“Mom?” I call gently, setting my bag down by the stairs, then kicking off my shoes.
“In the kitchen, honey!” her voice calls back, bright and familiar.
I follow it, and find her at the sink, sleeves rolled up, rinsing off a bowl of apples.
She turns and smiles, eyes crinkling the same way mine do when I’m genuinely happy. “There you are. You made good time.”
“The driver barely hit the speed limit,” I tease, setting my hands on my hips. “What’s with the apples?”
“I’m making pie,” she says, plucking an apple from the bowl and placing it on the cutting board. “I thought we could cook dinner together.”
My heart swells. “Yes, please. That sounds amazing.”
Cooking with my mom is my favorite thing. Always has been. It makes everything feel grounded, like time slows down for us.
But then something clicks in my brain, and I frown. “Wait... why apple pie? Dad hates apples. And you don’t eat sweets.” I pat my stomach, thinking about my already too-tight leotard for dance class. “Please don’t make a whole pie just for me.”
“Actually,” She looks over her shoulder at me with a twinkle in her eye, “I have a surprise for you,” she says with a little giggle.
My mom wipes her hands on a dish towel, then reaches out and takes mine in that gentle, coaxing way she alwaysused to when I was younger—like she was scared I’d run off like a skittish animal.
“Come on,” she says, tugging lightly. “Let me show you.”
I let her lead me through the living room, my socks whispering against the hardwood floor. The back door creaks open, and that early fall air brushes against my face. That’s when I see him.
Someone is sitting outside with my father. He’s obviously an alpha. Broad shoulders, strong jawline, a too-relaxed sprawl like the patio chair belongs to him. I squint, but the sunlight cuts across the porch and makes it hard to tell exactly who?—
And then his scent hits me: It’s a little like cedarwood and old leather—and feels a lot like a bowling ball to the chest.
Tallen.
My heart drops straight to my stomach.
What is he doing here?
And how did he find out where my parents live?
Tallen stands the moment we step outside. His smile is smug, but his eyes don’t match it. There’s always something coiled behind them—like a snake waiting for the right second to strike. He straightens his back like he’s about to win a prize.
“Look who finally arrived,” he drawls, pushing one hand through his perfectly styled hair.
My mom keeps walking, trying to pull me out onto the patio, but I plant my feet in the doorway and don’t budge.
“What’s happening?” My voice comes out tight.
Dad looks up, his expression warm—proud, even. “Tallen here mentioned to me that he’s been wanting topursue you for a while now. That you and him have had so many amazing talks at Beechworth.”
My mouth falls open at the subtle lie. We’ve never had any talks. Tallen is pushy and aggressive, and I’ve spent the last five years dodging the jerk at every garden party he’s attended.
“Tallen and I have had a few good talks, and…” Dad looks at me like he’s about to give me the greatest surprise of my life. “Well, we’ve started making things official.”
Official?
Tallen lets out a chuckle like this is all some romantic comedy we’ve both been cast in. “No more playing hard to get, omega.”
I stare at him, hollow. I’m not playing anything.
But I don’t say it. Not out loud. Not with his scent in my nose and his dark energy vibrating under my skin. Something in him has always scared me, even when he smiles.
