“Yes,” I say instantly. The word leaves me in a laugh, because it doesn’t even scratch the surface.
Fun isn’t the right word. Being with her tonight—watching her glow under those festival lights, watching her win—felt like coming alive.
Simon clears his throat. He’s lying on her other side, his hand draped lazily across the quilt. His glasses are off, foldedneatly on the nightstand. He looks almost boyish without them. “I actually have something for you.”
She turns toward him, curious. “Something for me?”
He nods and pulls a small glass vial from his pocket. A pale golden liquid shimmers inside. “It’s a scent blend. For you.”
Wren sits up a little, taking it with careful hands. She twists the stopper free and inhales. Her reaction is immediate—her eyes flutter closed, a soft sound slipping from her throat, somewhere between a sigh and a moan.
My cock stirs just hearing it.
“Oh, wow,” she whispers. “This is the best scent I’ve smelled in a long time.”
She dabs a little onto her wrists, rubbing them together, then presses them to her neck. The fragrance warms the room, a mingling of floral sweetness and something darker, grounding.
It wraps around her like a veil, deepening her own scent until I want to crawl across the bed and taste her right now.
Simon smiles faintly. “It’s from Miss Thea.”
“I’ll have to thank her,” she says, eyes still dreamy.
“I’m glad you love it.” My voice is low, a little rough. I reach under the bed and pull out the envelope I tucked away earlier.
My heart kicks against my ribs. This is it.
“I have a gift for you, too,” I say.
Her brows lift. “Beau…”
I nod. “I know I offered once, and you said no. I know you don’t like handouts. But this—this isn’t a handout. It’s something I want to give you as a gift. For winning second place, even though we all know you should’ve taken first.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head. “I got a mixer. That’s enough. I’m happy.”
I push the envelope into her hands. “I hope this makes you happier.”
The three of us watch as she slides a finger under the flap, pulling the check free. Her smile falters. Her breath hitches.
“What is this?” she asks.
“It’s fifteen thousand,” I say quietly.
Her eyes fly to mine. “Beau?—”
Simon leans forward, steady, calm. “We want you to finish the café, once and for all. You can treat it like a loan. Pay it back whenever you want. Or not at all.”
Her lips part. “This is… this is too much. I can’t.”
“Why not?” I ask, moving closer until I’m kneeling beside her on the quilt. My pulse is hammering. I need her to hear me.
“If I needed help,” I tell her, “I would go to Simon. Or Levi. Or you. Because that’s what we are to each other. We help because we’re family. We’re friends. Because we’re pack.”
Her chin trembles. Her voice drops lower. “I’m not your pack.”
Something cracks inside me.
Simon reaches out and cups her cheek with his palm. His voice is steady but soft. “Would you like to be?”
