Page 111 of Pack Frenzy
Her smile goes soft. “Deal.”
The wind lifts the edge of her blanket. She shifts her grip on the mug and nearly spills her coffee on herself. I reach out, covering her hands with mine—steadying the cup.
She goes still. Not pulling away, but aware like she’s cataloging the weight of my palms, the way my fingers curl over hers. Her scent shifts again, warm vanilla and jasmine threading through the citrus.
“My mom used to believe hot chocolate was the cure for anything.”
Jess’s eyes lift to mine, holding for a beat longer than casual. “Do you talk with your parents much?”
I haven’t answered that question in a long time. There’s the summary I use with strangers, and then there’s the truth that lives under the roofline. I give her the latter because she’s the only one who’s asked like it matters what the beams are made of.
“Dad was noise,” I say. “Big laugh. Bigger opinions. He taught me how to measure twice and cut once, except he never measured. He could eyeball an angle within a degree.”
Her smile turns soft. “And your mom?”
“Quiet.” The word slots into a place in my chest I didn’t know was there. “Which made people assume she was soft. She wasn’t. She just didn’t waste words.”
The next words come rougher. “They were older when they had me. Dad’s heart gave out on the mountain. One minute he was ahead of me, laughing about beating the storm—the next…” I swallow. “He was just gone. Mom lasted longer. Cancer. Stubborn kind. She refused to sell the house. Said if the walls fell, she wanted to be there when they did.”
Jess’s fingers tighten around her mug. “I’m so sorry.”
“I was in my twenties,” I say, watching the steam rise between us like smoke signals. “Arrogant enough to think I could engineer my way out of anything. Build the right ramp, find the right specialist, work harder than death could work.”
I leave the rest unsaid—that I’m still that arrogant bastard. The projects changed, but not the drive. I’ve already decided she’s not someone I’m going to lose.
“She thanked me, told me it was beautiful, and never used a single one. Died in the same chair she read to me in.”
“That’s kind of beautiful, though. That she got to leave on her own terms.”
I nod once. “Yeah. But when the house sold, I couldn’t go inside for the final inspection. Eli had to do it. Said the air felt… hollow. Like something was missing from the blueprints.”
I don’t tell her that I drove by the house three times before I could make myself leave. Or that I still have the key in my desk drawer, even though the locks have been changed.
Some structures you can’t let go of, even when they’re no longer yours.
“You don’t have to talk about this if?—”
“I want to,” I say. “It’s been a while since I talked this much about them.”
The mist shifts. A gull calls somewhere out near the pier. Jess inches closer until her shoulder brushes mine under the blanket. No drama. Just contact.
“They sound amazing,” she says softly. “Like people who’d have loved this place.”
“Mom would’ve loved you. You ask too many questions. She’d say it meant you were paying attention to what mattered.”
Jess huffs out a laugh, and my thumb skims the curve of her jaw, just once.
“She had good taste.”
Jess looks away, smiling like she doesn’t want me to see what that does to her. But I see it anyway—the way her breath catches, the way she leans into my hand for half a second before catching herself.
Good. She should know what she does to me. What I want with her.
Her used bookstore tote drags across the rail—soft, a little frayed at the strap that I overlooked when Cassian grabbed it. I don’t like the stress point and slide the tote off the chair, flip the strap in my hands, and pinch the worn spot.
“You’re about to fix something, aren’t you?” she says, like she’s caught me.
“Yeah.” No point denying it. I’m physically incapable of watching something wear wrong on her body without correcting it. It’s not about the bag—it’s about the principle that nothinggets to hurt her on my watch, not even a frayed strap. It’s controlling, and I know it, and my hands are already moving anyway.
