Page 63 of Knot in Bloom
“What about you?” he asks eventually. “What do you want your life to look like?”
I consider the question while taking another bite of perfectly seasoned vegetables. “I used to think I wanted complete independence. To prove I could handle everything on my own.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m starting to think independence and support aren’t mutually exclusive.” I glance out the window at the lights of home spread below us. “I love my business, my town, the life I’ve built. But maybe it could be even better with the right people to share it with.”
“People. Pack?”
“A pack yes.” I confirm, watching his face carefully.
His smile is slow and satisfied.
“I want that. Making you happy. Keeping you safe. Building something beautiful together.”
The simple certainty in his voice makes heat pool low in my belly. “You make it sound easy.”
“The best things usually are, once you stop fighting them.”
We finish dinner as full darkness settles over the mountains. The conversation flows easily now, moving from childhood memories to dreams for the future to ridiculous stories that make me laugh until my sides hurt. Caleb in relaxed mode is a revelation—funny and charming and surprisingly good at impressions of various townspeople that have me nearly snorting wine.
When he mimics Reid’s precise way of explaining architectural concepts, complete with hand gestures, I laugh so hard I have to wipe tears from my eyes.
“Stop,” I gasp. “That’s terrible. And completely accurate.”
“The man talks about load-bearing walls the way other people discuss poetry.”
“And Levi actually does discuss poetry.”
“Which is why this is going to work,” Caleb says with satisfaction. “We all bring different things to the table.”
The easy way he talks about the four of us as a unit makes something warm settle in my chest. Like it’s already decided, already real.
By the time we head back to the truck, I’m pleasantly wine-warmed and completely charmed by this version of Caleb. Relaxed, funny, openly affectionate in a way that makes me feel cherished rather than overwhelmed.
The drive down the mountain passes in comfortable quiet, country music playing softly while his hand covers mine on the console. Every so often he’ll point out something in the landscape or share a memory about exploring these roads with Dean when they were teenagers.
“Thank you,” I tell him as we pull up outside my building. “For dinner, for the conversation, for showing me this side of yourself.”
“Thank you for letting me.” He parks and comes around to open my door, offering his hand to help me down from the truck. “Walk you to your door?”
“Please.”
The short walk to my building’s entrance feels charged with anticipation. My suppressants have worn off enough that his sandalwood scent wraps around me like warm honey, making me hyperaware of how close he is, how solid and warm he feels when his hand brushes mine. When we reach the bottom of the stairs leading up to my apartment, both of us slow to a stop.
“This was perfect,” I say softly, turning to face him in the soft glow of the streetlight. My heart’s beating so fast I’m sure he can hear it. “You’re perfect.”
His hands come up to frame my face, thumbs stroking across my cheekbones, and I can see his pupils dilate as he breathes in my scent. “Not perfect. But maybe perfect for you.”
“Maybe?” I rise on my toes, bringing us closer together, and his breath catches.
“Definitely,” he corrects, voice rough with want. “Definitely perfect for you.”
When he kisses me, it starts soft and sweet, but when I sigh against his mouth and pull him closer, something shifts. His hands tighten on my face as the kiss deepens, becomes hungrier. I can taste his restraint breaking down, can feel the careful control he’s been maintaining all evening starting to crack.
My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer until there’s no space between us. His body is solid and warm against mine, and when I press closer, seeking more contact, I feel exactly how much this evening has affected him. The hard length of him against my hip makes me gasp into his mouth.
“Sadie,” he groans against my lips, voice rough with want. His hands slide down to my waist, holding me against him like he can’t bear to let go.
