“What the fuck?” I squeak, sorting through the quickening still hammering through my system from our altercation. “What alternate world have I walked into where people use their goddamn kids to send a message? Don’t the O’Connors own these streets?”
I get one of Tynan’s quiet nods in agreement. He reaches down behind him, picking up a paper bag and slinging it over his wrist so he can lift a tray of takeout drinks.
“I got a couple of options. Wasn’t sure what you’d feel like.”
He talks like we’ve been doing cozy breakfast catch-ups for a hundred years or so, but instead of leading me inside, he turns us and we start walking in the completely wrong direction.
“Tynan, where are we going?”
He turns slightly, but his eyes are assessing the street until he finds what he wants. Diverting us towards a group of homeless people, he lets my hand go and squats in front of them, talking softly but friendly too. It’s pretty obvious by their interaction he’s done this before. He passes over the bag, plus the tray of drinks, laughing and shaking hands with the group.
I’m so confused, all I can do is stare.
Even when he comes back to me, grabs my hand in his again, and starts walking across the street, I still don’t know what’s going on.
“Tynan,” I huff impatiently.
“We’re going out for something to eat, that’s what we’re doing, firecracker. It’s not like we can go up to the apartment now. It’d look like we were hiding. I won’t disrespect you like that.”
“You’re not making sense,” I argue as we keep walking down the road.
I know he’s got a small smile on his face—I can feel it—but he doesn’t talk again until we reach where he wanted to bring me.
I shake out of his hand and press my nose against the glass, trying to take in the window display. “A French patisserie?! Are you kidding me right now?”
“Baked fresh every day, using all French produce. Miam is Rafferty’s favorite breakfast place. Apparently, the pain au chocolat is… ahhhmazing.” He doesn’t sound like himself when he saysamazing. I’m sure it’s a perfect mimic of his twin because Tynan doesn't miss a thing. As is the small smile when he speaks again. “I’m ordering for you.”
“No,” I gasp, but he ignores my protest and uses his hands on my waist to push me inside.
And then I realize why. The window display is nothing to the inside of the café. The smell past the doors is heavenly, making my mouth water, but also the scent appeals on a different level, speaking to my Omega side. The atmosphere is the same, appealing to my senses and my designation. There’s nothing but happiness and good vibes in here. The contrast between the baby Alpha smackdown out on the street and standing in the café is as different as Tynan is from Keegan.
Even though we’re not in any danger, Tynan doesn’t remove his hands from my body as we wait. We’re next to be served, and as soon as the other person leaves, a stunning woman—and, seriously, she’s the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen—turns to face us. Her smile lights up, and she reaches for Tynan’s hand as soon as she sees him.
Fuck me, I thought I’d suffered enough surprises today, but apparently not.
In the space of one heartbeat and the next, from literally out of nowhere, I bare my teeth and hiss like an angry big cat in warning.
And then I realize in horror what I did and reach for her hand before she has the chance to lose any of her glowing energy. “I am so sorry. I did not mean to do that at all.”
Tynan isn’t as polite as I am; he ignores her and turns me to face him. “You just hissed at her for looking at me.”
“I know,” I whisper back, mortified.
A smug smile on nearly perfect mouth steals my focus, and I realize he was talking to me. “What?”
He leans close, his mouth a hairsbreadth from my face until he’s at my ear. “I said, you getting territorial makes me nearly lose control.”
I gasp but start laughing. “Nearly?”
Then he turns back to the woman, that goddamn smile still on his face, his words still echoing in my ears. “Eloise, this is Tally O’Connor. My wife. Our wife.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
TYNAN
Tally’s eyes are breathtaking. The colors change constantly to the most stunning shades of green to match her emotions or moods. It’s what I see in them that has me unable to look away.
And when she gets that sparkle of defiance in them, I absolutely pant for her. Quietly. Because I don’t want to freak her the fuck out, any more than what she must be feeling after being thrown so deeply, and quickly, into our world.
