Page 25 of Claimed By My Exiled Alphas
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad you moved back to Hollow Haven. Really glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
She climbed out, then leaned back in through the window. “See you Thursday for cooking lessons?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
I watched her walk to her door, watched her turn and wave before going inside. Then I sat in my truck for a long moment, processing what had happened today.
I’d taken Talia back to our meadow. I’d told her she mattered to me. I’d held her hand and nearly kissed her and pulled back because she needed space more than she needed pressure.
And somehow that restraint felt more significant than acting on attraction would have. Like I was proving something important. That I could want her and still respect her timeline. That patience was possible even when every instinct screamed to claim what I wanted.
I drove back to the ranger station thinking about carved initials and childhood promises. Thinking about how some places stayed perfect even when everything else changed. Thinking about how Talia Quinn had been important to me at eight years old and was becoming important to me again at thirty two.
And thinking that I was probably in love with her, which was both terrifying and exactly right.
Some connections were worth waiting for. Some people were worth the risk of being hurt if things didn’t work out.
Talia was both of those things.
And I had all the patience in the world if it meant she’d eventually choose me back.
Chapter 9
Cassian
The bistro building looked worse up close than it had from across the street. Peeling paint, rotted window frames, a foundation that probably needed serious attention before winter hit. I stood on the cracked sidewalk studying the structure with the kind of analytical distance I’d learned from years of evaluating properties for development potential, trying to see past the decay to whatever had drawn her here.
Talia Quinn had been occupying too much of my mental real estate for someone I’d never actually spoken to. That was her name. Talia. It had haunted me for days since I’d been able to discover it through the small town gossip network I never thought I’d be accepted into.
Three weeks of watching her move around town. It felt like everywhere I went I caught a glimpse of her. As if she didn’t occupy my every thought since I’d first seen her, she had to haunt every place I visited as well. The curse of small towns I guess.
I told myself this visit was about expanding my consulting business, that offering renovation guidance to first time entrepreneurs was exactly the kind of community integration that might soften my family’s reputation. The fact that this particular entrepreneur had auburn curls and a smile that made my chest tight was purely coincidental.
The front door opened, and Talia emerged carrying a cardboard box overflowing with file folders and what looked like building permits. She was muttering to herself, attention focused on balancing her burden while trying to pull the door closed behind her.
“Here, let me help with that.”
I moved forward automatically, reaching for the box before my brain could catalog all the ways this could go wrong. She startled, nearly dropping her burden, and I found myself close enough to catch the scent that had been haunting me from a distance. Vanilla and honey, warm and sweet with an underlying complexity that made my pulse quicken.
“Sorry,” I said, stepping back to give her space while keeping my hands positioned to catch the box if needed. “Didn’t mean to startle you. That looked heavy.”
She studied me with obvious wariness, hazel eyes assessing threat level with the kind of practiced caution that spoke to experience with men who’d proven untrustworthy. “I’ve got it. Thanks.”
“I’m sure you do.” I kept my voice neutral, non-threatening, the tone I’d use with a skittish investor who needed reassurance rather than pressure. “But you’re also trying to close a door that sticks while carrying about thirty pounds of paperwork, and I have two free hands doing nothing useful.”
The corner of her mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You always help random strangers with their boxes?”
“Only when the random stranger is clearly struggling with bureaucratic nightmares that I happen to have professional expertise in handling.” I gestured toward the file folders visible in her box. “Building permits, contractor estimates, health department applications. I’m guessing you’re planning renovations.”
Her wariness shifted slightly toward curiosity. “You can tell all that from glancing at a box?”
“I spent the last eight years evaluating commercial properties and navigating permit processes for development projects.” I extended my hand. “Cassian Black. I recently started a consulting business helping local entrepreneurs navigate renovation and licensing requirements.”
She shifted her box to accept my handshake, her palm warm against mine, the contact sending electricity up my arm that had nothing to do with business networking. “Talia Quinn. And yes, I’m planning renovations. Planning being the operative word, since I’m currently drowning in paperwork I don’t understand.”
