He didn’t look away.
Neither did she.
The moment stretched. Theo was acutely aware of every point of contact between them—her hand in his, their knees pressed close beneath the tablecloth, the electricity humming beneath his skin. His instincts were prowling at the surface, wanting, barely contained.
She watched him with an intensity that stole his breath. Like she was trying to memorize his face. Like she was making up her mind.
“Dessert?” Bella materialized beside their table with truly terrible timing. “We have tiramisu. Very romantic. Good for—” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Theo’s voice was firm. “Check, please.”
They walked.
Theo had offered to drive, but Avine had looked at the harbor lights reflecting on the water and said, “It’s not far,” and they’d ended up here—walking along the waterfront with salt air filling the space between them and the distant sound of waves providing rhythm.
“Ward security,” he’d said when she’d raised an eyebrow. “I should walk you home. Make sure nothing’s compromised.”
“The wards we spent three days reinforcing.”
“You can never be too careful.”
She’d laughed, but she hadn’t argued. And when he’d reached for her hand—not offering his arm this time, taking her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world—she’d let him.
Her fingers fit perfectly between his. Her skin was cool from the evening air, but it heated quickly against his palm. He tried not to read too much into that.
They walked in easy silence, their shoulders brushing with every few steps. The harbor was quiet at this hour, fishing boats bobbing at their moorings. The moon hung low over the bay, painting a silver path across the waves.
Every sensation registered with startling clarity—the soft click of her shoes on the boardwalk, the way her perfume mixed with the sea breeze, the slight squeeze of her fingers when theypassed a particularly beautiful view. His instincts were calm for once, content simply to be near her.
Somewhere in the distance, a seagull called.
“Tell me something.” Avine broke the silence.
“About what?”
“You. Not the Alpha. Not the CEO. Just… you.”
Theo considered. People didn’t usually ask about him without the titles attached. He wasn’t sure anyone had, actually, except Beck.
“I make furniture,” he said finally. “Badly, but I make it. There’s a table in my workshop I’ve been working on for six months. At this point, I think I’ve sanded it into a cutting board.”
She laughed—that low, surprised sound that made something possessive stir in his chest. “What else?”
“I burn toast every single time. Without fail. Beck banned me from making breakfast at the brewery.” He paused. “The pack pups think I’m funny. I’m pretty sure they’re mocking me, but they’re too small to be sure.”
“Pups like people who pay attention to them. It’s not mockery. It’s approval.”
“That’s what Beck says. I’m choosing to remain skeptical.”
They’d reached the inn. The Siren’s Rest loomed against the darkening sky, windows glowing with spelled light, wards humming their quiet greeting. Theo felt an unexpected reluctance—disappointment, maybe, that the walk was over.
They stopped at the porch steps. Avine turned to face him, and suddenly they were very close, her hand still in his, her face tilted up toward him in the spill of light from the inn’s windows.
“This was supposed to be about schedules.” His voice had dropped, gone husky.
“Worst planning meeting I’ve ever had.” But she was smiling. “We didn’t discuss a single maintenance schedule.”
“Complete failure.”
