I bite back a laugh, shaking my head. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you dressed like this.”
“Yeah?” he asks, his voice teasing. “What do you think?”
I glance at him, my cheeks warming before I can stop them. “You still clean up… well.”
His smile widens, and for a moment, the tension eases. “Don’t sound so surprised,” he says, holding the back of my chair as I sit down.
I look up at him, rolling my eyes. “I’ve always known you were attractive, but you don't have to dress up in a fancy suit to prove that.”
He takes the seat across from me, the candlelight catching the sharp angles of his jaw. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he says.
I shift in my seat, my pulse quickening under his gaze. I focus on the menu, anything to ground myself. But he doesn’t let the silence linger.
“Do you remember the first time we dressed up for something?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of something—nostalgia, maybe.
I glance at him over the edge of the menu. “Are you talking about prom?”
He shakes his head, his eyes locking on mine. “No. Before that. That fundraiser thing your mom made us all go to. You wore that green dress.”
My heart stumbles, the memory crashing over me. I remember that night vividly—the awkwardness of getting all dressed up, the way we’d all fumbled through it together, and the way West and the other guys had looked at me like I was the only person in the room. It was whenwewere all new and trying to figure out what I was to all of them—before we knew we were scent matches.
“I remember,” I say quietly, my fingers brushing the edge of the tablecloth as the memory lingers.
“You were nervous,” he continues, his smile growing fond. “You kept fidgeting with your bracelet.”
I laugh lightly, shaking my head. “And you kept stepping on my feet during the slow dance.”
“I did not,” he protests, though the grin tugging at his lips betrays him.
“You were terrible,” I counter, but my voice softens.
The playful moment shifts as his smile fades, replaced by something more serious. His lips press together, his gaze dropping briefly before he looks back at me. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice heavier now.
The sudden shift in tone makes my stomach dip. “For what?”
He swallows hard, his fingers brushing over the edge of his menu. “For that night,” he says, lifting his eyes to mine, the weight of his words settling heavy in the air. “At Wisteria.”
My stomach twists.
“I handled it badly,” he continues, his voice rough with regret. “Seeing you again after all those years… I was jealous and drunk, and instead of just talking to you like a normal person, I—” he breaks off, his jaw tightening as he swallows hard, “I treated you like?—”
My heart races, the memory playing out in my mind like it’s happening all over again. His touch, his growl, the way my body betrayed me—and then his words, slicing through my heart.
“I don’t give my knot to cheaters,” he’d said. Leaving me panting on the fucking sink like an omega in heat.
“You didn’t give me a chance to explain,” I say now, my voice barely above a whisper.
He flinches slightly, but he doesn’t look away. “I know,” he says. “And I’m sorry for that too. I should’ve asked instead of assuming. I was drunk and… angry.”
“At what?” I ask, my throat tightening. “At me?”
“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “At myself. At how much I still wanted you after all that time. At the thought that maybe I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. And instead of dealing with it, I took it out on you.”
His honesty leaves me speechless, my heart caught between hurt and something else—something dangerously close to hope.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I’m sure you feel used,” he says, his voice steady but quieter now. “But I needed you to know I’m sorry. I’ve been sorry since that night.”
I stare at him, absorbing his words. Part of me wants to hold onto the anger, the hurt, but another part—the part that remembers the way he kissed me in the rain, the way he held me like I was his whole world when we were kids—wants to let it go.
