“I love you.”
For all the affection in her gaze and touch, I can’t bring myself to risk the moment by asking for the only thing that would make this more perfect—and more permanent. My teeth ache to mark her, bind her, change her scent so every other alpha knows she’s tied to me.
Yet the request remains unspoken.
Chapter 33
Waiting Too Long
NATHAN
For the first time in nearly a year, I walk up the steps to Johanna’s home in real life. I’ve done this so many times in my head, but never returned in person for fear my alpha would prompt me to stop by and ruin my carefully laid plans. That, and the fact that regularly walking by Johanna and Max’s house—and, as I’m now aware, Corin’s—without a good reason for doing so falls perilously close to stalker territory. Better to keep my distance, sanity, and reputation for good behavior.
At last, I’m really here. Although I arrive around midday, instead of early evening, as before, for Max’s last heat, the weather is very similar: gray and overcast. A chill wind off the lake carries the hint of rain or snow. The same fedora keeps my head warm. A trench coat covers my usual Friday attire: casual button-down shirt and slacks held up by a narrow belt. My shoes thud against the same porch steps. Last time I wore boots, and I may regret not having done so this today when it’s time to leave.
The doorbell rings, barely audible from outside, as before.
Johanna answers, as she did the day Max’s heat started. Last time, a blue kaftan floated loose around her curves; today shewears jeans and a pink sweater with a straight neckline that slides to the side, revealing a matching pink bra strap.
Of all things, she has bunny slippers on her feet. The soles squeak against the wood floor as she opens the door wide, a shy smile lighting her face
She takes my hat and coat, giving me time to take a good look and sniff around. I don’t remember the first floor well, just the layered aromas of long-term occupancy by alphas and omegas, at least two of each. That’s changed.
None of Max’s orange-and-rum perfume remains—an absence that tugs at my heart—only traces of lilac I recognize as belonging to Corin’s daughter, Anamaria, from the meeting earlier in the week. Having met Corin, it’s easy to place the mix of cedar and cider, wood and apples, as one alpha, rather than two. The balsamic-vinegar alpha scent is much fainter, perhaps another of his children.
Then, there’s the lovely layer of Johanna’s cranberry, less pungent than the others, but more powerful because she’s here beside me.
She leads me down a hall to the kitchen. It’s unremarkable, not much different from mine except for having more stuff in it. It’s light and cheery, with yellows and greens and oranges. A pot of thick vegetable soup bubbles on the stove, and a hint of warm bread lingers in the air.
“I understand from Corin you prefer not to pick entrées for other people, so I hope you don’t mind that I picked for us.” Johanna stirs the soup with a long wooden ladle. “I’m not much of a cook, but I’m a dab hand at warming up soup and bread.”
“I don’t mind at all.” If anything, a warm sensation blooms in my chest that he remembered and passed the information along, and that she, in turn, heeded it. “Smells good.”
We go through the usual array of what to drink and both end up with glasses of water, which she hands me to take to thedining room. A modest brass-and-glass chandelier hangs over the long table, offering dimmer light than the kitchen. Placemats indicate where we’ll sit: one at the very end, and the other to its right. Each boasts a spoon and napkin, but is otherwise bare.
I offer to help, but she demurs, leaving me to watch the graceful dance of her dishing up the soup and bringing large, half-full bowls to the table followed by slices of warm brown bread from the oven, complete with a plate of butter to slather over them.
Johanna takes the chair at the end of the table and gestures for me to sit next to her, which I do but angle my chair so that I can watch her as I eat.
Her cheeks blush pink, a shade darker than her shirt and bra.
The soup and bread are both good, and I’m hungry, but my alpha is more bent on drinking in the sight of her here, alone, with me. For all that I wield spoon and handle bread without dropping or spilling, my gaze rarely leaves her.
With a shrug, she sets her spoon down. “This is weird.” She covers her mouth as a nervous laugh escapes her.
“Why?”
“I never thought I’d see you again after that last heat, much less here.” Her hands turn outward, gesturing at the house.
“Truly?” My fingers clench on my spoon, and I set it in the bowl carefully. “I told you I’d see you again. Somehow.”
“I thought you were just saying that to be polite.”
Hadn’t she realized? Sudden doubts stun me, worries bubbling up that she doesn’t want this possibility of a pack including me. My alpha, however, refuses to acknowledge any concerns. He brings back the memory of her coming to me the other day and crying in my arms.
My rational mind isn’t as confident.
“I meant every word,” I say.
