I managed to rope her and Sarah into helping me set up a romantic dinner for us in my house. Everything had to be perfect, from the lighting to the food. Soft candles cast a warm glow in the room, illuminating the simple, rustic table set with dishes of finger foods.
The moment he walked in, I swear every doubt melted away. He looked around the room, a mix of surprise and hesitation playing on his face, before he met my eyes with a soft smile.
“All this for me?” he asked, his voice holding a note of disbelief, like he couldn’t quite imagine he deserved any of it.
I stepped closer, taking his hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Of course it’s for you,” I said, leading him to the table. “I missed you.”
His cheeks flushed just a little, and he nodded, his fingers brushing over the back of mine as we sat down to eat. I had to remind myself not to rush—to savor this, savor him.
My mate.
Those words felt right.
We ate slowly, sharing bites, and as the minutes slipped by, I asked him more about himself—things I’d always wanted to know but hadn’t had the chance to ask yet. He hesitated at first, and I could see it—that familiar guarded look, the kind of defensiveness that only comes from years of being hurt, of not knowing where you belong.
“I grew up in the foster system,” he finally said, his voice soft. “Bounced around a lot. Never really had a home, you know?” He glanced up at me, as if gauging my reaction, like maybe that would change how I saw him.
It didn’t. If anything, it made me want to pull him closer, wrap him in every bit of warmth I had to give, and promise him that he had one now.
“That sounds rough,” I said quietly, my gaze locked on his. “But it doesn’t make you any less perfect, you know. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”
He gave me a shy smile, but there was a sadness there too. “I don’t even know my family or where I came from. I’m just... some guy without a history.”
“No,” I said, reaching across the table to cup his cheek. “You’re notjustanything, Mylo. My family already loves you. You have them now. You have me.”
He closed his eyes for a second, leaning into my touch, and when he opened them, there was a shimmer of something there—something hopeful.
I knew I had to work on making him feel safe and convincing him he would never have to leave again, but I swore to myself it would happen. I wouldn’t stop until I erased every ounce of doubt he’d ever had about not belonging.
“How did you meet Noah?” I asked, wanting to know everything that had shaped this amazing man—the one the goddess, the fates, had somehow deemed me worthy of having.
Mylo smiled then, a real, genuine smile that lit up his eyes. “I met Noah in Charlotte. He was volunteering as a big brother, and even though I was technically too old for the program, he kind of just... picked me. Said I needed someone looking out for me, and he wasn’t wrong.”
“Sounds like Noah,” I said, smiling too. “He’s got a good heart.”
“He does,” Mylo agreed, his voice softening. “He’s the closest thing I’ve had to family. Until now, I guess.”
My heart clenched at that, and I reached for his hand again. “You’re not alone anymore, Mylo. Not ever.”
He held my gaze, like he was looking to see if I meant it, and I didn’t look away until he finally nodded. I knew saying the words once wouldn’t suddenly erase years of trauma, but I planned to spend the rest of my days proving it to him.
The rest of dinner passed in comfortable conversation, filled with laughter, shared stories, and those little touches that seemed to mean more than words. By the time we made our way to the hot tub, the world felt quieter, as if it was just the two of us, and nothing else mattered.
I settled in first, the warm water easing some of the tension I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying. Mylo followed, sinking into the bubbles with a sigh. He turned down the champagne I’d offered, shaking his head with a sheepish grin.
“I think I’ve learned my lesson after the bourbon tasting,” he said, his cheeks flushed, and I chuckled.
“Fair enough,” I said, setting the glass aside. If he wasn’t drinking, neither was I. Not tonight. Not when I needed to be clear-headed for what I had to say.
Or what Iwantedto say. Then again, liquid courage might’ve been the way to go.
“Although I had no problem with what you had to say while you were drunk.” I couldn’t help teasing him.
Mylo snorted. “Yay, bourbon then, I guess.”
I chuckled, but inside, I was all twisted up. I knew I was stalling. All the way back from Moonridge, I’d practiced what I needed to say. Over and over again, I’d repeated the words in my head like a mantra:“I’m a shifter. I’m a bear shifter.”It seemed easy enough when I wasn’t staring into those blue eyes. But now, sitting here, with Mylo so close, his leg brushing against mine under the water, it felt impossible.
The words seemed to be stuck in my throat.
