Page 62 of Knot in Bloom
“What did she say?”
“That it was about damn time.” His laugh is warm and genuine. “Then she told me about dean finding his omega.”
“And now Dean’s settled with his pack.”
“Now Dean’s settled with his pack,” he agrees. “And Maeve’s been dropping hints about wanting great-nieces and nephews from me before she’s too old to spoil them properly.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “She’s been dropping hints?”
“Subtle as a brick through a window, that woman.” But his eyes are dancing with amusement. “Yesterday she asked if I’d been ‘spending time with anyone special’ and when I mentioned you, she got this look on her face like she’d just won a bet with herself.”
“Oh god. What kind of look?”
“The kind that means she’s already planning Sunday dinners and knitting baby blankets.” He reaches across the table to take my hand, thumb tracing over my knuckles. “Don’t worry. I told her to slow down. That we’re still figuring things out.”
“Are we? Figuring things out?”
His expression grows more serious, though his thumb never stops its gentle motion across my skin. “I think so. I hope so.”
The server arrives with our meals—perfectly cooked steaks and roasted vegetables that smell incredible—but I’m more focused on the man across from me. The way he cuts his food with precise, economical movements. How he makes sure I have everything I need before taking his first bite.
“Tell me about the military,” I say between bites of the most tender steak I’ve ever had. “What made you want to serve?”
“Structure, initially.” He pauses, considering. “Aunt Maeve hated the idea, but she let me choose.”
“I had always wondered.”
“Gave me purpose.” His voice gets quieter. “Also taught me what it felt like to be part of something bigger than myself. To have people depending on me.”
“Is that what you miss about it?”
“Some days. But I also got tired of temporary. Everything in the military is temporary—postings, assignments, relationships. You’re always preparing for the next move.” He meets my eyes across the table. “I’m ready for something permanent.”
The weight in his voice makes my pulse quicken. “What does permanent look like to you?”
“Roots. Community. People who matter and who you matter to in return.” His hand tightens on mine. “Someone to come home to at the end of the day.”
“Someone?”
“Someone who smells like honeysuckle and argues with flower suppliers and remembers exactly how Mrs. Woodbury likes her weekly arrangement.” His thumb traces across my knuckles again. “Someone who makes me want to be the best version of myself.”
My breath catches. “Caleb.”
“Too much?”
“Not too much. Just... intense.”
“I don’t know how to be anything else with you.” His voice drops, becomes rougher. “You make me want things I’ve never let myself want before.”
“Like what?”
“Like lazy Sunday mornings and shared coffee and someone to tell about my day. Like building something that lasts instead of just getting through the next deployment.”
The honesty in his voice makes my chest tight with emotion. “That sounds beautiful.”
“It could be. With the right person. The right pack.”
We look at each other across the table, the air between us charged with possibility. Around us, the restaurant continues its evening rhythm, but it feels like we’re in our own bubble.
