I was skeptical to say the least, as was Hawthorne, but Leo was hopeful, so we tried it. We downloaded it, and after completing a profile, it sat idle, saying, ‘waiting for match’ for months.
But it had apparently found one. I still felt skeptical. I’d never heard of technology infused with magic outside of very few medicines. It felt like a scam. But when Leo opened the notification and the profile popped up, I almost swallowed my tongue.
There was a photo of the hottest woman I’d ever seen. She had long, dark, strawberry-blonde hair and deep almost golden eyes. Her body was curvy, and she wore a white blazer with tanned pants that hugged her in just the right way. She didn’t have any other photos, but the one was enough. I wouldn’t be able toknowshe was my mate until we met, but I sure hoped she was.
I pressed against Leo’s back, my now-hard cock digging into him. He leaned back, rubbing against me.
“You think she’s hot?” I asked him, trailing my nose up the side of his neck.
He growled low, the sound going straight to my cock. “Do you think she’s really ours?” he asked.
I looked at her. “I don’t know, but I hope so.”
“Hope what?” Hawthorne's deep baritone asked from the mudroom.
We exchanged a glance, unsure of what to tell him. Though he hadn’t been against the app, he had been the most uninterested, insisting we were fine how we were.
“We, uh,” Leo started.
Hawthorne brought the wood to the stove before joining us back in the kitchen. His hair was wind-blown, and he smelled of fresh-cut wood.
“You what?” he asked, brows drawn in confusion.
Leo didn’t say anything, he just turned the phone.
Hawthorne took it, confused at first until understanding seemed to dawn on him. His face didn’t change, no signs of interest or disgust.
“Do you think it’s true?” he asked, handing the phone back.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Maybe we can talk to her a bit and see where it goes.”
“I like that idea,” Leo said in a sultry tone.
Hawthorne landed a hard smack on his ass, making him yelp. “I’m sure you would,” he said. “Fine. I’ll agree to that.”
I smiled. “So, what do we say first?”
CHAPTER THREE
HARPER
Iraced from my last showing to my parent’s house. I knew I would be a bit late picking Ari up, but it was almost nine, and I’d never hear the end of it from my mother. She was constantly on me for not being there for Aria enough. That children needed their mothers.
I understood where she was coming from, but things were different. I was raised in a perfect family. The full three kids and a white picket fence. They got married, got careers, bought a house, and had kids. Though I would always be grateful for the upbringing I had, houses were cheaper then, and my mom didn’t have to do everything on her own. While I knew quality time was important, I couldn’t give as much as I wanted to, and my mother always reminded me of that.
I whipped out of my car and ran up the porch steps, hearing them creak under my weight. These stairs had creaked since I was a child, and I worried that one day, they would break under my feet. I walked in quietly, and like always, it felt like stepping back in time. My parents hadn't updated the house since I lived here. The same blue floral wallpaper covered the living space with the same worn old tan couch and recliner. Photos lined thewalls of me and all my siblings through the years. My oldest sister had a husband and was pregnant, and my older brother was working some tech job in the city. I was the only fuck up who did everything out of order, though it did make me smile to see Aria’s photos line the walls. As much as my parents didn’t understand my choices, they did love their granddaughter.
“There you are,” my mom said as she came from the kitchen. “I called you an hour ago.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” I said, leaning against the wall. “I had to finish up a last-minute showing.” I’d been trying to sell this house for months and these were the first interested buyers.
“You need to make more time for her,” she said. “Or someone does.”
I sighed. I didn’t need to have this argument, one we’d had many times before. “I’ll work on it,” I said, trying to please her.
“I’m serious,” she continued. “Children need their mothers.”
“They need other things too,” I snapped, “like food and a house.”
