Heat floods my cheeks. “You’re just trying to flatter me.”
“I’m being honest.” His hand finds mine on the console, squeezing gently. “And we’re going to make that event happen someday. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Watch me.”
We’re driving through town now, and a comfortable silence stretches between us. I’m very aware of his hand still holding mine, thumb stroking against my skin. This feels natural. Easy. Like we’ve known each other for years instead of days.
“Oh!” Kane sits up straighter. “I taught Corn Dog a trick.”
I grin. “What kind?”
“He can bow on command now. Took me weeks, but if I say, ‘Corn Dog, show some respect,’ he drops his head and bends his front legs like he’s bowing to royalty.”
“That’s actually adorable.”
“It’s strategic. I can bring him to events, have him bow to important guests. Instant charm offensive.”
I burst out laughing just as we pull up to Giuseppe’s house, and my stomach immediately ties itself in knots.
The house sits back from the street behind a low stone wall and ornamental iron gates that sit open. It’s a two-story contemporary design with lots of glass and clean lines, cedar siding weathered to a beautiful gray, a flat roof with what looks like a rooftop garden barely visible. The landscaping is immaculate even under the snow, with sculpted evergreens and winter-blooming plants adding color.
This house screams money, but in a tasteful way.
We get out, and Kane’s hand immediately finds the small of my back as we walk to the front door.
I knock, half expecting no answer after days of radio silence.
But the door opens almost immediately.
Giuseppe stands there, and my first thought is that he looks unwell. He’s in his sixties, thin in a way that suggests recent illness rather than genetics. His face is pale, eyes tired but still sharp. He’s wearing expensive wool slacks and a cashmeresweater in a deep burgundy that hangs slightly loose on his frame.
“Giuseppe,” I say quickly, before he can shut the door. “I know Scot might have told you things, but I’d love the chance to talk to you. Tell you my side. Please.”
“Of course, Hannah.” His voice is raspy, like he’s been coughing. “I was in the hospital. Pneumonia and a chest infection. Gave everyone quite a scare. But Scot did come visit, which was thoughtful.” He glances at Kane, eyebrows rising slightly. “How rude of me. Come inside, please.”
“This is Kane,” I say. "My… boyfriend.”
Kane extends his hand, and when Giuseppe takes it, Kane says, “Actually, I’m her Alpha. Part of her pack.”
I roll my eyes. Just like Noel last night, marking his territory.
Giuseppe’s eyebrows rise higher, but he just nods. “Well. Come in, come in.”
We follow him inside, and I try not to gawk. The entryway opens into a sprawling open-concept space. Polished concrete floors with radiant heating. Exposed wooden beams crossing the ceiling. Abstract art on white walls. Everything minimal but clearly expensive.
“I tried calling you several times,” I say as we walk. “And messaging. I was worried when you didn’t respond.”
“Really?” Giuseppe pulls out his phone, frowning at the screen. “I don’t see any messages from you. Not a single one.”
I show him my phone, the unanswered texts, the call log showing multiple attempts.
“That’s very strange,” he mutters, squinting at his screen.
“Actually,” Kane says, “this could happen if her number is blocked on your phone. I know because it happened to me once. Ex-girlfriend who didn’t want to hear from me anymore.”
I glance at him sharply. Ex-girlfriend?
