“I know. But it's good.” I took another bite. “Do you do this for everyone? Feed them until they promise to stay?”
Something flickered across his face. “No. Just you.”
We ate in comfortable silence, the kind that felt earned instead of awkward, and I let myself have this moment of normalcy before the world came crashing back in with all its complications.
“Good morning,” a voice said from the doorway, smooth and pleasant in a way that made my skin prickle. “I didn't realize we were having breakfast together.”
I looked up to find Rafe leaning against the doorframe, hair damp from a shower, wearing clothes I recognized as borrowed pack gear. He took in the scene with those too-clever amber eyes, and his smile was careful. Neutral.
But not quite reaching his eyes.
The temperature in the room shifted. Not dramatically, but enough that I noticed.
Daniel's posture changed, shoulders squaring slightly, and when he spoke his voice had gone flat. “Morning, Rafe.”
“Morning.” Rafe's gaze moved between us, and I watched him catalog the scene. Me at Daniel's table. The marks on my neck. The easy intimacy of shared breakfast. “I hope I'm not interrupting. Just came down for coffee before patrol.”
“Help yourself,” Daniel said, but something in his tone suggested he'd rather Rafe didn't.
Rafe moved into the kitchen with that fluid grace of his, poured himself coffee from the pot on the counter. The silence stretched, awkward in a way it hadn't been before he'd arrived.
“Well,” Rafe said, draining his mug in two swallows. “I'll leave you to it. Wouldn't want to be a third wheel.”
He set his mug in the sink and headed for the door. Paused at the threshold.
“Michael, good to see you again. Daniel.” A nod, nothing more, and then he was gone.
The kitchen felt lighter the moment he left.
I looked at Daniel, found him staring at the door with an expression I couldn't quite read. Tension, yes. But underneath it, something that looked almost like guilt.
“What was that about?” I asked.
Daniel's jaw tightened. “Nothing.”
“That wasn't nothing. He could barely look at you, and you looked like you wanted to throw something at his head.”
For a long moment, Daniel didn't answer. He picked up his coffee, set it down, picked it up again. Fidgeting in a way I'd never seen from him before.
“Something happened,” he said finally. “At the mill. A few days ago.”
“What kind of something?”
“Rafe misread a situation and I had to shut it down.” Daniel's voice was flat. Careful. “He made an advance. I rejected it. Firmly. He apologized, asked me to keep it between us so the pack wouldn't have another reason to distrust him.”
The words landed like stones in still water. I set down my fork, processing.
“He made a move on you.”
“Yes.”
“And you turned him down.”
“Yes.” Daniel finally met my eyes, and I saw worry there. Worry that I'd be angry, or jealous, or that this would somehow change what we'd built. “Nothing happened, Michael. He tried, I said no, he backed off. That's all.”
“Did he back off? Because that little display just now didn't look like someone who's moved on.”
“He's embarrassed. Probably feels awkward seeing us together after I made it clear I wasn't interested.” Daniel ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I should have told you sooner. I just didn't want to make things more complicated than they already are.”
