The streetlights bathed the road in soft gold as we walked, the air thick with that late-summer warmth that clung to your skin like a memory. It was quiet—just our footsteps echoing against pavement, the occasional sound of crickets, and the hush of distant cars. Peaceful in a way that made me want to reach for her again. Not for sex. Not for fire. Just... to hold.
“It’s nice,” she murmured after a beat, “how it stays warm, even at night. I missed that, living in colder places.”
I glanced at her. “Disappointing, if you ask me.”
“Disappointing?”
“If it were cold, I could’ve offered you my jacket. A realromantic gesture. Missed opportunity.”
She let out a soft laugh that settled somewhere between my ribs. “You’re not even wearing a jacket.”
I put a hand to my chest in mock offense. “See? You robbed me of my chivalry.”
But then, just when I thought she was going to hit me with another one of her dry comebacks, she did something that shut me up completely.
She slid her arm through mine. Just like that.
And leaned into me as we walked.
It wasn’t much. Just the gentle curve of her body brushing against mine, her hand curling lightly around my elbow, her perfume in my lungs, sweet and sharp and clean.
But for some reason, it hit me harder than anything else tonight. She wasn’t pushing me away. She was letting me stay. And fuck, that felt like something I could get addicted to.
We dragged our feet the entire way to her apartment, neither of us willing to be the one to say goodnight. Our conversation slowed into a comfortable silence, the kind where everything important had already been said—what was left now lingered between us, thick with anticipation.
When we reached her building, she stood by the door, fiddling with the ribbon on the box of chamomile tea like it suddenly held the secrets of the universe. Her fingers worked the bow, then paused. She glanced up at me, eyes unsure but something burning behind them.
“Do you... want to come up?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “Try the tea you gave me?”
Gods. My restraint cracked right then.
I didn’t second guess it. Didn’t give her the chance to change her mind.
I backed her up into the door with one hand pressed to her waist and kissed her like I’d been starved for it—and I had. Hermouth met mine with equal urgency, her fingers curling into the collar of my shirt, and the moment her lips parted, my wolf clawed at my ribs. He howled in my chest, wild and aching.
She kissed me like she knew I wouldn’t stop.
And fuck, I didn’t want to.
We barely made it through the hallway, bumping into walls, stumbling over our own feet. Her breath was a gasp against my neck when I pressed her into the elevator wall, our bodies flush. I wanted to tear that damn shirt off her and mark her skin with my hands, my mouth—anything I could get on her.
By the time she opened the door to her apartment and flicked on the light, I paused—just for a second—long enough to take in the space.
“I didn’t know so many shades of green existed,” I said, slightly breathless.
It was warm. Alive. Blanketed in the kind of comfort that made your chest unclench. Nesting, I realized distantly. It was hers in every sense of the word.
She smiled, and then tugged me in by the front of my shirt, kissing me again—this time slower, more deliberate.
I stepped forward, kicked the door shut behind us, and stopped thinking altogether.
She tried to take the lead—hands on my chest, pushing me back toward the couch like she was the one calling the shots. I let her—for a second. Just long enough to enjoy the fire in her eyes, the smug set of her mouth. That irresistible confidence.
But when her hands reached for my belt, I caught her wrists and stilled them.
“Uh-uh,” I murmured, voice low, almost a growl as I pulled her closer. “You might be the boss in the kitchen, Ada… but not when we’re alone.”
Her breath hitched, and I watched the exact moment her pupils darkened, blown wide with heat and challenge.