Page 24 of Claimed By My Exiled Alphas
When we finally pulled apart, I said, “Want to eat lunch by the creek? I brought sandwiches.”
“You made sandwiches?”
“I can do basic sandwich construction unsupervised. Don’t act so surprised.”
She laughed, and the sound filled the meadow like music. “Then yes. Let’s eat lunch by the creek like we’re kids again and nothing is complicated.”
We settled on the sun-warmed grass near the water’s edge, and I unpacked the lunch I’d brought. Nothing fancy, just turkey sandwiches and apples and trail mix, but Talia ate like it was a feast.
“This is perfect,” she said between bites. “Simple food in a beautiful place with good company. This is what cooking should feel like.”
“What do you mean?”
“In Chicago, every meal was a performance. Every dish was about impressing critics or meeting impossible standards or proving I belonged in professional kitchens where women weren’t always welcome.” She finished her sandwich and lay back in the grass, staring up at the sky. “But food should be about nourishment and pleasure and sharing something good with people who matter. Like this.”
I lay down beside her, careful to maintain space between us even though I wanted to close it. “That’s what you want for the bistro? That feeling?”
“Yes. Exactly that. Food that makes people happy instead of food that makes people feel inadequate for not having sophisticated enough palates.”
“Hollow Haven will love that. We’re not exactly known for sophisticated palates.”
She turned her head to look at me, and we were suddenly very close. Close enough that I could see gold flecks in her hazel eyes, close enough to count the freckles across her nose.
“I’m glad I came back here,” she said softly. “Not just to Hollow Haven, but to this meadow. With you. Today.”
“Me too.”
The moment stretched between us, charged and trembling with possibility. I could lean over and kiss her. Close those few inches and make this attraction into something concrete. She wouldn’t stop me, I could see that in her eyes, in the way her breathing had quickened.
But I also saw the uncertainty, the fear that wanting this meant risking too much too soon.
So instead of kissing her, I reached over and took her hand, lacing our fingers together like we had as kids. Simple contact that meant everything and nothing in equal measure.
“We should probably head back soon,” I said, even though the last thing I wanted was to leave this perfect bubble. “I’m on call this evening and I need to check in before shift change.”
“Ranger responsibilities,” she said, but she was smiling.
“Always.” I sat up, pulling her with me. “But same time next week? I found a patch of hen of the woods mushrooms yesterday that should be perfect for harvesting by then.”
“The foraging trip you keep promising?”
“The foraging trip I keep promising.” I squeezed her hand before letting go and starting to pack up our lunch remains. “If you’re interested.”
“I’m interested.” She said it simply, but I caught the double meaning underneath. Interested in foraging, yes, but also interested in spending more time together. In seeing where this attraction might lead if we were both brave enough.
We hiked back to the trailhead in comfortable silence, and I spent the entire walk hyperaware of her presence behind me. The sound of her breathing, the occasional rustle of her movement, the knowledge that something between us had shifted today even if we hadn’t acted on it.
At the truck, I said, “Thank you for trusting me. For coming out here on basically no information about where we were going.”
“When it comes to you, Jace, I’m never going to have a problem trusting you. I just can’t believe that after all this time you remembered how much this place mattered to me.”
“It mattered.Youmattered.” I opened her door, then leaned against it slightly. “And you still do. Just so we’re clear on that.”
“We’re clear.” Her voice was soft, full of things she wasn’t saying.
I drove her back to her cottage, and we talked about easy things. Upcoming weather patterns, the bistro timeline, funny stories from my ranger work. Nothing heavy or complicated, just the comfortable conversation of people who genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.
When I pulled up in front of her place, she hesitated before getting out. “Jace?”
