“Ray. Casey Ray Jackson.”
Lydia looked at him for a second, her lips pressed together so tightly that he knew she was trying to hold back a smile.
“I know,” Case said with a sigh. “It sounds like I should either be a country singer or a serial killer.”
She let herself dissolve into a little bit of laughter. “It does, and I don’t know why. They’re all ordinary names.”
“I think the country music part is because it’s Ray instead of Raymond, but—”
“But Casey Raymond Jackson doesn’t sound as good, somehow,” Lydia agreed, nodding. “And in your defense, if you say any man’s full name, he sounds like he should be a serial killer. Or a presidential assassin. But I like your name, Casey Ray. It rolls off the tongue.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “What about your parents?”
“Two moms. Jenny and Sarah. They live in Indianapolis.”
“I’d—” Lydia cut herself off. “I’d like to tell them they have a nice son.”
But that hadn’t been what she was going to say. Case was pretty sure she had come close to saying,I’d like to meet them, and she’d stopped herself. Because she thought better of it? Because they had the same fear of saying too much too quickly?
He did like to think about Lydia meeting his moms. They would like each other: Case’s parents had gone through their own share of tough times, and they’d always admired anyone as steady and focused as Lydia.
And they would like that he’d found someone, even if they obviously wouldn’t be wild about the fact that he’d gotten married without even telling them. He would have to do a lot of apologizing to make up for that one. Maybe Lydia would let him explain about how they’d been under the time pressure of an impending werewolf showdown.
They were both horror fans, too. They would probably be tickled pink that their son was now a werewolf, especially since he didn’t have the disadvantage of involuntary full-moon transformations and, well, killing people.
“They’d like you a lot,” Case said. He swallowed. “Maybe we could—”
There was a brisk, practiced knock at the door. “Room service!”
He bit back a sigh. Of course it would have to come at the most inconvenient time.
“I’ll get it,” he said, tugging on his shirt. “Lie back and let the rosemary come to you.”
He fetched their orders, and they wound up having their dinner in bed, curled up close to each other so they could occasionally take bites off each other’s plates. They both gave the edge to Lydia’s tenderloin when it came to the entrée, but Case’s rosemary and garlic potatoes were definitely the best side. Neither of them especially warmed to the rosemary gin fizz, but they happily split it anyway. He had it bad enough for her that he liked putting his lips to the rim of the same glass.
But the best part of their dinner had to be the dessert. Opening the bakery box was like raising the lid on a pirate’s treasure chest full of glittering gems.
“Oh,” Lydia said, her voice warm with appreciation. “I forgot exactly how much we got. Do you think we’ll even be able to eat all of this?”
“Probably not, but I’m willing to try. Of course, if you want to run away from a challenge, I’ll be happy to have your share.”
Lydia snatched up a pistachio macaron, grabbing it so firmly that her fingers sank into the delicate pastel green shell. “Don’t youdare.”
Case chose one of the tiny chocolate cupcakes and tilted it to her in a kind of toast. “Cheers.”
They slowly picked their way through the box, carefully respecting each other’s favorites, and unwinding their life stories for each other at the same time. He finally, to his relief, got an answer about what Lydia did for a living:
“It’s very boring,” she said sheepishly. “I do web design, mostly for small businesses. It pays okay and I can do it from home, but it’s not very exciting. It’s good to have something I can drop in and out of if I need to, though.”
Like if a massive asshole was threatening the future of her pack, for example. Case could see how it would be good to be your own boss in that kind of situation, especially since it would be hard to explain why you needed time off.
That meant his own job—or scattered assortment of jobs—would be a good fit too. His biggest construction commitments only tended to last a few weeks or months at most, and even then, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he had to leave in the middle of one. Site managers were used to dealing with occasional turnover, and in Case’s experience, they didn’t take it too personally. The non-construction jobs would be even easier to move around. And his writing, of course, happened almost entirely on his own schedule. He had publisher deadlines sometimes, but he’d never had any trouble meeting them.
He reallycouldsettle down here. His life would mesh well with Lydia’s, if that was really what she wanted. It had plenty of room for any duties he might have as her co-alpha.
He was starting to think he wanted that. Not just her—heknewhe wanted her, with all his heart—but everything that came with her, too. He wanted a life with her.
And maybe this was vain of him, but he felt like he couldaddsomething to her life, too. Right now, as important as everything in Lydia’s life was, it felt like it was all the same flavor, like the elegant and delicious dinner that had still been ninety percent rosemary. It was all responsibility, all severity and sacrifice.
He thought that today, he had done something to change that. Now she had a sexy, decidedly impractical dress and a pink bakery box that, despite their best efforts, was still half full of delicate macarons, beautifully folded hamantaschen, tiny gingerbread cupcakes, and more. At the start of the day, she hadn’t worn any jewelry, but now she had two rings she seemed to like. He was more than willing to give her major, serious things too, like all the help he possibly could—but she might need the smaller, sillier things even more. She needed color and adventure. Linzer cookies, not just rosemary tenderloin.
