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I set them carefully on the cooling rack and leaned close enough to inspect the center.

Hudson walked into the kitchen, a folding chair beneath each arm. “You’re hovering.”

“Perfection deserves attention.”

He placed the chairs near the back door. “Grandpa Alfonse will cut into one of those before dinner. You know that, right?”

I huffed. “He knows better.”

“He absolutely does not.”

“That’s why you are going to guard them.”

Hudson looked from me to the pies. “I’m hosting twenty-seven people.”

“Twenty-nine.”

His brow furrowed. “Who did I forget?”

“Missy, Daniel, and Owen.”

“That would make thirty.”

“Owen isn’t one yet. His contribution to dinner will be throwing food and attracting Grandma Ruth.”

Hudson reached for the pie. I slapped his hand away.

“I was checking the crust.”

“You were stealing a pecan.”

“That too.” Hudson slid an arm around my waist and kissed my temple. “You become authoritarian around baked goods. I like it.” He kissed me again before releasing me.

The kitchen still carried traces of the previous owners. Cream-colored cabinets lined the walls, and the hardware had been shaped into tiny leaves by someone who believed kitchen storage should have a woodland theme. The counters were dark butcher block, scarred in places from decades of use, and a deep farmhouse sink sat beneath a wide window overlooking the backyard.

I loved the house.

An older couple from the pack had decided to retire to the coast and sold it to Hudson before offering it up to other pack members. The property sat less than five minutes from his mom’s house, close enough for family emergencies and far enough that no one could enter through a shared door at six in the morning to ask about an outlet.

The cottage was farther up the mountain than most of the other homes. Tall trees crowded the edge of the yard, and ivy climbed one side of the pale stone chimney. The exterior had been painted a soft gray-green with white trim, and a deep front porch wrapped around one corner. Someone had added window boxes beneath the front windows, though Hudson still had to decide what to plant in them.

I had suggested herbs.

Trevor had suggested carnivorous plants.

Grandma Ruth suggested petunias, then arrived the next day with six trays and removed the need for discussion.

Inside, the cottage held two bedrooms, an office, and a living room centered around a fieldstone fireplace. The original wood floors creaked in certain places, though Hudson had already marked the boards for repair on a to-do list that lived on the refrigerator.

The list also included gutter guards, exterior staining, attic insulation, and replacing the downstairs bathroom faucet.

I had added: ENJOY HAVING A HOUSE. He checked it off the same day.

Visiting had become my favorite escape. Staying overnight was even better.

At my apartment, traffic was a constant at all hours. Neighbors argued through thin walls. Sirens crossed the city several times a night, and someone in the building owned a dog who considered every closing door an attack on national security.

Hudson’s house offered trees, wind, and the occasional owl hooting its heart out. The quiet had unsettled me during my first night there. I kept waking because nothing was happening. Now I slept better in his bed than I did in my own. Now, half my toiletries lived in his bathroom.