Korbin’s in the kitchen, elbows braced on the counter while the coffeemaker sputters and hisses. The machine sounds like it’s fighting for its life, and he’s glaring at it like he’ll square up with it if it loses the battle. His shoulders are tense, muscles shifting under a tight long-sleeve shirt, and he keeps rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when he’s thinking too hard.
By the fridge, Milton is a completely different story. He’s humming. Off-key, wandering notes that have the same energy as someone skipping. He pulls out a container, sniffs it, grins like a fool, and sets it back with the confidence of a man who got exactly what he wanted last night and hasn’t stopped replaying every second of it.
His citrus scent is thick and sweet, practically glowing around him. He radiates satisfaction so hard it’s almost a smell. I don’t need him to talk. His body is telling the whole story already. The way he moves lighter. The way his eyes keep drifting toward the door like he’s waiting for someone to step through it.
Like he’s waiting for her.
I lean against the wall, watching them for a moment. Watching the way the house shifts around their moods. Korbin’s tension. Milton’s afterglow. The space between them charged in a way that doesn’t feel like friendship anymore. It feels like a pack waiting on its missing piece.
It feels like all of us are orbiting the same center.
Bayleigh.
And the pull in my chest doesn’t let up. It intensifies.
I need to see her.
I step forward and reach for my phone. My thumbs hover over the screen for half a second before instinct takes over.
Me: You awake?
The message is sent, and I wait. It shouldn’t make me nervous, but it does. Something in me needs to know she still wants this. Needs to know last night didn’t scare her off or make her think she crossed some line.
The screen lights up before I can spiral.
Bayleigh: Yes. Are you okay?
Relief hits so fast it knocks the air out of me.
Me: Come over.
There’s a long beat. Not minutes, but long enough that I feel every second of it.
Bayleigh: On my way. Bringing coffee.
I stare at the screen for a few breaths, letting the tension uncoil from my spine. When I look up, Milton and Korbin are both watching me. Milton looks like he already knows what the text said. Korbin looks like he wishes he didn’t.
“You good?” Milton asks, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“She’s coming over,” I say.
Milton’s grin only grows, spreading with that warm, satisfied confidence he carries so easily, while beside him Korbin’s jaw tightens with something that reads not as irritation but as anticipation edged with hope, his restraint stretched tight enough that I can practically feel it vibrating off him.
I don’t bother answering anything else. I walk away before either of them can ask another question.
I go to the front door and crack it open, letting the cold air drift inside. It wakes me up instantly. Clears the fog in my head. Makes the instinct humming under my ribs tighten into something warm and sharp.
A car pulls into the driveway a few minutes later. My body reacts before my mind can catch up. I step out onto the porch and watch her climb out, coffee holder balanced in one hand, a white bakery bag tucked under her arm. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, hair pulled back in a messy knot, sweater sleeves pushed over her knuckles.
She looks soft and shy, like she’s wondering if last night’s date changed anything. It did, just in the best way possible.
She steps closer, and her scent hits me first. Sweet mint and warm green tea. A satisfied omega scent that tells me exactly how much Milton gave her. Instead of jealousy, something proud rises in me. This is how it should be. This is how a pack smells. I want mine layered in there too.
“Hi,” she says, quiet and unsure.
I take the coffees from her so she doesn’t drop them and set them on the ground for a moment. Then I reach up and cup her face in both hands. Her skin heats under my palms as her eyes widen.
I tilt her chin so she is forced to look at me, to read my lips.
