“Thought you might like it.” He reached for his wineglass and took a small sip. “Better than being stuck inside, anyway.”
A small sound escaped me, not quite a laugh but close. “Everything's better than shattering glasses.”
His mouth curved slightly at that, not a full smile but something like it.
We ate in silence for another minute, and then he asked, “How are you feeling? Really?”
The question should have put my guard up, but something about the genuine way he asked it, without the weight of expectation, made me consider answering honestly.
“Tired,” I said finally. “Confused about why you're doing this.”
“Does there have to be a reason?”
“In my experience? Yes.” I set down my fork, and met his eyes. “People don't do nice things without wanting something.”
Kade was silent for a moment, his hazel-brown eyes holding mine. “I want you to feel safe. To stop looking like you're about to run. That's what I want.”
The words sat between us, honest and uncomplicated. I didn't know how to respond to that, so I picked up my glass and took a small sip. It was excellent wine and probably had a name I couldn't pronounce.
“Tell me something,” Kade said, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Something you want me to know.”
My fingers tightened on the stem of the glass. The request felt dangerous, like stepping out onto ice I wasn't sure would hold. But something in his face, the open patience there, the lack of pressure... it made me want to try.
“My mother used to sing,” I heard myself say. The words came out softly, almost lost in the humid air. “Old songs, the kind her mother taught her. She'd sing while she cooked, or when she was walking, or just... whenever.”
Kade didn't interrupt, didn't push. He just waited.
“She had a voice like honey,” I continued, my voice steadier now. “Warm and sweet. It made everything feel safer somehow. When I had to leave her, I thought I'd lost that feeling. But when I sing, sometimes I can still feel her there. Like she's standing right beside me.”
My throat tightened, and I had to stop, had to press my lips together to keep the emotion from spilling out. I hadn't talkedabout my mother in years, hadn't let myself think too much about her or about her abandoning me. It was still too raw, too immediate.
“That's a gift,” Kade said softly. “Being able to carry her with you like that.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. My eyes burned, but I blinked the tears back, refusing to let them fall. Instead, I reached for a strawberry from the plate, needing something to do with my hands.
“What was her favorite song?” he asked.
And just like that, the tightness eased slightly. I smiled, small but real, remembering good times and country walks. “Something about a river and a willow tree. I never learned the real name; she just called it 'the willow song.' She'd sing it when I couldn't sleep.”
“Will you sing it for me sometime?”
The question caught me off guard. It wasn’t a demand, nor an expectation. Just a mild request that I could accept or refuse. “Maybe,” I said, and meant it.
We talked more after that, about smaller things. He told me about the record company, about artists he'd signed and projects he was excited about. I asked questions, genuine curiosity replacing wariness. He spoke about Theo, about how they'd known each other since they were kids, and something in his voice when he mentioned his pack mate made my chest warm.
I smiled more as the meal went on. Not the careful, guarded expressions I usually wore, but genuine smiles that reached my eyes and made my cheeks ache slightly from disuse. Kade noticed—I could see it in the way his posture relaxed, the way his own smiles came easier.
Time moved strangely in the conservatory, the light shifting so gradually I didn't notice until I looked up and realized thesun was lower, the shadows longer. Kade began packing up the remains of our meal.
“We should head back,” he said, closing the basket. “Before Theo and Lucian send out a search party.”
I stood, my legs steadier than they'd been earlier, and helped him finish cleaning up. Our hands brushed as we worked, and I didn't flinch away.
We gathered everything, and walked back toward the entrance. The temperature change when we stepped outside was sharp, winter reasserting itself, but my coat kept me warm. Kade gave the driver the basket, and then came around to open the car door for me.
He offered his hand again, and this time I took it without hesitation. His warm fingers closed around mine, and something in my chest shifted. Not dramatic, not a revelation. Just a slight change in what felt safe.
The drive back took us through the same damaged sections of the city, but somehow it looked different now. The streetlights were coming on against the darkening sky; windows glowing with life inside. The decay was still there, the boarded windows and crumbling infrastructure, but the lights softened it somehow, made it part of a larger picture rather than the complete story.
