“Definitely. I need to know you both like the match without me influencing you.”
The black SUV that picked us up from the airport pulls into a side alley of a restaurant I’ve never heard of in the heart of downtown Seattle. An employee rushes out the door, their eyes scanning the area around us. He wears a black shirt and pants, a small silver name tag positioned just to the left of his collar. His shoulders relax as his eyes finally land on the car.
“This is…” Megan trails off.
Marcus’s lips thin as he raises an eyebrow.
“Apparently I should have been taking you to some of the banquets instead of Charlotte,” he says. His voice is tight, too, though. “At least you wouldn’t have been so surprised when the private car showed up instead of a rideshare.”
The driver opens our door with a casual ease that makes me feel even more uncomfortable than the first class service on the plane. Marcus holds my hand as we climb out of the vehicle.
“Hello, Pack Harper,” the employee says. “Right this way.”
He leads us into a modern restaurant with dimmed sconces and white tablecloths and large wall art that seems more sculpture than painting. There’s a smattering of tables filled with people dressed in formal attire. Now Cole’s polite suggestion to wear something nice tonight makes more sense.
I smooth down the skirt of the lacy, frilly purple dress I’d picked. Marcus squeezes my hand in silent reassurance. Megan stands on his other side, picking at the hem of the simple black slip dress she’d slid into before the plane landed. The employee guides us past the various tables, some of the people glancing up at us with curiosity, and into a small alcove mostly blocked by large vases filled with hydrangeas and lilies.
Cole’s already there. He stands when we approach, shoving his hands in his pockets. His hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it. He wears a dark blue dress shirt and gray slacks. The first couple buttons of the shirt are undone, showing just a sliver of his chest and collarbones.
I’m not proud of it, but I’ve spent the last few days snooping through his social media, trying to glean as much as I can. Not a single photo ever posted—on his page or his sisters’—has ever shown any kind of skin below the hollow of his throat. Every collar has been high or fully buttoned, almost like he doesn’t want people to see something. The flash of skin now has tension coiling in my stomach. As he rounds the table, the shirt shifts, and part of a silver scar shows. Marcus freezes for a heartbeat, his breath catching, before nutmeg bleeds out from him.
He’d had a similar reaction during the video call Wednesday night. Is that the bond scar? It must be. Curiosity has me wanting to ask about it, to look at it and feel it. All at once, I need to lay my own bite over top of it.
I force a swallow and shove the desire down, unnerved by its intensity. While I struggle with the strange impulse, Megan steps forward, pulling Cole into a warm but brief hug. Histension visibly lessens as she runs her hand down his arm, circling his wrist for a moment.
Scent marking, done so smoothly an average person probably wouldn’t notice it.
“How was your flight?” Cole asks her with a small smile.
“Uneventful. Exactly how I like them,” she offers. She turns, urging with her body for his focus to adjust to me. He takes the cue without hesitation, offering me a soft greeting.
I step into his other side, giving him the same quick hug as Megan.
God, he smells good. The paperwork the Council gave us listed his scent as apple, but whatever cologne or shampoo he’s used is woody with a bit of bite. Even as I step away, giving Marcus room to greet him, I breathe deeply, wanting to commit the blend to my memory. If his scent is really apple, it’ll blend beautifully with it. My thighs clench at the thought.
The dynamic between Marcus and Cole is more awkward than I’d expected, both men hesitating to make any kind of physical contact. I duck my head, focusing on getting settled at the table rather than watch them like they’re a reality show. Megan joins me, sorting through the menus. As the guys settle across from us, still clearly unsure of each other, a waitress approaches and takes our drink order.
Cole clears his throat. “Is there anything you were wanting to do while here?”
“I’d love to see Pike’s Place,” I admit.
He smiles, just a bit, and some of the tension bleeds out of him. “We could go tomorrow morning if you’d like. I can show you my favorite coffee place there.” He looks at Megan and then Marcus. “I can have a car pick you all up.”
Megan shakes her head. “I have a class I need to finish tomorrow morning for my license renewal.”
“Oh, all right,” Cole says. He glances at Marcus with a question in his gaze, his eyebrows furrowed. “You said you have some work to finish, right?”
Marcus offers a quiet affirmative. “Sorry,” he says. “Just something I need to confirm before the donor meeting in a couple weeks.”
“It’s just us, then,” Cole says to me.
Nervous excitement bubbles in my chest. “Sounds perfect.”
Thirteen
COLE
The car idles at the curb, just like it has been for the last few minutes, but the driver doesn’t seem all that impatient. I check my phone again, worried she somehow got lost or the car didn’t find the rental’s address, but there’s no new messages from her.
