Carson clutches his chest dramatically. “G, let’s marry her. I’m already planning the honeymoon menu.”
“Keep talking,” Graham says, “and you’ll be eating leftovers off the fire escape.”
“You mean you’d risk having peaches sneak out?” Carson asks, shooting me a wink.
I laugh, and it feels good. Easy. I belong here, in this moment, with them.
CHAPTER 43
Graham
Willow standsfrom the table with a soft smile and a warm scent that makes my gut twist. Peaches and cream, light and sweet and happy—fuck, she’s happy.
Because of us.
Because of this.
I gather the plates automatically, stacking them neatly and carrying them to the sink. I need something to focus on. Something to do with my hands. The feeling rising in my chest is too big, too much, too dangerous.
I rinse a plate. Grab the sponge. Start scrubbing.
“Hey.” Her voice is closer than I expected. “You cooked. I’ll wash.”
I don’t look at her. “I’ve got it.”
“You don’t have to do everything, you know,” she says, teasing, bumping her hip against mine gently. “Alpha or not.”
I finally glance over, and regret it instantly.
She’s right there, still glowing from dinner, hair a little messy, cheeks flushed, her eyes soft and open. Too open.
I can smell her contentment. It’s radiating off her in waves. And it makes something claw atmy insides.
Because I want this. All of it. Again. And again. And again.
She reaches around me to grab a clean towel, brushing against my arm. Her shoulder presses into mine as she starts drying a plate, humming under her breath. It’s normal and domestic—a shared duty.
My jaw tightens. I scrub harder, rinsing the next plate.
“You’re quiet,” she says, glancing up at me.
“Thinking.”
She tilts her head. “About what?”
I hesitate. “How easy this feels.”
Her expression shifts slightly, the air tightening. “Is that…bad?”
“No.” I dry my hands, turning the water off. “But it makes me feel like I’m not in control.”
She blinks up at me. “And you need to be in control?”
I huff out a laugh, low and quiet. “Yeah. I do.”
It’s not something I admit often. Not even to Carson. But the truth is—I have to have control. It’s the only thing that’s ever made me feel safe. Because once, when I was too young to understand, all of it was ripped away from me. Parents gone. Home gone. Safety…gone.
What came after? Too many cruel homes to count. Kind ones that didn’t last. People who didn’t keep promises. The system breaking you piece by piece.
