Page 52 of Daddy's Mail Order Mate

If nothing else, I can always rely on Paige to help me feel less tense. She was a bastion of gentleness and normalcy in a life otherwise defined by vigilance and bloodshed.

By reflex, I check out the nearby window; I have lived a life constantly on edge, prepared for anyone and anything to turn against me.

The evening is quiet and still, and there are no details that prick at either my training or my instincts to make me think there's anything worth investigating.

So with that assurance to feed my paranoia, I go and settle down to listen to Paige brightly ramble on about her happy little family.

That's what it's all for: family. No matter what happens, I can't let myself forget that.

Chapter 15 - Gwen

There’s something meditative about watching a drip coffee pot work its magic. And I suppose it’s particularly nostalgic for me. Growing up on the road as much as I did, they were one of the bastions of civilization. They were found in every greasy spoon and roadside diner, or crammed ambitiously in the corner of someone’s cramped little RV kitchen. It’s a lot easier than using an old campground percolator; that was one of the many chores I had to deal with as a kid back with my pack. Everyone pulled their weight and did their part. That was one of the reasons why they got along with Portsmill Pack, with how hardcore their whole philosophy was.

It’s still a bit strange that Portsmill is so different now. Their entire atmosphere seems much more relaxed, if our time visiting Elm Wood with them is an accurate representation. But you never know with packs: I know better than anyone how well the worst of them can be hidden in plain sight.

I’m in the middle of pouring out my cup and mulling distantly on the past when Thorn walks into the kitchen with Rowan on his hip.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” I echo, filling the empty mug beside mine for him.

“Thanks.”

I hum in reply and settle myself back against the counter to start nursing my coffee. He leans in to grab his mug and I try to not fixate on how close he is, or how him getting even within a few feet of me sets my skin alight.

“Any plans for today?”

“Work.”

“The usual, then.”

“Mhm.”

“Need anything in particular done today?”

“From you? No.”

“I’ll keep an eye on Rowan and do some chores, but I’ll take some time to use my laptop and work on some things too.”

If I’m not mistaken, he seems to get a little tense at that. I sneak a closer look at him and see a tension lock around his eyes as he stares off at nothing over his coffee.

“Alright.”

It would be too much to think he’s cagey about me getting ready to leave, right? It was his idea to have me stick through the trial, after all. Maybe he doesn’t want me to go…

I take another sip of my coffee and don’t mind that it’s a little bit too hot for my liking. The burn feels like a good self-correction for letting my mind wander into foolish territory.

He reaches past me to go for the cabinet, and just his arm coming within inches of me makes me go dead still. My heart is pounding in my ears to the point that I can barely hear him when he speaks up.

“Excuse me.”

“Yeah, of course, sorry,” I mumble and hurriedly shift out of the way so he can swing it open.

I watch on as he goes and retrieves a little tube of baby food for Rowan, who makes some happy noises at the sight.

“Yes, I know, young man. You’re hungry.”

He doesn’t really use a ‘baby talk’ voice with his son, which I think is just the most charming thing. All he does is speak softly and gently in his same measured tone. Every time it just pulls tighter and tighter on my heart strings.

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