Chapter 20 #2
With a chuckle, Blake leaves, waving from the side gate.
Jared cracks open another bottle of beer. “It’s getting chilly. Want to take this inside?”
Grady grabs his cane and rises from the table. “I don’t suppose there are any more of those chocolate truffles from last week.”
Jared grabs Grady’s full wine glass and his own beer. “Pretty sure I saw Em stashing some after her trip to the grocery store.”
“Hey!” Emily protests without rising.
Jared ignores her as he helps balance Grady over the slight step into the house.
The back door clicks shut behind Grady and Jared, leaving Emily and me alone on the porch. The string lights sway in the gentle evening breeze, casting shifting patterns across the picnic table. Inside, bottles clink on the countertops, and muffled laughter filters through the windows.
Emily leans back on the bench seat, her profile illuminated by the golden glow. I study her, emboldened by the pleasant buzz of alcohol in my system.
Emily turns, catching me staring. “Do you want another beer?”
I tilt the bottle in my hand, surprised to find it empty. “I should switch to water.”
She rises and returns with two glasses, condensation beading on the sides. The water, sweet and clean after the beer, washes away the bitterness of hops but leaves the warmth behind.
“Thanks for inviting me today,” I say, the words flowing easier than they would have hours ago. “This was… nice.”
“Nice?” She raises an eyebrow, amusement playing at the corners of her mouth. “Such high praise.”
“Better than nice,” I amend, searching for words that won’t sound trite.
“I can’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable around people.
Maybe back in university? After graduating, my friend group drifted apart as everyone became busy with their careers, and I never clicked with the other teachers. ”
“What was it like where you lived before?” Emily moves one leg over the bench to straddle it so she can face me. “Not the work part. The living part.”
“Lonely,” I answer, the beer quieting the voices of caution that often edit my every word. “I had colleagues, not friends. I went to work, came home, graded papers, and planned lessons. Rinse and repeat.”
“No hobbies? No secret passion for competitive kite-flying or underwater basket-weaving?”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest. “I read. A lot. Mysteries, mostly. I like it when everything gets solved by the last page.”
“Guaranteed closure,” Emily says without judgment. “I get that.”
“What about you? When you’re not building houses or teaching woodworking to hopeless cases like me?”
She smiles into her water glass. “I bake. And crochet. And carve. I have a list of donations I aim to finish for the local foster homes every year.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “What’s on your list?”
“Blankets and wooden toys.” She sets her glass on the wooden table. “Sometimes I quilt, but I don’t enjoy it the way I do crochet and woodwork.”
The conversation drifts from there, touching on books we’ve both read, places we’ve traveled, small stories that reveal the texture of our lives beyond work and responsibilities.
Emily tells me about a road trip across the northern states, sleeping in her truck and waking to snow on her windshield in Montana. I share my semester abroad, where I fell in love with single malt whisky and open skies.
We speak of ordinary things made extraordinary by the simple fact of sharing them.
When she laughs at my story of getting lost in a foreign city and accidentally crashing a wedding, her head tips back, throat exposed to the night sky.
The fairy lights catch the angles of her face, the strong line of her jaw, the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, and I’m struck by how much I want to trace that line with my fingers, with my lips.
I lean forward, closing the distance between us, giving her time to pull away. But she doesn’t. She meets my eyes, her own darkening as her pupils expand in the dim light.
The first touch of my lips on hers ignites a long-banked desire within me. For months, I’ve been dreaming of this Alpha, trying to keep my distance, telling myself she wasn’t for me. But the more time we spent together, the harder it became to believe the lie.
I want her with a passion I’ve never experienced before, and she answers with equal hunger. One hand rises to cup my jaw while the other settles on my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my sweater and drawing me closer. Her lips carry the day’s sweetness as her breath ghosts across my skin.
My hand finds her waist, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to touch warm skin.
A shiver runs through her. The world narrows to this single point of connection, her mouth opening to mine, the gentle scrape of teeth, the velvet slide of her tongue.
Time stretches like honey, thick and golden as the late summer day.
Her crushed clover and warm flannel pheromones sweep around me, drawing me to her scent as her fingers thread through my hair, tugging just hard enough to send sparks down my spine. I trace the curve of her hip, the small of her back, memorizing her through touch as our kiss deepens.
This Alpha is the embodiment of quiet steadiness, patience, and the burning passion I’ve been yearning for, all wrapped up in a strong body that yields when I tug her even closer.
Then a crash and laughter within the house break the spell, and Emily pulls back, her breath uneven.
With a whine of protest, I move to follow, to recapture the moment, but her hand on my chest stops me.
“This isn’t a no,” she says, her voice husky.
Confusion furrows my brow, and she must catch it because her fingers on my chest spread to cover my heart.
“You’ve been drinking, Leif,” she explains. “Whatever comes next, I need you to choose it with a clear head.”
“I know what I want,” I protest. “You do, too. You can smell it in my pheromones.” I inhale her sweeter scent and groan. “You want me, too.”
She swallows hard and draws her hand away. “I do, but instincts and alcohol aren’t a good mix. I don’t want you to wake up in the morning and have regrets.”
“I won’t,” I promise, but I can already tell she won’t be swayed.
“I should take you back to the hotel,” Emily says, standing and offering me her hand.
I take it, allowing her to pull me to my feet, and her fingers linger on mine. My cock strains at the front of my slacks, hard from just kissing, and I tug my sweater down to cover the obvious proof of thwarted desire.
“Can you tell the others I said goodnight?” I ask, embarrassed now for begging when she’s right.
“Of course.” She steps back. “Let me grab my keys, and I’ll meet you at my truck.”
She disappears into the house, the screen door sighing closed behind her, and my chest tightens with a wanting that goes deeper than desire.
Not just for her.
For all of it.
The noise. The laughter. The easy way they made room for me without asking what I could offer in return. The way Emily looked at me as if I already belonged.
Pack.
The word settles into place with dangerous certainty.
I’ve spent years building a life small enough to stay safe inside. Controlled. Predictable. Unnoticed. But tonight cracked that structure open, and I’m not sure I can pretend the fracture isn’t there.
I want this. I want them. I want her.
My hand curls into a fist.
But Carson doesn’t release what he considers his. Moving to Pinecrest already proved as much.
If I reach for this, reach for Emily and her pack, I won’t just be putting my heart at risk.
I’ll be painting a target on all of them. I don’t know how he’ll destroy their lives, but I know without question that he’ll find a way.