Page 71 of The Flavor of Us

I don’t even remember what my mom’s talking about because Carleen’s hand slides onto my thigh, her fingers curling just slightly as she gives me a gentle squeeze. “I love you,” she mutters under her breath, soft enough that no one else at the table could possibly hear over my dad’s booming laugh.

It’s not the first time she’s said it. We said it a few weeks ago when everything was still raw, still new. But it feels different now. Like she’s had time to think about it and decided, yeah, she still means it.

A slow grin spreads across my face as I turn to look at her fully. “I love you too,” I whisper back, my voice a little shaky but full of every ounce of warmth I can muster. “So much, Carleen. Thank you… for coming back to me.”

Her lips twitch up into a small smile, and for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of us. The noise of the dinner fades away, the chatter and clinking silverware nothing but background static as I fall into her gaze. But then Ashton clears his throat loudly. “Are we interrupting something over there?”

Carleen startles slightly, pulling her hand back from my thigh, her cheeks turning pink as she stammers, “Shut up, Ashton.”

I shoot him a glare. “Mind your business,Alpha.”

He grins, showing just a flash of teeth. “Oh, I love it when you call me that, little doe.”

Ryder, sitting across from us, just shakes his head, though there’s a hint of amusement in his blue eyes.

“Enough,” my mom interjects, waving her fork at Ashton like she’s about to poke him with it. “No flirting at the dinner table,please.”

Dinner stretches on in this easy, familiar way. Plates are passed back and forth, bread torn apart and dipped in sauce, wine glasses refilled until my mom starts giving everyonethat look. My dad tells a story about how he once tried to fix the sink and ended up flooding the entire kitchen and Ryder actually chuckles—like, full-onchuckles. I think my mom might have fallen a little in love with him right then and there.

At one point, Ashton leans over and steals a bite of spaghetti straight from my plate and I nearly stab him with my fork. Carleen snorts, wine nearly spilling from her glass, and Ryder just stares at Ashton like he’s personally offended on my behalf.

By the time dessert rolls around—some kind of ridiculously decadent tiramisu that my mom keeps insisting she made herself (she absolutely did not)—I’m leaning into Carleen’s side, warm and content. Because while this might not be everyone’s traditional happy ending, it’s definitely mine—ours.

Love may come in all shapes, sizes, and flavors.

But this flavor?

This is the flavor ofus.

---