Page 22 of Claimed By My Exiled Alphas
“I remember your grandmother. She was intense.”
“She was practical. Said city people had forgotten that food came from somewhere real, and she wasn’t raising a granddaughter who’d be squeamish about reality.” Talia sat back on her heels. “She died my junior year of high school. Heart attack while she was working in her garden. At least she went doing what she loved.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No reason you would. Your family had stopped coming to Hollow Haven by then.” She looked at me. “Why did they stop?”
The question I’d been avoiding for years. I stared at the water, watching it slide over stones, trying to find words for something I’d never articulated clearly even to myself.
“My parents got divorced,” I said finally. “Hollow Haven was my dad’s family tradition, not my mom’s. After the split, neither of them wanted to come back because it reminded them of trying to maintain appearances when everything was falling apart.” I picked up a smooth stone and turned it over in my palm. “I was fourteen. Old enough to have opinions, young enough that nobody cared what I wanted.”
“And you wanted to come back.”
“Desperately. I wrote letters to my dad begging him to bring me back. Offered to come alone if he didn’t want to deal with it. Promised I’d pay my own way somehow.” The old frustration rose in my chest, still sharp after all these years. “He said I was being dramatic. That there were plenty of other places to hike and I’d get over it.”
“But you didn’t get over it.”
“I never got over it. I spent the next six years counting down to college, planning to study forestry or ecology or anything that would get me back to places like this. And after graduation, I applied for every ranger position in the western states until Hollow Haven had an opening.” I looked at her directly. “I came back the first chance I got. Been here three years now.”
“That’s a long time to carry a place in your heart.”
“Some places are worth carrying.”
We were quiet for a moment, and I found myself studying her profile. The way afternoon light caught in her auburn hair, turning it copper and gold. The curve of her jaw, the slight upturn of her nose. Details I’d been noticing more often lately, filing away like important data about species behavior and seasonal patterns.
Except Talia Quinn wasn’t a research subject. She was a woman I’d known as a child and was rapidly developing feelings for as an adult. Feelings that complicated the easy friendship we’d been building, that made cooking lessons feel like more than culinary education.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, echoing her words without knowing I’d been thinking the same thing.
“Because this place was ours. Before everything got complicated, before we grew up and learned to be careful with people, we had this meadow and it was perfect.” I set down the stone I’d been holding. “I wanted to know if it still felt the same with you here. If the connection we had as kids could translate into something real now.”
“And does it?”
“Yes.” The word came out more intense than I’d planned, and I saw her breath catch. “Being here with you feels exactly right. Like this is where we’re both supposed to be.”
She held my gaze, and I watched something shift in her expression. Awareness blooming into something more active. The same pull I’d been feeling for weeks, finally acknowledged out loud.
“Jace...”
“I know this is complicated. I know you’re focused on the bistro and rebuilding your life here. I’m not asking for anything you’re not ready to give.” I shifted slightly closer, drawn by gravity I couldn’t entirely control. “But I need you to know that these cooking lessons, this time we’ve been spending together, it matters to me. You matter to me. Not just as my friend from childhood, but as someone I’m actively choosing now.”
Her eyes had gone wide, hazel irises catching sunlight and turning amber. “You choose me?”
“I’d always choose you,” I confirmed. “And I think you’d choose me too, or you wouldn’t have agreed to come out here with me on almost no information about where we were going.”
“I think I would. I care a great deal for you, Jace.” Her voice had gone soft, slightly breathless. “More than I expected. More than I know what to do with.”
The admission made something warm unfurl in my chest. I reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. My fingers brushed her cheek, and I felt her sharp inhale.
“We don’t have to figure everything out today,” I said quietly. “We can just be here. In this place that was ours. And see what that feels like.”
She leaned into my touch slightly, and I had to actively stop myself from closing the remaining distance and kissing her. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to claim this moment, to make the attraction we both felt into something concrete and real.
But something in her expression held me back. Not fear exactly, but uncertainty. Like she wanted this but wasn’t sure she should, like there were complications I didn’t fully understand yet.
So instead of kissing her, I let my hand drop and stood, offering her my hand to help her up. “Come on. I want to show you something else.”
She took my hand, and I pulled her to her feet, trying very hard not to think about how perfectly her palm fit against mine. How right it felt to be touching her even in this simple way.
