Page 63 of Reclaiming Home

It was fine, though. Everyone pitched in. Holden arrived one weekend with pizzas from town and asked to be put to work.

Kye had music on whichever floor he was working on. He didn’t like to wear headphones, so all of us ended up curating a joined playlist that ended up being wildly hilarious.

We went from eighties rock ballads and emo bands to random pieces of classical music and heavy metal to modern pop songs and even some country with surprisingly queer and dirty lyrics.

The third time the shuffle function gave us Dixon Dallas right after Mozart, the laughter coming from all corners of the house felt like it wouldn’t end.

Kye and the girls figured out individual pieces of needed furniture and all the colors and themes for each room. They asked my opinion on Rian’s style and then messaged him when I said I didn’t really know.

Now, had they asked what flogger Rian preferred or if he liked human or werewolf blood better, I would’ve had all the answers.

About a week before Rian and the guys were to arrive, we were sitting on the new U-shaped couch in the family room, having popcorn asEncantoplayed on the big TV.

“Oh by the way, we ordered the beds today. They should be here in a couple of days,” Kye said as he reached for more popcorn.

“Did you get a new one for us?”

“Nah, I figured it was still good enough. Unless you want one?”

“It’s fine by me. But if you want to do something more for the bedroom, be my guest.”

He shrugged. “I think the new wallpaper is fine with the rugs and everything.” He snuggled closer to me. “I ordered a king-sized bed for the guys, by the way.”

I froze. “You did?”

He looked up to see my expression. “Yeah? I thought they were close enough to share one?” He frowned. “Shouldn’t I have?”

I stared at him for a few beats, then asked, “You’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I get that they’re Very Close”—I could hear the capitalization in his voice—“but I also know that wolves are different from humans. I don’t think anyone has any right to say how others live as long as nobody is hurting anyone.” He smirked. “Without consent, at least.”

Rolling my eyes, I kissed him, tasting the buttery popcorn and salt on his lips.

“Can you guys stop talking? We need to concentrate; Luisa’s song starts soon.”

Kye picked a couple of pieces of popcorn that weren’t drenched in butter and tossed them at his sister who had taken one corner while we were in the other.

“Very mature, baby,” I told him, so he chucked a few at me, too.

Our relationship kept developing slowly, exactly like we both needed it to.

There’d been a few joint showers and a couple of nights when Carys had very pointedly told us that she was going upstairs to read and wouldn’t be down again that evening. I loved her for giving us the space to be a couple together.

On those nights, we made out on the couch, not-watching a movie or a show, and soaking in the connection.

Slowly but surely, Kye’s confidence grew in all aspects of our life. Not that he hadn’t been self-assured to begin with, but there was just somethingmoreabout him now that made me feel good.

One evening, after he’d supported Carys through the aftermath of a particularly brutal therapy session, he took a cup of tea for her upstairs where she’d holed up for the night. He came back to the living room where I’d been reading, and wordlessly knelt by my feet for the first time.

I pushed my fingers into his hair and began to pet him.

“How about you sit there until you need cuddles, and then you tell me what you need if there’s something more?” I murmured.

He nodded and leaned to my calf, then put his head on my knee and relaxed gradually.

An hour later, he climbed onto my lap and stayed there until bedtime, never speaking a word, staying close as I kept reading and touching him to center him.

It humbled me, knowing that I could be this person for my mate.

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