Her scent hits me a second later, calmer than the last time I was here, but threaded with a faint nervous edge that my alpha locks onto immediately.
“Hey,” I say, slow and clear.
She lifts her gaze, eyes brightening the second she sees me. Her lips form the word back.
“Hi.”
I can see the tiny tremor in her hands, the way her shoulders drop a fraction when she realizes it’s just me on the porch.
I signHiback, then add, a little clumsy,you okay?
Her mouth twists. She tilts her hand so-so, the familiar omega honesty written all over her face.
“Come on.” I point toward the driveway, then signcomeas well, reinforcing the motion. “I want to show you something.”
She grabs her coat and bag and steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind her with a soft click. No wordstossed over her shoulder, no voice, just the glow of her phone lighting up her face as she types quickly with her thumbs.
I pull her to my side, her shoulder brushing against me. I catch a glimpse of what she typed.
Bayleigh: Lincoln’s here. We’re heading out.
My chest warms, a slow pulse of heat moving right through me. Not I’m going out. Not I’ll be back later. Lincoln’s here.
There’s a subtle claim in it, and my alpha reacts before I can temper it, my scent slipping warmer around us.
She tucks her phone into her coat pocket, cheeks faintly pink from the cold or from my proximity, and I wrap my arm tighter around her, guiding her gently down the steps.
“Ready?” I mouth, slow enough for her to read.
She nods, and just like that, the night feels right again.
The lake is twenty minutes outside of town, far enough that the air smells different; cleaner, colder, pine and water instead of exhaust and concrete.
By the time we get there, the sun has dropped low, all pink and gold bleeding into the water. The gravel crunches under the tires as I pull into the small overlook lot.
Bayleigh leans forward, eyes widening, lips parted in a soft little oh.
I kill the engine, turn to face her.
“You like it?” I ask slowly.
It’s beautiful. Thank you. Can we walk?She signs and speaks at the same time.
Her signs are fluid, certain. Mine are still rough. I mirror the last one back to her, a little crooked, and she laughs, shoulders shaking, eyes crinkling at the corners.
There it is. The thing I’ve been missing. The thing that makes this exile from her unbearable: that laugh.
We climb out and walk the narrow path down to the shoreline. The air bites pleasantly at my face. Our breath clouds faintly in the cooling air. She walks with her hands tucked into her sleeves, boots nudging little stones along the sand. Every now and then she glances up at me, like she’s checking that I’m still here, still real.
We don’t force conversation.
We don’t need to.
It’s just… easy.
She stops near the edge of the water, stares out at the reflection of the fading sky. The wind toys with the loose strands of hair around her face.
When she speaks, her voice is quiet.
