Chapter Eleven – Elliott
Tell her, his bear insisted as they stood alone at last in the kitchen.
I don’t want to spoil the evening, Elliott replied, but as he met Rachel’s gaze across the room, he knew that this was the time, this was the moment.
It’s not as if it’s going to come as a surprise, his bear said. She already knows.
But there’s a difference between knowing and wanting to know, Elliott replied. And he was almost certain that Rachel didn’t want to know. And once he’d said those words, things would be irrecoverably changed.
For the better, his bear said with utmost confidence.
“Rachel...” he began.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Rachel said as she glanced around the kitchen.
Was she cutting him off, avoiding the subject? Elliott wondered, the words he’d been about to say dying on his lips.
She might just be being thankful, his bear said.
“It was the least I could do,” Elliott replied. “Since I helped make the mess.”
“No, the cake was wonderful, and I know the girls loved helping you bake it.”
Elliott smiled and nodded. “I’m not sure who enjoyed it more.” The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. Maybe this wasn’t the moment after all. Maybe it was better to let the evening end on this note of quiet contentment.
Rachel relaxed a little and sipped her wine. “They are fun to be around. Until I had children, I’d forgotten how to enjoy the small things. The simple, everyday things.”
“When I was traveling for my book,” he began, the words slipping out before he’d fully considered them, “it was interesting to see how different cultures interact with their children.”
No, his bear moaned. Don’t mention traveling.
Too late, Elliott thought. He could have kicked himself. Why remind her that his life, until now, had been one of constant motion?
“That must be wonderful to experience,” Rachel replied. “Do you have a favorite memory?”
“There was this little village in northern Thailand,” he said, leaning against the counter.
“I was there during a festival, and the whole community gathered to prepare food together. The children weren’t separated from the work.
They were right in the middle of it all, even the smallest ones.
There was this boy, maybe five years old, who was in charge of washing a mountain of lemongrass.
He took it so seriously, like the entire festival depended on him getting every stalk perfectly clean. ”
As he spoke, the memory came back with surprising clarity—the humid air, the scent of galangal and lime leaves, the sound of children’s laughter mixing with the sizzle of woks.
“That sounds beautiful,” Rachel said.
“It was. The boy’s grandmother kept pretending to inspect his work, making a big show of finding an imaginary speck of dirt, just to make him laugh. By the end, he was giggling so hard he could barely hold on to the lemongrass.”
Elliott found himself smiling at the memory. It had been a good day, one that had made it into his notes but somehow hadn’t made it into the draft of his book. Too personal, maybe. Too much about the people and not enough about the food.
“And a favorite recipe?” Rachel asked, setting her glass down. “Unless that’s not allowed.”
“Not allowed?” He frowned.
“A trade secret, or a publisher’s secret. Are you allowed to divulge the recipes before you’ve written the book?”
Elliott chuckled, the tension from earlier dissolving completely. “I only tell those I trust to keep a secret.”
“And am I trustworthy?” The question hung between them, carrying more weight than just talk of recipes.
“I think you are,” he said, holding her gaze. “There was this soup—tom kha—that the grandmother taught me. She’d been making it for sixty years and insisted her version was the only correct one in all of Thailand.”
Rachel smiled. “Was it?”
“It might have been,” Elliott admitted. “It had this perfect balance—creamy coconut, sharp lime, enough chili to warm you but not burn. The secret was that she used two kinds of galangal—young and mature—and she added the kaffir lime leaves at three different stages of cooking.”
“That sounds complicated.”
“The best things usually are.” The words came out softer than he intended.
Rachel’s gaze met his again, and for a moment Elliott felt the pull between them—that quiet, insistent tug that had been there from the first moment he’d seen her. The kitchen seemed to grow smaller as their eyes met.
Tell her, his bear urged again.
“The soup was wonderful,” Elliott said, breaking the tension.
“But what I kept thinking about afterward were these little coconut and lime cakes she made in the mornings. Nothing fancy. Just soft and still warm, with the lime sharp enough to wake you up. I think I ate more of those than I did anything else while I was there.”
“And when is your book due?” she asked quickly, filling the gap in the conversation.
“I have three months to write it. It should have been more, but I took a month longer traveling than I planned for,” Elliott said.
Great, now you sound unreliable, his bear complained.
Elliott winced inwardly.
“I’m sure your publisher understands,” Rachel said, her tone neutral. “Life doesn’t always follow our schedules.”
