Page 21 of Love, Clumsily
“Well, why didn’t you lead with that?” I teased. Evelyn Holloway’s cinnamon rolls were legendary—enormous, gooey, and somehow still warm hours after baking, as if by magic. (I wasn’t entirely convinced there wasn’t actual magic involved, given that I was dating a werewolf.)
We arrived at Riley’s cabin to find several vehicles already parked in the clearing outside. Her place was smaller than the main pack house but still impressively sized, with a wraparound porch and large windows overlooking a small stream.
Mason parked beside his father’s truck and cut the engine. Before I could even unbuckle my seatbelt, the front door of the cabin burst open, and Riley bounded out, looking far too energetic for this hour of the morning.
“Finally!” she called as we climbed out of the truck. “We were about to start without you.”
“No, you weren’t,” Mason replied, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we approached. “Dad wouldn’t let you.”
Riley rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. “Whatever. You’re late.”
“We’re exactly on time,” I pointed out, checking my watch. “Nine o’clock, just like you said.”
“Pack time runs five minutes early,” she informed me with a grin. “Something you should know by now, human.”
I’d learned that “human” was both a descriptor and a mild tease when Riley used it, her way of acknowledging my outsider status while simultaneously including me.
Inside, the cabin was warm and fragrant with the smell of coffee, cinnamon, and the distinctive scent of multiple werewolves in one space—something I’d come to recognize as a blend of earth, forest, and a musky undertone that wasn’t unpleasant, just… different.
The main living area was filled with pack members lounging on couches and chairs, some sitting on the floor, all with coffee mugs or plates of breakfast foods. Robert and Evelyn sat together on a loveseat, while Alex and Tara occupied an armchair, Tara perched on Alex’s lap despite there being plenty of other seating available. Physical closeness, I’d learned, was as natural as breathing to werewolves.
“The stragglers have arrived,” Riley announced, flopping down beside Jess on one of the couches.
“Right on time,” Robert corrected, giving Mason and me a nod of greeting. “Grab some food and find a seat.”
We made our way to the kitchen, where a spread of breakfast foods covered the island—Evelyn’s famous cinnamon rolls, of course, plus eggs, bacon, fruit, and a pot of coffee large enough to serve a small army.
“Good morning, you two,” Evelyn said warmly, appearing beside us. She pulled me into a quick hug, and I caught her subtle inhale—scenting me, a habit I’d gotten used to. “Did you sleep well?”
The knowing look in her eyes suggested she was well aware that sleep had not been our primary activity last night. Living with werewolves meant accepting a certain lack of privacy, especially regarding anything that left a scent. And sex, apparently, left quite a distinctive one.
“Very well, thank you,” I replied, feeling my cheeks warm slightly.
Mason, immune to embarrassment on this front, just grinned and loaded a plate with food. “These look amazing, Mom.”
“Save some for everyone else,” she chided, though she looked pleased at his enthusiasm.
We filled our plates and found spaces in the living room—Mason on the floor, leaning against the wall, and me beside him, our shoulders touching. It was a casual arrangement that looked random but actually followed subtle pack hierarchies I was still learning to recognize.
Robert, as the alpha, had the most comfortable seat with the best view of everyone. Riley, as his daughter and a high-ranking pack member, had claimed a prime couch spot. Mason, as the alpha’s son but someone who preferred to observe rather than lead, positioned himself where he could see everyone but wasn’t in the center of attention.
Once everyone was settled, Robert cleared his throat, and the casual conversations died down. “Alright, let’s get started. The usual format—updates, concerns, celebrations. Who wants to go first?”
Alex raised his hand. “Tara and I have news,” he said, smiling at his wife. “We’re expecting. The doctor confirmed it yesterday.”
A cheer went up from the pack. Werewolf pregnancies were celebrated with particular enthusiasm, I’d learned, as they strengthened pack bonds and ensured its future.
“That’s wonderful news,” Evelyn said, beaming. “How far along?”
“Just eight weeks,” Tara replied. “But the doctor says everything looks good so far.”
“Any signs of wolf traits?” someone asked.
Tara laughed. “Too early to tell, but given how hungry I am all the time, I’m betting yes.”
The conversation continued in this vein for a while—congratulations, questions about due dates and nursery plans, offers of help and hand-me-downs. I watched, smiling at the genuine joy everyone took in Alex and Tara’s news.
When the excitement died down, others began sharing their updates. Riley and Jess had decided to renovate their kitchen. One of the older pack members was retiring from his job at the lumber mill. A teenager—I think Mason’s second cousin—had made the varsity basketball team.
