Chapter 17 Theo
SEVENTEEN
THEO
The food was, as always, exceptional. They worked through bruschetta and pasta and an eggplant dish Theo couldn’t pronounce but couldn’t stop eating.
Bella appeared periodically to add more dishes—“You haven’t tried the meatballs!
Criminal!”—and Vito kept their wine glasses full with the attentiveness of a man who’d been doing this his whole life.
The wine loosened tongues and lowered walls. Conversation flowed easier than Theo had expected—about Haven Shores, about her inn, about his brewery. Small things that accumulated into intimacy.
“Your father.” Avine set down her fork, her expression cautious. “You mentioned him during the ward work. That he did a thing.”
Theo’s grip on his wine glass increased. He’d hoped she wouldn’t circle back to that. He should have known better.
“He violated coven territory.” The words scraped out rough. “The details are Elder Sealed, but what matters is that people got hurt. People I should have protected. I opposed him publicly, causing a pack schism. And instead of staying to fight for leadership, I ran.”
“You were twenty-five.”
“I was the heir. Age wasn’t an excuse.” He forced himself to meet her gaze. The rest of it—the decade away, the hiding, the cowardice he’d already confessed to her over ward stones—he didn’t need to repeat. She’d heard it. She’d understood.
The admission hung between them.
She met his gaze. The candlelight caught in hers, turning them amber. “I think I wanted to be loud again. I’d forgotten how.”
The recognition hit like a fist to the sternum. Matching damage, matching flight—one physical, one emotional—and they’d both ended up here.
“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” His voice had dropped, gone husky.
“Matching damage.” But she was smiling. “At least we’re honest about it.”
He was still holding her hand. She was still letting him. Under the table, their knees brushed—an accident, maybe, or maybe not—and neither moved away.
Theo watched her take a bite of pasta and found it unreasonably attractive. The way she closed her eyes briefly, savoring. The small sound of appreciation. The bit of sauce at the corner of her mouth that she caught with her tongue.
She caught him looking.
He didn’t look away.
Neither did she.
The moment stretched. Theo was acutely aware of every point of contact between them—her hand in his, their knees pressed close beneath the tablecloth, the electricity humming beneath his skin. His instincts were prowling at the surface, wanting, barely contained.
She watched him with an intensity that stole his breath. Like she was trying to memorize his face. Like she was making up her mind.
“Dessert?” Bella materialized beside their table with truly terrible timing. “We have tiramisu. Very romantic. Good for—” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Theo’s voice was firm. “Check, please.”
They walked.
Theo had offered to drive, but Avine had looked at the harbor lights reflecting on the water and said, “It’s not far,” and they’d ended up here—walking along the waterfront with salt air filling the space between them and the distant sound of waves providing rhythm.
“Ward security,” he’d said when she’d raised an eyebrow. “I should walk you home. Make sure nothing’s compromised.”
“The wards we spent three days reinforcing.”
“You can never be too careful.”
She’d laughed, but she hadn’t argued. And when he’d reached for her hand—not offering his arm this time, taking her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world—she’d let him.
Her fingers fit perfectly between his. Her skin was cool from the evening air, but it heated quickly against his palm. He tried not to read too much into that.
They walked in easy silence, their shoulders brushing with every few steps. The harbor was quiet at this hour, fishing boats bobbing at their moorings. The moon hung low over the bay, painting a silver path across the waves.
Every sensation registered with startling clarity—the soft click of her shoes on the boardwalk, the way her perfume mixed with the sea breeze, the slight squeeze of her fingers when they passed a particularly beautiful view. His instincts were calm for once, content simply to be near her.
Somewhere in the distance, a seagull called.
“Tell me something.” Avine broke the silence.
“About what?”
“You. Not the Alpha. Not the CEO. Just… you.”
Theo considered. People didn’t usually ask about him without the titles attached. He wasn’t sure anyone had, actually, except Beck.
“I make furniture,” he said finally. “Badly, but I make it. There’s a table in my workshop I’ve been working on for six months. At this point, I think I’ve sanded it into a cutting board.”
She laughed—that low, surprised sound that made something possessive stir in his chest. “What else?”
“I burn toast every single time. Without fail. Beck banned me from making breakfast at the brewery.” He paused. “The pack pups think I’m funny. I’m pretty sure they’re mocking me, but they’re too small to be sure.”
“Pups like people who pay attention to them. It’s not mockery. It’s approval.”
“That’s what Beck says. I’m choosing to remain skeptical.”
They’d reached the inn. The Siren’s Rest loomed against the darkening sky, windows glowing with spelled light, wards humming their quiet greeting. Theo felt an unexpected reluctance—disappointment, maybe, that the walk was over.
They stopped at the porch steps. Avine turned to face him, and suddenly they were very close, her hand still in his, her face tilted up toward him in the spill of light from the inn’s windows.
“This was supposed to be about schedules.” His voice had dropped, gone husky.
“Worst planning meeting I’ve ever had.” But she was smiling. “We didn’t discuss a single maintenance schedule.”
“Complete failure.”
“Terrible.”
“Should I apologize?”
“No.” Her free hand came up to rest on his sternum, right over his racing heart. Her palm was flat against his Henley, and he knew she could feel it—the way his pulse kicked faster at her touch. “Don’t apologize.”
The night air was cool, but where she touched him burned.
His instincts were straining forward, desperate, and for once, Theo didn’t fight it.
He let himself look at her—really look. The way the light caught in her hair.
The flush on her cheeks from wine and wind.
The way her lips parted slightly, waiting.
Theo leaned in and kissed her. He tried not to overwhelm her and let her lead. She was sweet. Her lips soft and careful as she kissed him back.
When they finally broke apart, neither of them moved far. Her forehead came to rest against his jaw, her breath unsteady, fingers still curled in his shirt.
“Goodnight.” Her voice had softened.
“Goodnight, beautiful.”
She climbed the porch steps, paused at the door, looked back once. Then she was inside.