This kiss was slower than the ones in the library. Thorough. His mouth moved over hers with deliberate care, learning her, memorizing her. His palm cradled her jaw, tilting her head to deepen the angle. She felt it everywhere—in her racing pulse, in the warmth coiling through her, in the way her knees threatened to give out.
When he finally pulled back, neither of them moved away. He stayed close, nose brushing hers, his thumb tracing her lower lip with devastating tenderness.
“Lock your wards.” His voice was wrecked. “I’ll be here at eight.”
“Bossy.”
“You like it.”
She did. God help her, she did.
“Goodnight, Theo.”
“Goodnight, Avine.”
She went inside. Locked her wards. Leaned against the door with her fingers pressed to her still-tingling lips and smiled like an idiot.
Through the window, she watched Theo’s truck pull away. Tomorrow, they would confront Piprick. Tomorrow, they would deal with whatever complications arose. Tomorrow they would have the conversation he’d promised—about everything, about what they were becoming.
But tonight, standing in her kitchen with her lips swollen from his kisses and his jacket still wrapped around hershoulders, she let herself feel it. The hope. The wanting. The terrifying, exhilarating certainty that she was falling for this man—had maybe already fallen—and didn’t want to stop.
She pressed her hand to the window, watching the last traces of sunset fade.
Tomorrow.
THIRTY-THREE
THEO
He hadn’t slept.
Thinking. Avine had walked into his life—guarded, wounded, fierce—and he’d recognized himself in her. Two people who’d learned to be small to survive. Two people who’d forgotten they could be anything else.
She made him want to be big again. To take up space. To need.
He should probably be terrified. Instead, he felt the stirrings of hope—dangerous and unfamiliar and impossible to ignore.
His phone buzzed. Beck.
So. Good date?
Theo typed back:It wasn’t a date.
Another message:For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you. You deserve this. Even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.
Something in Theo’s chest unclenched. Beck had been his best friend for thirty years. Had watched him leave Haven Shores and come back broken in ways neither of them discussed. Had never once judged him for it.
He pocketed his phone without answering and grabbed his keys. It was time.
Avine was waitingon her porch when he pulled up.
She wore his jacket. Still. The sight hit him like a fist.
Morning light outlined her against the inn’s doorframe, her dark hair wound up in that practical twist he was learning to love. She looked rested. Alert. Ready for whatever came next. And when she saw him, her whole face changed—softening into an expression that was private and only for him.
His wolf pressed forward hard. Ours.
For once, Theo didn’t argue.
