37. Lachlan
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lachlan
I'm nervous, which is ridiculous. I don't get nervous.
Not about this. Not about anything, really.
But here I am, standing in front of the mirror in my bedroom, checking my shirt for the third time like some kind of teenager getting ready for prom, running a hand through my hair like that's going to make a difference—like somehow fixing one stubborn strand will change the outcome of tonight.
It's been almost two weeks since she walked into Maria's café and changed everything.
It's just a date—except it's not. Not really.
It's her. And that changes everything. I've been thinking about this night for days, planning it down to the smallest detail.
Not in an obsessive way, at least I don't think so.
Just carefully. Methodically. Because this matters.
Because I want it to be right. I want her to feel safe, comfortable, and cared for. I want her to know I'm not pushing, that this is her choice. Always her choice.
But gods, I want her to choose me. Choose us. I want it so badly it's almost painful.
I grab my keys from the dresser and head downstairs, trying to shake off the nervous energy that's been building all afternoon. Finn's sprawled on the couch in the living room, remote in hand, grinning like he knows exactly what I'm thinking—which, knowing him, he probably does.
"Big date?" he asks, not even bothering to hide his amusement.
I don't answer. He already knows. We even made a schedule for all of us to take her out; I got first because I met her first. It’s only fair.
I just shoot him a look that says everything I need to say without actually saying it.
He laughs, throwing his head back against the cushions. "Good luck, Alpha."
The café is busy when I arrive about forty minutes before her shift ends. I spot her through the large front window before I even park, moving gracefully behind the counter despite the afternoon rush. Efficient. Focused. Beautiful in that effortless way she doesn't even seem to realize.
I sit in the car for a moment, engine off, just watching her.
The way she smiles at customers, genuine and warm.
How she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's concentrating on writing down an order.
The ease with which she moves like she's finally comfortable in her own skin, like she's starting to shed the weight of whatever came before.
She's different from when I first met her. Still guarded, still careful about who she lets in. But lighter. Freer. And that matters more than anything else.
Not every pack is built the way ours is.
Some are alliances first and families second—businesses, bloodlines, territory.
Alphas marry for influence. Betas manage the practical side.
Omegas are expected to keep everyone bonded and produce the next generation.
Some packs are built for protection. Some for convenience.
Some because being alone is dangerous. And some people use the word pack to make control sound like love.
But us? We choose each other. That's the difference. And watching Kaia move through that café, finally starting to believe she belongs somewhere, that she's wanted for who she is and not what she can provide—that matters more than any territory dispute or political alliance ever could.
I get out and walk inside, the familiar bell chiming overhead. She looks up immediately, and her eyes find mine across the crowded space. Her eyes brighten, and she doesn't look away. She knows I'm here for her.
I move to a table near the window and settle in to wait. She finishes with a customer, wipes down the counter with practiced efficiency, and glances at me. Again. And then again a minute later.
I don't push. Don't wave her over or try to catch her attention. I just let her know I'm here, that I'll wait as long as she needs.
Twenty minutes later, after the rush has died down and the café has emptied out, she walks over, apron still on, hands twisting slightly in front of her in that nervous gesture I've come to recognize.
"Hi," she says softly, her voice barely audible over the background music playing through the speakers.
"Hi."
She hesitates, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'm almost done. Just need to finish closing up. You didn't have to come early. You could've just picked me up after."
"I wanted to." The truth, simple and honest. "I like watching you work."
Her mouth curves, just slightly, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks.
But it's enough.
"Give me ten minutes?"
"Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."
She nods and turns back toward the counter, but before she goes, she looks back over her shoulder. Just once. And smiles at me, a real smile, unguarded and genuine. I almost melt in my seat, my heart doing something stupid and irregular in my chest.
When she finally clocks out and emerges from the back room, she's changed out of her work clothes.
Not into anything fancy—just well-fitted jeans, a soft cream-colored sweater that looks impossibly touchable, hair down and loose around her shoulders instead of pulled back.
