Page 10 of Falling for My Shifter Defender

Eli shrugs. "Growing kids need fuel. And their guardians need fries."

Before I can argue further, he's ordering—fries, milkshakes, chicken nuggets for Willow. I try to reach for my wallet, but he waves me off.

"It's not a big deal," he says, passing the bag to me after paying.

The warm weight of it in my lap feels like a luxury I don't deserve. Willow happily munches on nuggets in the back seat, and Eli sips his milkshake as he drives, looking completely at ease.

I take a fry, savoring the salt and grease. It's been so long since I've had fast food—a frivolous expense when every dollar counts. The simple pleasure of it makes my throat tight.

"Thank you," I say, the words inadequate.

Eli glances at me, then back at the road. "You're welcome."

Three simple words, but they settle something in me—a quiet acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, it's okay to accept help sometimes.

That night, after Willow is tucked into bed in the guest room, I find myself lingering in Eli's kitchen. He made tea without asking if I wanted any, simply setting a steaming mug in front of me before turning to wash the dinner dishes.

I wrap my hands around the mug, savoring the warmth. The silence between us is comfortable, not awkward—the kind that exists between people who don't need to fill the space with words.

Eli stands at the sink, rinsing plates, his sleeves pushed up to his forearms. He moves with an easy confidence, completely at home in his own space. The muscles in his arms flex as he works, and I find my gaze drawn to the strong line of his shoulders, the casual grace of his movements.

He looks... good. Too good.

I catch myself staring and quickly look away, but not before a flush of heat rises to my cheeks. It's been so long since I've let myself notice a man this way—since I've felt anything beyond wariness or distrust.

But there's something about Eli that draws my eye, that makes my pulse quicken despite my best efforts to remain detached.

He turns, catching me mid-thought, and I drop my gaze to my tea. If he notices my discomfort, he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he simply holds out a clean dish towel.

"You don't have to help," he says. "But I won't stop you."

I manage a tight smile, taking the towel from him. Our fingers brush for the briefest moment, and I ignore the spark of awareness that shoots through me.

We work in silence, him washing, me drying. It's a simple domestic routine, but it feels foreign to me—this quietpartnership, this shared task. I can't remember the last time I stood beside someone like this, comfortable enough to simply exist in the same space.

It terrifies me how easily I could get used to this.

As I place the last dried plate in the cabinet, I realize what scares me most isn't the possibility of being hurt again. It's the possibility of hoping again—of believing that maybe, just maybe, we could have something like this. A home. Safety. Someone to stand beside me at the end of the day.

"Thank you," I say abruptly, hanging the towel on its hook. "For everything today."

Eli leans against the counter, studying me with those perceptive eyes. "You're welcome."

I should go to bed. I should walk away before I do something foolish, like tell him how his kindness makes my chest ache, or how scared I am of wanting more than I should.

Instead, I linger, caught in his gaze, aware of every breath between us.

"Goodnight, Grace," he says finally, his voice low.

"Goodnight," I whisper, and force myself to walk away before I can change my mind.

Chapter 4

Grace

The car rumbles to a stop outside Theo Waverly's building—a sleek structure with large windows and subtle security features that only someone looking for them would notice. The modern façade blends seamlessly with the town's aesthetic, but I can see the reinforced glass, the discreet cameras, and the state-of-the-art keypad beside the main entrance.

"You sure about this?" Eli asks, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

---