The bell chimes as we enter, and the warmth hits us, along with that particular scent of home cooking. Behind the counter, Hattie Belle glances up from the coffee pot.
“Morning, Willa. Your usual?” She’s already reaching for a plate.
“Yes, please.” Willa’s scent goes warm with contentment. “Oh, and extra Tabasco.”
“Like I’d forget.” Hattie Belle grins, then her eyes shift to me. “And Jake Dillon. Haven’t seen you in here in a while.”
“Hey, Hattie Belle.” I lean against the counter. “Been busy.”
“I can see that.” Her gaze bounces between Willa and me, and her smile turns downright smug. “Willa showing up with not one but two Alphas from Pack McCrea recently— My, my.”
Willa’s face flushes crimson, and her scent spikes with embarrassment. “Hattie Belle?—”
“Don’t you ‘Hattie Belle’ me, honey.” She’s grinning now. “Just hope you’re enjoying yourself,” she adds with a nod in my direction and a particularly lascivious glint in her eye.
“We’re just—” Willa starts.
“About time,” Hattie Belle says, cutting her off with a knowing look. She crosses her arms and studies us both. “That’s all I’m saying. About damn time.”
Willa opens her mouth, closes it, then just sighs. “Can I please just get my biscuit?”
“Of course, honey.” Hattie Belle’s still smirking as she turns to plate up the food. “A James special, coming right up.”
A few minutes later, Willa’s holding a plate with a giant biscuit smothered in gravy, with the addition of pickledjalapeños and what looks like mushrooms. Hattie Belle slides the plate to her and an oversized bottle of Tabasco. Willa proceeds to douse the whole thing in Tabasco sauce until it’s swimming in red.
“Jesus, Wills,” I say, watching her. “Are you trying to burn your taste buds off?”
“This is how you’re supposed to eat it,” she says matter-of-factly.
I lead her out to the front porch, where a few rocking chairs sit in the morning sun. Even with the cold air, the warmth feels good.
She settles into one, balancing the plate on her lap, and cuts a generous bite. She takes it, groans with a deep, shameless sound of pleasure, then glances up at me sheepishly before scooping another forkful and offering it to me.
“Here.” She holds it up to my mouth. “Try it.”
I lean forward and let her feed me, and the second the flavors hit my tongue, I can’t stop the moan that escapes. I’m definitely no stranger to Hattie Belle’s famous biscuits, but whatever magic is in a James Special is next-level.
The biscuit is fluffy and buttery, the tangy jalapeños melt perfectly with the mushrooms, the gravy is rich and savory, and the Tabasco adds just enough heat to make everything sing.
“Holy shit,” I mumble around the bite. “That’s good.”
“Told you.” She’s grinning at me, looking proud and happy, and I want to kiss the gravy right off her lips.
This is Willa in her element. Not the professional vet trying to prove herself. Not the Omega facing down her abuser. Just… Willa. Happy and relaxed and home.
And suddenly, I don’t want to wait anymore.
The need that’s been building since the hotel—since I watched her sleep surrounded by pack, since I held her while shecried, since the day I let her go six years ago and have regretted every moment since—surges forward like a dam breaking.
I want to bond with her. Want to make her mine—ours—in every way possible. Want the whole world to know she’s claimed and protected and cherished. Want my bite on her neck, permanent and undeniable proof that she chose us and we chose her right back.
I want to wake up every day with her in my arms for the rest of my life. Want to watch her drink coffee in the morning light. Want to fight with her about silly things and make up in all the best ways. Want to build a life with her—messy and complicated and absolutely perfect.
Is this the right time to talk about this? Probably not. I haven’t even talked to the pack, though I know they feel the same. I can sense it through our bond—Beau’s fierce possession, Charlie’s steady devotion. We’re all circling the same truth, waiting for the right moment.
But I just can’t live another minute in a world where she doesn’t know how much I want her. How much I’ve always wanted her, even when I was too young and stupid to fight for it.
The words are clawing up my throat before I can stop them.
