Page 41 of Tender Wild

She might be his mate’s mom, but he didn’t like her cutting him off. Whatever Jared had to say was important to Miguel. Always.

“I’m Agnes.” She held out her hand, catching him off guard with her politeness. “And you are…?”

“Miguel.” Her skin was soft as he gently shook her flour-dusted hand.

“Well, Miguel. Come inside and enjoy a slice of lemon cake I baked just this morning.” She pushed open the screen door before stepping aside. “I can tell my son has something to confess. We might as well indulge in a sweet dessert while we listen.”

“Really, Mom?” Jared glanced at Miguel, but the “please help” look was lost on him. Miguel was just as wary. He felt like he was walking straight into a trap. Agnes was just a little too pleasant, which worried him.

Was she just luring him inside so the neighbors wouldn’t hear what she really had to say?

Miguel followed her through the house, the scent of lemon and sugar growing stronger with each step. The kitchen opened up like a sunbeam—wide windows letting in the morning light, sheer curtains fluttering gently from the breeze slipping through a cracked window above the sink. Pale yellow walls made the space feel warm, like the inside of a teacup, and every surface told a story—mismatched mugs drying by the sink, a hand-painted cookie jar shaped like a sunflower, and recipe cards tucked under magnets shaped like vegetables on the fridge.

A glass sliding door took up the far wall, offering a view of a large wooden patio where potted plants crowded together like gossiping old friends. Wind chimes danced above a porch swing. Miguel could picture Agnes out there with a cup of coffee, slippers on her feet and a book in her lap, the kind of peace that felt earned, not bought.

Agnes moved with practiced ease, brushing a hand along the counter like she was greeting an old friend. She tapped the back of one of the kitchen chairs and smiled—welcoming, but watchful.

Her kitchen was cozy, yes. But it was still her territory. And Miguel could feel the weight of being the unknown in it.

Miguel hadn’t even taken a step toward the chair when Jared blurted it out—voice quick, edged with nerves.

“We’re mates.”

The words dropped into the kitchen like a wrench into a blender.

Agnes stilled. Not dramatically—just… still. Her hands didn’t fidget. Her smile didn’t twitch. She just looked at her son for a long moment, then at Miguel, measuring something behind her calm.

Miguel moved. One step forward, quiet but solid, placing himself between Jared and whatever storm might follow. He wasn’t sure what would come next, but whatever it was, he’d face it.

Instead, Agnes smiled.

Slow. Warm. Twinkling at the edges like she’d just solved a mystery no one else knew existed. She turned back to the counter, lifted a slice of lemon cake onto a plate, and gently set it on the table. Then, without hesitation, she reached for Miguel’s hand and guided him toward the chair she’d tapped earlier.

He let her, curious to see where this was going.

She sat next to him, close but not crowding, chin resting on her hand as she leaned in with the ease of a woman who’d hosted a thousand kitchen table confessions.

“So,” she asked, voice light, “how did you two meet?”

Miguel just stared at her. He could still hear Suero’s voice in his ear, telling Miguel he was pinned down by hyenas, Kia and Jared with him. Suero had used code, but Miguel had understood him. But, none of it belonged in this sunny kitchen.

Maybe she intimidated him a little, with her knowing eyes and gentle voice.

But he was still a wolf.

He straightened in his seat, gaze steady. “Why are you being so nice to someone like me?”

Agnes tilted her head, brows pulling in the softest frown. “What do you mean, someone like you?”

Miguel gestured vaguely at himself—his scuffed leather, the thick scar that cut through the stubble on his cheek, the rings on his fingers that were more function than fashion. “I don’t exactly fit in around here.”

But Agnes still looked confused. Not offended. Not wary. Just genuinely puzzled, like he’d just told her the sky wasn’t blue.

It was Jared who chimed in, brows knitting as he glanced between them. “You mean… because you’re a biker? Or…?”

The way he said it, like the thought had never actually occurred to him, only added to the strange twist in Miguel’s gut.

And that’s when it started to click. Slowly. Like the gears in his brain were turning against sand. These two really didn’t see it. Not the jacket. Not the scars. Not the baggage. Not even the broke-down life he’d clawed through to get here.

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