My brain shifts.
"The pasta," I say. My voice comes out rough.
"What else."
"The jam. The chocolate. The—" I pause. "The three things in the produce section."
"Four things."
"Four things."
She keeps her hand on my chest. Her palm is warm through my shirt. The growl has died back to a sound that isn't audible anymore. Behind us I'm dimly aware of the pack giving our party a considerably wider berth, which solves the proximity problem without requiring anything further from me.
"The cashier is waiting," Vee says.
I look at the cashier. Who is very professionally pretending that the last forty-five seconds didn't happen.
Malcolm steps forward and finishes the transaction. I keep my eyes on Vee and my hand over hers where it's still resting on my torso.
We make it to the car.
The ride home is easier than the ride there.
Malcolm and Finn have resumed their ice cream argument, now focused on who would have enjoyed black cherry more if they'd been allowed to keep it. The debate is pointless, loud and completely comfortable.
Vee is next to me again. She takes my hand the same way I took hers on the way there, fingers lacing through mine.
Then she turns and kisses me. Brief and warm, her hand coming up to my jaw. "You did so well," she says.
I look at her.
"I growled at strangers in a grocery store," I say.
"You growled and then you stopped." She holds my gaze. "That's the difference, Rhys. You stopped."
I think about that.
Outside the window the town gives way to trees again as the road narrows. The familiar turns that lead back to the cabin. Back to the place that has smelled like pack since the first day I arrived and put down every defense I had for five minutes and then picked them back up and told myself it was a temporary lowering.
It wasn't temporary.
Vee's hand is in mine. Her shoulder is warm against my arm. Malcolm and Finn have given up on the ice cream argument and started a new one about something equally inconsequential. Alex is driving with the expression of a man who is glad about how the day went.
Maybe this works, I think.
Maybe all the complicated geography between what we are and what we're allowed to be… maybe none of it matters as much as this. This car. This pack.
This omega with her hand in mine telling me that stopping is the difference.
As long as I have her, I think I can keep stopping.
As long as I have her.
Chapter 32
Vee
I wake up wanting to bake.
