He doesn't argue. Doesn't deny it. Just keeps his eyes on the road with that deliberately neutral expression that tells me everything I need to know.
I laugh, delighted. "I'm right on, aren't I?"
"Whatever," he huffs, but the corner of his mouth twitches in that way it does when he's trying not to smile.
He is absolutely competing with Elias. Which is adorable. Which is also very Alpha behavior. Which I should probably find annoying but instead find endlessly entertaining.
I giggle at his non-denial denial, settling back into the heated leather seat and watching the forest blur past my window. The Jeep smells like pine air freshener and something distinctly Tank—that cedar and sandalwood scent that clings to everything he owns, mixed with the sharper notes of cold metal and gunpowder that never quite wash off his skin no matter how many showers he takes.
Military. Through and through. Even when he's planning romantic surprises, he probably approached it like atactical operation. Mission: Impress Omega. Objective: Beat packmates to the punch.
The thought makes me smile.
"I don't have a change of clothes," I point out as the road takes another sharp turn, pulling us deeper into the wilderness. "If this surprise involves hiking or camping or anything that isn't sitting very still in climate-controlled comfort, I'm severely underdressed."
Tank huffs again—that sound is becoming familiar, the verbal equivalent of an eye roll from a man who's too stoic to actually roll his eyes. "You don't need clothes."
Oh?
But before I can respond to that extremely suggestive statement, the Jeep breaks through the tree line and suddenly I see it: a cabin. A genuine log cabin nestled in a clearing, surrounded by snow-covered pines and backed by a view of the mountains that looks like it belongs on a postcard. Smoke curls lazily from a stone chimney, suggesting someone has already been here to prepare.
Oh my god.
"Is this yours?" I breathe, pressing my face against the window like a child seeing snow for the first time.
"Yeah." Tank pulls the Jeep up next to the cabin and cuts the engine. The sudden silence is almost startling after the rumble of the vehicle. "Bought it a few years back. Needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere away from..." He trails off, shrugging those massive shoulders. "Everything."
Somewhere to decompress. Somewhere to escape from whatever demons chase him. Somewhere that feels safe when the rest of the world feels like a war zone. I understand that need more than I could ever explain—the desperate desire for a place that's just yours, where no one can reach you, where you can finally breathe.
I don't say any of that out loud. I just nod, understanding more than he probably realizes.
Tank helps me out of the Jeep—his hand warm and steady against the small of my back as I step down into the crunchy snow. The cold air bites at my cheeks immediately, but it's a clean cold, a fresh cold. Nothing like the bitter chill of city streets in winter—then moves to the rear to pop the trunk. And that's when I see it: a packed overnight bag, neatly organized in that precise way that screams military efficiency.
"Elias helped me with this part," he admits, pulling the bag out and slinging it over his shoulder. "I'll give him brownie points for that."
I squeal—actually squeal, which is embarrassing but also completely justified—and peek inside the bag. Everything is packed perfectly. Warm layers. Cozy socks. A toiletry bag with my preferred brands. And?—
"There's even underwear!" I exclaim, holding up a pair of my favorite lace panties with genuine delight.
Tank rolls his eyes. "You don't need it."
I laugh, clutching the underwear protectively to my chest. "You better not shred these. They're from a small business and hand-tailored for my pussy, so no."
He stops walking. Actually stops, mid-stride, and turns to look at me with an expression of pure confusion. "That has to be bullshit. How is underwear hand-tailored to one pussycat?"
I smirk, enjoying his bewilderment far too much. "It's a whole process. Very exclusive."
His eyebrow arches skeptically. "Don't tell me a woman actually measured your... pusspuss... to make them the exact size."
Pusspuss. He said pusspuss. This massive, intimidating, ex-military Alpha just said the word pusspuss with a completelystraight face. I need to remember this moment forever. I need to tell Elias immediately so he can never let Tank live it down.
I shrug mysteriously. "Some feminine secrets must remain amidst the chaos."
Tank grumbles something under his breath that sounds like "this woman's logic is maddening" before turning back toward the cabin, and I can't help the giggle that escapes me. I bounce along behind him, my boots crunching in the snow, excitement bubbling up in my chest like champagne.
A cabin. A surprise cabin trip. With Tank. Just the two of us. In the middle of nowhere with nothing but forest and mountains and stars.
When was the last time someone planned something like this for me? When was the last time an Alpha thought about what I might enjoy and then actually made it happen? The answer is never. The answer is absolutely, devastatingly never. My ex-pack never planned surprises. They barely planned conversations. Everything was scheduled, transactional, emptied of any genuine sentiment.
