Sera’s laugh is soft but real—the kind that lights her whole face.
“That actually sounds…amazing.”
“See?” Mac nudges her shoulder playfully. “We’ll make it a thing. While the guys are off to soundcheck, we’ll be here, pampering and judging movie love interests.”
Logan smirks from across the counter.
“Judging love interests, huh?”
Mac shoots him a look that could melt ice.
“Don’t worry, babe. You’d still be my top pick.”
Chace groans.
“I feel like a grossed out younger brother with all this lovey-dovey shit.”
Time slides by too easily after that. The afternoon fades into gold and soft laughter. Empty beer bottles line the counter, and the smell of pizza lingers in the air. When the clock hits five, the easy comfort turns to motion—jackets, guitar cases, road bags by the door.
Sera is in the doorway, framed by the amber light, barefoot and holding Klaus by his collar.
“You’re sure it won’t be too late?” she asks, looking between me and Logan.
“Won’t be,” Logan promises, slipping an arm around Mac. “Quick soundcheck, one run-through, then back here.”
I nod, grabbing my keys, then reach for Sera’s hand.
“You sure you’re okay?”
She smiles, soft and calm. “I’ve got Mac and the dogs. Security out here. We’ll be fine.”
My gaze drops to where Artemis is standing at her side, muscles tense, golden eyes alert.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “You will.”
Sera squeezes my hand once before letting go.
“Go do what you do best, Mr. Baker.”
Pretty sure that’s making you cross-eyed and screaming my name… but I suppose playing my guitar comes a close second.
I lean in, letting my lips brush hers, slow, teasing, letting the pressure linger just long enough to make her shiver. My hand slides to her waist, thumb grazing the curve of her hip.
“I’d argue this…right here,” I murmur against her mouth, voice low and rough, “is what I do best.”
Her breath hitches, eyes molten, as if daring me to prove it. I press a little closer, feeling the pull between us, then pull back just enough to let her want it more.
Her lips curve into a shaky smile.
“Go,” she whispers, but I catch the little tremor in her voice.
“Pooches. Make sure Momma and Macaroni are safe—remove balls and snatches first.” I say it matter-of-factly, like they’ll obey. Sometimes, these dogs make me feel like an occasionally accepted interloper in my own house.
I give my Dove one last lingering look, letting the air between us sizzle before I finally step back and turn toward the car.
Chapter thirty-six
Seraphina
