“What’s your favorite food? Mine would have to be cheesy garlic chicken pasta.”
“Beef stew,” I answered easily. It was mostly veggies and a few potatoes thrown in with juicy meat. At Lockswell, there was a good rotation of food, and once a month there’d be at least one item that was brand new. Although, anything with potatoes were the best days.
Things with a lot of carbs weren’t offered often, which given how all Omegas had to keep our figure and weight limit, it made sense.
I remember Adrian mentioning that too. That stew’s not served often, is it?”
“Only on holidays,” I said. “Sometimes we’d get pie. Maybe a cookie if it was a major one.”
Vincent leaned back slightly, thoughtful. “Then let’s go to the store tomorrow. We’ll get what we need to make it ourselves. I’m not sure what all goes into it.”
“It’s simple,” I replied, the words slipping out before I could second-guess them. “Stew meat, pork works best, but it has to be cooked first. Potatoes, seasoning, and a mix of vegetables.”
I hesitated, then added, “It’s better with gravy. Thick enough to soak into the meat and potatoes. Makes it taste like it’s been simmering all day.”
He smiled. “Sounds delicious.”
Heat crept into my cheeks. I looked away, unsure why that worddeliciousfelt more intimate than it should.
Chapter 8
Vincent
Charles was... different.
High cheekbones, a frame so slight it looked like silence had shaped it, and that same timidity that clung to him like a second skin.
The few times his gaze brushed mine, I felt it like a ripple. There was fear in his pale eyes. Not panic. Not defiance. Just the kind that settled deep and stayed quiet. But beneath it, something flickered.
Something small. Fragile. The kind of softness that made me want to wrap him up and hold on until the world forgot how to hurt him
Trying to get him to open up was next to impossible. When I thought we had moved one step forward, he went two steps backwards instead.
After Charles had described the stew, he’d gone back to one or two word answers. It was as though he thought he’d given too much away or remembered his place.
What I wanted, other than conversation, was to see who he truly was. I wanted to know his thoughts and likes.
I understood now what Moore saw in Adrian.
For the longest time, I’d quietly envied him—his certainty, his devotion, the way he fell so fast for someone so seemingly simple. I’d thought he wasreckless. Naïve. But now, in less than twelve hours , I felt myself slipping.
Not into love. It wasn’t that. Not yet. But something was shifting. Something I couldn’t name.
Charles was likeable, the way most Omegas were trained to be. Soft-spoken, agreeable, molded to fit whatever shape an Alpha needed. I knew that. I’d seen it before. And maybe that’s why I felt the pull. Because he was familiar.
There was something else, too. Something in the way he didn’t quite fit the mold.
Something in the way he looked at the world like it might bruise him, but he’d still walk through it anyway.
I hadn’t meant to stare. I told myself I was observing, making sure the Omega was adjusting, settling in, following the rules. But somewhere between the silence and the way Charles tucked his hands in between his legs, I forgot to look away.
Charles wasn’t doing anything remarkable. Just sitting at the edge of the couch, posture careful, eyes lowered. But there was something in the way he breathed like each inhale was measured, rationed, as if comfort had to be earned in increments.
My gaze lingered long enough that when he shifted slightly, I felt it like a ripple. I looked away, jaw tightening.
It wasn’t attraction. Not exactly. It was recognition. Of restraint. Of silence. Of someone who’d learned to disappear without leaving the room.
I cleared my throat, stood, and crossed to the window, pretending to check the weather. But the image of Charles stayed with me.
