Page 38 of Pack Plus One

Leah gasps, wide eyes turning his way. Caleb smirks. “How did you—” She narrows her eyes. “YouGoogledme.”

Jude shrugs, unrepentant. “Had to know who we were getting into bed with. Literally.”

She takes a long sip of water, then sighs. “Fine. The judges deemed my chili chocolate cake ‘unnecessarily provocative.’”

I burst out laughing. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Right?” She grins. My heart melts. “The head judge was this stuffy old alpha who believed desserts should be ‘gentle on the palate.’ The coward couldn’t handle a little heat.”

The room goes silent. I know what we’re all thinking.

“We could handle your heat,” Jude says with a wink.

I toss a pillow at his head. “Behave.”

Leah laughs, but there’s a blush creeping up her neck that suggests Jude’s flirting is having an effect. “It was just cake,” she insists, though her smile says otherwise. “Though I did win three regional competitions with variations of that recipe before getting disqualified.”

“Impressive,” Mason says, and there’s genuine admiration in his tone.

“My turn,” Leah says quickly, clearly trying to change the subject. “Never have I ever... had someone recognize me from my business before I was ready to tell them who I was.”

None of us drinks, though Mason’s eyebrow rises slightly.

“That sounds specific,” Jude prompts, nudging her knee. “Story time?”

Leah bites her lip, suddenly looking almost shy. “I, um... I recognized your name. At the wedding.” Her confession comes out in a rush. “I didn’t want to make it weird, but I’ve been a fan of Le Roux for ages. I had your special release Belgian-style ale just a few weeks ago and my friend, Zoe, practically drank the entire bottle of your artisan wine.”

I feel my chest expand with unexpected pride. The Belgian wasmyrecipe. A labor of love that took nearly a year to perfect.

“No way,” Jude says, sitting up straighter. “You’ve had our stuff before?”

She nods, her cheeks coloring slightly. “Your stuff is incredible.”

Mason’s eyes have softened in a way I rarely see. Our reserved financial mastermind doesn’t often show how much the brewery’s success means to him.

“We worked on that Belgian for a long time,” I admit, unable to keep the pleased note from my voice. “Multiple test batches, countless adjustments.”

“It shows,” Leah says with a soft, genuine smile. “There’s this moment when you first taste it, where the malt and the spice notes just... blend perfectly. It’s like...” She gestures vaguely with her hands.

“Like everything clicks into place,” Caleb offers quietly from behind her.

Good thing she doesn’t turn around, because the look he’s giving her is downright possessive.

“Exactly.” She grins.

Another warm feeling unfolds in my chest watching her talk about our beer with such appreciation. She understands what we’ve poured into our work.

“Our stout was Caleb’s baby,” Mason reveals. “He nearly drove us insane perfecting the chocolate notes.”

“Oh! I think I’ve had that one, too!” Leah beams. “Sooo good!”

Caleb shrugs, but I can tell by the way his scent shifts that he’s pleased by her recognition.

“That stout got me through last winter when my heating broke down. Better than a blanket.”

“High praise,” I comment, watching as Caleb’s arm tightens just slightly around her waist.

“I’m surprised we haven’t seen you at the taproom,” Mason says.

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