Elliott tried to read her expression. Was she thinking about how unreliable he might be? How the girls might get attached to someone who couldn’t stick to a timeline? Or about her own life?
“Then you should stop pulling shifts at the restaurant,” Rachel said.
Was she teasing? Or maybe hoping to avoid him at work? Elliott couldn’t quite read her tone, and confusion flickered through him.
You’re overthinking this, his bear said.
“I probably should,” he admitted. Then he looked at her and smiled, letting some of the truth show in his eyes. “But after so long away, I enjoy being around people I care about.”
She looked down at her wineglass and then took a gulp.
Say it, his bear urged. Say it now.
Elliott’s heart beat faster. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, the air between them charged with everything unsaid. He took a step closer to her.
“Rachel,” he began again, “there’s something I have to say.”
“Please don’t,” she murmured, avoiding his gaze.
“I have to,” he said. His voice came out steadier than he felt. “We can skirt around it, but it’s there. I know you feel it.”
She shook her head, still not looking at him. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“Then let me say it.”
Elliott closed the distance between them. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and tilted her face to his. Her skin was warm beneath his fingers, and he could feel a slight tremor in her.
“You are my mate.”
Her jaw tensed and her eyes misted with tears, but she didn’t look away.
“I know you know about shifters,” he continued softly. “I know you know about the mate bond. And I know you know that you are my mate.”
“Elliott, I can’t...” She shook her head, but didn’t pull away from his touch.
“I am not asking for commitment,” Elliott told her, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. “I’m not asking for anything. I just needed to tell you. Needed for you to hear the words and know the truth.”
“I knew,” she whispered. “But it’s complicated, with the girls...”
“I understand,” he said. “I do.”
“Do you?” she asked, and it sounded like a challenge.
“I would never do anything to hurt them,” Elliott replied, meaning every word.
“I know you wouldn’t,” she said. “But sometimes we hurt people without meaning to.”
She’s scared we’re going to leave, his bear said.
The realization hit Elliott with painful clarity. This wasn’t about the mate bond itself. This was about trust. About promises kept and broken.
“You are the most important person in the world to me,” Elliott said, needing her to understand that whatever happened from here on, he would always think of her and the children first. “And the girls are the most important thing to you. I get that. And they are part of my family now, too.”
“But you have your life, your books...” she began.
“That was my life before,” he replied. “You are my life now.”
She took a step back and went to the sink, where she washed her wine glass. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on a person.”
“I don’t mean to,” he said, watching her movements, the careful way she rinsed the glass.
“I know.” She turned back to him, her face composed again. “Thank you for the cake, and for being so good with the girls.”
She wants us to leave, his bear said.
Yeah, I got that, Elliott replied.
The silence stretched between them. Elliott felt the weight of it, the distance she was carefully placing between them despite everything he’d just said. He understood it. Respected it, even. But it still ached.
“I should go,” he said finally, though every part of him wanted to stay.
Rachel nodded once, her arms folded across her chest now. “It’s getting late.”
He moved toward the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. At the threshold, he paused.
“I meant what I said,” he told her quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Rachel finally looked at him then, really looked at him, and there was something raw and vulnerable in her expression that made his chest ache.
“That’s what everyone says,” she said softly. “Until they do.”
His bear growled low in his mind. She needs time.
“I’ll prove it to you,” Elliott said. “I know words aren’t enough.”
He moved toward the door, pausing before he stepped into the hallway. Behind him, he could hear Rachel’s steady breathing, could almost feel the tension radiating from her.
“Goodnight, Rachel.”
“Goodnight,” she answered, her voice barely audible.
Outside, the night air hit his face with a sobering chill. Elliott stood on her front step for a moment, looking up at the stars scattered across the dark sky.
She didn’t say no, his bear said, sounding oddly hopeful.
No, Elliott agreed. She didn’t.
She just needs time, his bear offered.
Maybe, Elliott said as he climbed into the truck. But time for what?
To trust that you’re not going to disappear, his bear answered. To believe that this time, someone stays.
Elliott got in the truck and started the engine, the headlights cutting through the darkness. As he pulled away from Rachel’s house, he glanced back once at the warm light spilling from the windows. Inside were three people who were now the center of his world.
And he had no idea how to prove to Rachel that this time would be different. That he would be different.
Because words were easy. Anyone could say the right thing.
It was staying that was hard.