Simple. Perfect. Absolutely devastating.
"Ready?" I ask, standing up and trying not to stare too obviously.
She nods, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
I reach the car first and open the passenger door for her—a deliberate gesture, unhurried and natural, the kind of thing I do without thinking because it matters.
She doesn't push for details, doesn't demand answers.
Just follows me to the car and slides into the passenger seat like she's done it a hundred times, like she belongs there.
I start driving, pulling out of the parking lot and heading away from town.
Not toward the house. Not toward the busy main street. Just away, up the coast.
"You're being mysterious," she says after a few minutes of comfortable silence, watching the scenery change outside her window.
I glance at her, catching the hint of curiosity in her expression. "Is that okay?"
"Yeah," she says quietly, sincerely. "It is."
Good. Because I need this to be perfect. We drive for twenty minutes, the road curving and winding along the dramatic coastline. Ocean on one side, rocky cliffs on the other, the late afternoon sun painting everything in shades of amber and gold.
She doesn't ask where we're going. Just watches out the window—relaxed, trusting.
Her trust is everything. It's what I've been working toward, what all of us have been working toward.
And seeing it here, now, in the way she settles into the seat without tension, without fear—it means more than I can put into words.
Just as the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, I pull off onto a narrow road, gravel crunching beneath the tires, the path barely visible if you don't know it's there. She sits up slightly, curiosity sharpening in her features. "Where…"
"Wait," I say gently, not wanting to ruin the surprise.
The road opens up suddenly, and there it is.
A small clearing overlooking the endless expanse of ocean.
The grass here is long and wild, pale gold in the fading light, moving in gentle waves as the coastal breeze pushes through.
Wildflowers dot the clearing—purple lupine, white yarrow, clusters of golden California poppies that seem to glow in the amber light.
The flowers sway with the grass, creating a rhythm that feels almost alive.
To the left, a few gnarled coastal oaks stand sentinel, their branches twisted by years of wind, providing pockets of shade and shelter. The wind carries the salt of the ocean, but it's softer here, filtered through the grass and flowers. It smells like home—like possibility.
The cliff edge is maybe thirty feet away, where the ground drops sharply to reveal the rocks below and the ocean stretching endlessly beyond.
From here, in the car, the sound of the waves is muffled, distant—just a low, rhythmic hum beneath the wind.
But I know that once we step out, once we're standing at the edge, the crash and roar of the water will be unmistakable. Powerful. Real.
A few seabirds circle overhead—gulls and cormorants riding the thermals, their calls sharp and clear. A rabbit startles from the tall grass as we pull in, disappearing into the wildflowers. This place is alive. Untamed. Beautiful in a way that feels almost sacred.
Private. Quiet. Perfect. Mine. And now, maybe, ours.
I park and turn off the engine. She stares out the windshield, silent, taking it all in. The view, the isolation, the intimacy of being somewhere so removed from everything else. "Lachlan..."
"Come on," I say softly, my voice rough with an emotion I can't quite name.
I get out, walk around to her side, open the door like the gentleman my mother raised me to be.
She takes my hand without hesitation, her fingers sliding against mine, warm and sure.
And this, right here, is the moment I know with absolute certainty that I'm never letting her go.
This woman—this incredible, strong, beautiful woman—she's it for me.
I lead her to the edge of the clearing where the grass meets the cliff, where the ground drops away to reveal the ocean stretching out below us. Endless. Beautiful. Powerful and calm all at once.
"How did you find this?" she asks, her voice filled with wonder.
"I've been coming here for years. Since I was a teenager, really."
"Alone?"
"Yeah. Always alone."
She looks at me then, really looks at me, her eyes searching my face for something. "Why bring me here? If this is your private place..."
I hold her gaze, letting her see the truth. "Because I wanted to share it with you. Because some places are meant to be shared with the right person."