7. Gabriella
Gabriella
The mall is small.
Really small.
Some malls I’ve seen have their own freaking zip codes compared to this place.
But it’s clean and bright, with polished floors, shiny storefronts, and enough colorful signs to make Matteo stare around like we’ve entered another dimension.
His little hand stays firmly tucked inside mine.
“Wow.”
I smile.
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“Mommy!”
“What?”
“Wow! Are those cookies? They’re huge!”
He points toward a kiosk near the center of the mall.
And okay.
Those things are enormous.
Like somebody looked at a normal cookie and said, “You know what this needs? Steroids.”
“You like cookies?”
Every muscle in my body freezes.
Oh no.
No freaking way.
That voice.
Deep.
Rough.
Familiar.
My traitorous body recognizes it before I even turn. Heat rolls through my belly. My secret nature stirs beneath my skin.
And when I turn? There he is.
Havoc.
Of freaking course he’s here. Because apparently the universe has decided four nights a week isn't enough.
He’s wearing clean jeans today.
Not firefighter gear.
Not the dark clothes he usually wears at Dick’s.
Just faded denim hugging powerful thighs and a tight T-shirt stretched across a chest that should require some kind of permit.
His blond hair is loose. Swirling tattoos disappear beneath his sleeves and climb the side of his neck. And those eyes.
Lord, help me. His eyes are positively hypnotic.
Gold.
Bright.
Predatory.
Beautiful.
They flick toward me. And my traitorous heart stutters.
“Havoc?”
For one stupid second, I think he came over because he saw me. My stomach does this ridiculous little flip.
Then I realize he isn’t looking at me anymore. He’s looking at Matteo. And something about Havoc changes.
The hard lines of his face ease.
The heaviness that seems so much a part of him lifts a little.
Not much.
Just enough that if I weren’t already paying way too much attention to him, I might miss it.
“You like cookies?” he asks my son.
Matteo nods enthusiastically.
“Yes, sir.”
“Me too.”
Havoc studies the display with grave seriousness.
“But I don't think I could finish one of those by myself.”
I almost laugh at his fib.
The man is built like a Viking warlord. I’ve watched him eat at The Joint. He could finish the entire kiosk.
But my son is looking at him like he just presented a real world problem to the boy. Matteo considers him carefully.
“I could help.”
Havoc’s mouth twitches.
“You think?”
“Yep. I’d be a good helper.”
“Well. That’s good, then. Appreciate it, Matteo.”
He points toward the display.
“Which one?”
Matteo’s eyes widen.
I step in.
“Oh, no. Havoc, you don’t have to—”
“Wasn’t asking you.”
My mouth drops open.
Excuse me?
Those golden eyes flick toward me.
Amusement.
This asshole is enjoying himself. Matteo presses both hands against the glass.
“Chocolate chip.”
“Solid choice,” Havoc says.
“And rainbow.”
Havoc nods solemnly.
“Also respectable.”
“And oatmeal raisin.”
Havoc goes still. His eyes narrow.
“At your age?”
Matteo nods.
“My mommy likes them.”
That golden gaze lands on me.
Hot.
Direct.
My breath catches.
“Does she?”
Something about the way he says it makes my skin warm.
It’s a cookie, Gabriella. Get a freaking grip.
“Apparently, I do,” I mutter.
Havoc orders all three.
Of course he does.
And somehow—I'm honestly still not sure how it happens—five minutes later I’m sitting at a tiny mall table across from the most annoying Werewolf on the planet while my son happily breaks pieces off three enormous cookies.
Havoc takes a bite of chocolate chip. Matteo watches him.
“Is it yummy?”
Havoc chews.
“Pretty damn—”
His eyes flick toward me.
“Um, I mean yeah, it’s pretty yummy.”
I bite my lip.
Did Rowan freaking Cross just censor himself for my kid?
Something warm unfurls inside my chest.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Matteo points at his tattoos.
“Do you have lots of those?”
“Yeah.”
“Did they hurt?”
“Some of them.”
“Are you a firefighter?”
Havoc looks at me.
I didn't tell Matteo that. Then again, Ember Hollow is small. Everybody knows the A-Feral crew.
“Yeah, I am.”
“Do you fight real fires?”
“Yep.”
“Big ones?”
“Sometimes.”
Matteo’s eyes get huge.
“Do you get scared?”
The question catches Havoc off guard. I see it. His expression changes.
For a moment, he looks almost uncomfortable. Then he answers honestly.
“All the time. Fires are dangerous. They can hurt.”
Matteo considers this.
“But you do it anyway?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Why?”
Havoc glances toward me.
His golden eyes hold mine.
“To stop the fires from spreading. To keep people safe.”
Oh. Wow.
And now, my heart is doing something stupid.
I reach for the oatmeal-raisin cookie just so I have something to do with my hands.
No. Absolutely not.
I cannot start finding this male sweet.
He is absolutely not sweet.
He is an overbearing, growling pain in my ass who has spent two weeks haunting my second job and leaving obscene tips I absolutely should not be accepting.
He is also currently listening with complete seriousness while my son explains why a T. Rex would beat a grizzly bear in a fight.
This is bad. Really freaking bad.
Because Matteo likes him.
I can already tell. And worse? Havoc seems to like Matteo.
There’s no impatience in him. No fake smile adults sometimes use when they’re waiting for a child to stop talking.
He listens.
Actually listens.
My chest tightens.
Men don't usually do that with Matteo.
Ethan sure as hell never—no. I shove the thought away.
Havoc looks at me.
“You okay?”
There it is again. That freaking question. I force a smile.
“Fine.”
His eyes narrow. He knows I’m lying.
Again.
But this time he doesn’t push.
Matteo takes another enormous bite of rainbow cookie. Then he looks between us.
“Do you know my mommy?”
I choke. Havoc’s gaze stays locked on mine.
“Yeah.”
“From work?”
“Yeah.”
Matteo thinks about that.
“Do you like her?”
Oh.
My.
Shit.
“Matteo!”
“What?”
Havoc doesn’t even blink. Those impossible golden eyes stay on me.
“Yes. I like your mommy.”
Just like that, he says it.
No hesitation.
My stomach drops straight through the floor. Matteo grins.
“I like her too.”
Havoc’s mouth curves.
“Smart kid.”
I stare at him. He stares back. And suddenly the noisy little mall feels far too quiet. Because there’s something in his expression that wasn't there two weeks ago.
Or maybe it was.
Maybe I just refused to see it.
Interest.
Want.
Something heavier than either.
My hidden nature stretches beneath my skin toward him, responding to something I don't understand and absolutely cannot afford.
I look away first. I have spent years protecting Matteo from dangerous males. Running from one in particular.
I cannot start fantasizing about another just because he has beautiful eyes, leaves ridiculous tips, and buys my son cookies. No matter how safe I feel sitting across from him.
Especially because of how safe I feel sitting across from him.
That might be the most dangerous part of all.