Page 32 of Talk Howly to Me

The mate bond flared between them, carrying a complex mixture of nervousness, hope, and something that felt remarkably like want. For the first time in over twenty-four hours, the constant ache in his chest began to ease.

"No," he said, his voice roughened. "Please, sit."

She settled into the camping chair beside his, close enough that her lavender and vanilla scent wrapped around him like a physical embrace. The simple act of her choosing to sit next to him felt like absolution and possibility rolled into one perfect moment.

"I haven't done this since I was a kid," she said, extending one of the roasting sticks toward him. "And nothing this elaborate. I don't really remember how to make a s'more."

The admission carried layers of meaning that hit him hard. Another reminder of all the simple joys she'd been denied. His protective instincts roared to life, mixing with the fierce tenderness that she inspired in him.

Kozue accepted the roasting stick, his fingers brushing hers in the exchange. The contact sent familiar sparks of awareness through his system, but more importantly, it felt like a bridge—a tentative step toward rebuilding whatever had been damaged between them.

"I can show you," he said, surprised by how much warmth had crept into his voice. "The key is patience. Most people rush the process and end up with burnt marshmallows and disappointed⁠—"

"The most accurate way to toast a marshmallow is two seconds on each side."

Ronan's deep voice came from directly behind Kozue's chair, carrying that subtle thread of dry humor that few people ever noticed. Kozue turned to find his best friend approaching with his own roasting stick, his blue eyes fixed on Sloane with a piercing intensity.

Sloane turned toward Ronan, and the smile that spread across her face could have powered the entire lodge for a week. The pure radiance of it hit Kozue like a physical force, and through the strengthening bond, he felt an echo of the joy and relief that flooded through her at seeing Ronan approach.

She wants us both here, he realized with startling clarity.

Ronan settled into the empty chair on Sloane's other side, positioning himself so she sat between the two men like the missing piece of a puzzle they hadn't known was incomplete. The arrangement felt natural in ways that defied logic—as if fate had designed the three of them to exist in exactly this configuration.

Kozue felt the tight knot of anxiety in his chest begin to unravel. This moment—the three of them together by the fire, surrounded by the warmth of community but focused entirely on each other—felt like everything he'd been unconsciously craving since the night Sloane had first walked into their lives.

"Two seconds?" Sloane asked, looking between them with raised eyebrows. "That seems awfully precise for marshmallow toasting."

"Ronan approaches s'mores like a military operation," Kozue said, unable to suppress his grin. "I prefer the more artistic approach of watching the marshmallow and letting instinct guide the process."

"Instinct," Ronan repeated, "is how you end up with charcoal instead of perfectly caramelized sugar."

Sloane laughed—a genuine sound of delight that sent warmth flooding through him. "Well, I guess I'm about to discover which method works better."

She leaned forward to position her marshmallow near the flames, her movements careful and deliberate. The firelight danced across her features, highlighting the strong line of her jaw and the determined set of her shoulders. Kozue found himself captivated by the sight of her—the way she bit her lower lip in concentration, the way her hair caught the golden light, and the way she seemed to be embracing this moment of simple pleasure.

This is what I want, he thought with sudden, crystalline clarity. Not just her, but this. The three of us together.

Sloane withdrew her marshmallow from the flames with careful precision, the golden surface perfectly caramelized and glistening in the firelight. Steam rose from the molten sugar, carrying the sweet aroma that mingled with the woodsmoke and pine-scented mountain air.

"Now comes the critical part," Kozue said, shifting his chair closer to hers until their knees almost touched. "The assembly requires strategy."

He reached across the small space between their chairs to retrieve the graham crackers and chocolate squares she'd balanced on the armrest.

"First, you break the chocolate into precise squares," he demonstrated, his voice dropping into a gentle teaching tone. "Then position them on the graham cracker while the marshmallow is still hot enough to melt them."

Sloane followed his instructions with fierce concentration, her brow furrowed as she carefully assembled her s'more.

"Perfect," he murmured as she pressed the final graham cracker into place. "Now the moment of truth."

Sloane lifted the s'more to her lips and took a substantial bite. Immediately, melted marshmallow oozed from one side while molten chocolate escaped from the other, coating her chin and the corner of her mouth in sticky sweetness. Her eyes widened in surprise at the mess.

"You failed to mention the structural integrity issues," she said, trying to speak around the mouthful of s'more while more chocolate dripped down her chin.

The sight of her—unselfconscious and smiling, with marshmallow and chocolate painting her face—was mesmerizing. This was Sloane without her walls, without the careful control she maintained like armor. Just a woman enjoying a simple pleasure.

Before he could think better of it, Kozue reached out to wipe away a streak of marshmallow that clung to the edge of her lips. At the exact same moment, Ronan leaned forward from her other side, his thumb catching the chocolate that had escaped down her chin.

The moment their hands made contact with her skin simultaneously, Sloane's entire body went rigid, her hazel eyes darkening to almost black as her pupils dilated with unmistakable desire. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and through their mate bond, Kozue felt the wave of pure want that crashed through her system like lightning.