His hair was a mess, his stubble heavier in the morning light, and his brow was furrowed even in sleep like he was fighting off the idea of waking.
I stood there for a moment, just… looking. Part of me was still unable to believe this grumpy bear was mine.
Carefully, I placed the tray on the nightstand and crawled back into bed, curling up beside him and pressing a kiss to the space behind his ear.
“Breakfast’s ready,” I whispered.
He groaned low in his throat, cracking one eye open. “Is it coffee or cupcakes?”
“Real food,” I said, amused. “With caffeine and protein and zero frosting.”
He grunted again. “You’re perfect.”
I laughed and kissed his shoulder. “You’re still half-asleep.”
“Still true,” Rafael admitted.
He rolled toward me, eyes finally opening fully, and there it was.
That look. The one he gave me when he forgot to guard himself. Warm and unfiltered and far too much for my fragile morning heart.
“You made me breakfast,” he said, a little bewildered.
“Figured I owed you,” I replied. “For the bear cuddles. And everything else.”
He reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, thumb brushing my cheek like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “You don’t owe me anything, James.”
“I know,” I said, voice soft. “I just… wanted to. That okay?”
His expression turned serious for a beat, and then he nodded, kissing me slow and sweet. “More than okay.”
We ended up eating together in bed, legs tangled under the blankets, coffee mugs balanced precariously on our knees. Rafael made a face when I added too much sugar to mine.
I stole a piece of his bacon in retaliation.
It wasn’t perfect. The toast was a little burned on one side, and we both had terrible bed hair. But it felt right. Like the start of something real.
And when we finished eating, he pulled me back into his arms without a word, like he couldn’t get enough.
* * *
RAFAEL
The sun had barely crested the rooftops when we stepped outside, the air crisp.
James locked the door behind us, a bounce in his step, hair still mussed from sleep and his sweatshirt two sizes too big.
It was mine, in fact, and seeing him wear it did things to my chest I wasn’t ready to unpack. I’d offered him a ride.
I grumbled about the cold, the sidewalks still damp from last night’s rain, but he just shook his head and gave me that irresistible grin. Like I’d said something funny without realizing.
“It’s a beautiful day,” he said. “We’re walking.”
He bumped his shoulder into mine as we strolled down the sidewalk, hands brushing with each step.
I laced my fingers through his before he could pull away, almost out of reflex, and to my surprise… he didn’t hesitate.
He just looked at me, eyes warm and a little sleepy, and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. No sarcasm. No jokes. Just that soft, stupidly charming smile like I’d done something right.
I’d walked these streets a hundred times. Morning deliveries, mid-shift coffee runs, late-night patrols with Beau when we still thought this town might need taming.
But walking them now, with James beside me, full from breakfast and humming under his breath? It felt different. Calmer. Like Sugarpaw Springs finally made sense.
We stopped at the corner so James could buy a paper from the old dispenser outside the florist’s. The thing barely worked anymore, but he insisted.
He fished out a few coins from his hoodie pocket, popped the latch open, and unfolded the paper like he was about to give a dramatic reading on the town square.
“Tragedy strikes again: Pothole claims its fifth tire of the week.” His voice rose like a news anchor. “When will the madness end?”
I rolled my eyes. “You always this dramatic in the mornings?”
“I’m fueled by emotional validation and spite,” he said proudly.
“And sugar,” I muttered, sipping my coffee.
“That too.”
The florist tending the roses in the window chuckled, shaking her head. James gave her a little wave.
He knew everyone. Even the cranky neighbors who swore shifters would ruin the neighborhood eventually liked him. It was impossible not to.
He was lighter today. The weight in his shoulders hadn’t vanished, but it had shifted. Rebalanced. Like now that Avery was on his way out, James was finally breathing for real.
I hadn’t told him yet, but we were still keeping tabs on the bastard. Just because Avery had a deadline didn’t mean we trusted him to follow it.
But I didn’t say any of that. I just let James enjoy the peace. The quiet before whatever came next.
As we turned onto the block where Wolf & Whisk sat, James tugged on my hand. “You don’t have to walk me all the way.”
“I know,” I said, still holding on. “I want to.”
He glanced at me, and there it was. That flicker of disbelief. Like some part of him still didn’t trust this to last. That someone might choose him and mean it.
So I held tighter.
The bakery came into view, warm light glowing from inside, the windows fogged slightly with the morning’s first heat.
The scent of bread, butter, and cinnamon drifted through the air like bait.
Through the window, I spotted Cyrus behind the counter, scowling at a tray of croissants like they’d personally insulted him.
Rowan leaned lazily against the espresso machine, sipping something that looked more like blended grass than coffee.
And then Cyrus looked up. Saw us. Saw me and James, hand in mine. He froze mid-bite, his jaw practically unhinged.
“Ohhh no way,” he shouted, shoving through the front door like it had wronged him. “Tell me I’m not hallucinating!”
Rowan followed, grinning like someone about to instigate absolute chaos. “Public hand-holding before nine a.m.? That’s practically a proposal.”
James groaned. “Ignore them.”
“I would,” I muttered, “but they’re both very loud.”
“So!” Cyrus said, pointing a dramatically trembling finger between us. “Are we official now? Is this what this is? Mr. Grumpy Bear and our cupcake prince?”
James flushed. “You’re just jealous no one wants to hold your hand before coffee.”
“I’m very lovable,” Cyrus huffed.
“Objectively false,” Rowan said, sipping his suspiciously green drink.
Callum stepped out next, clipboard in hand. His eyes landed on us, and for a second, I tensed. But all he did was lift a brow and give James a quiet, approving nod.
James caught it, his shoulders relaxing just a bit more.
I took a step back as James started up the bakery steps, not wanting to crowd him while the wolves were still being obnoxious, but he paused at the top and looked over his shoulder.
“You coming in?” James asked.
I shook my head. “You’ve got work. I’ve got work. I’ll be back later to pick you up.”
He hesitated then came back down a step, leaned in, and kissed me. Not a peck. Not a quick goodbye. Just… slow. Certain. Like he didn’t care who was watching.
I kissed him back, no hesitation. I didn’t even flinch when Cyrus made a dramatic gagging noise behind us.
“I’m too young for this!” Cyrus shouted.
“Grow up,” James said without looking, and disappeared into the shop.
I stood there a little longer, feeling the warmth bloom in my chest like a second sunrise. The teasing. The kiss. The way James didn’t flinch or pretend it meant less than it did.
The wolves might have made a scene, but I didn’t care. Everyone knew now. And I wasn’t disappointed about that. No. I was proud. Proud that he was mine. Proud that he let me in.