Daddy’s Mail Order Mate (Twilight Meadows Wolves #3)

Chapter 15 - Gwen

There’s something meditative about watching a drip coffee pot work its magic. And I suppose it’s particularly nostalgic for me. Growing up on the road as much as I did, they were one of the bastions of civilization. They were found in every greasy spoon and roadside diner, or crammed ambitiously in the corner of someone’s cramped little RV kitchen. It’s a lot easier than using an old campground percolator; that was one of the many chores I had to deal with as a kid back with my pack. Everyone pulled their weight and did their part. That was one of the reasons why they got along with Portsmill Pack, with how hardcore their whole philosophy was.

It’s still a bit strange that Portsmill is so different now. Their entire atmosphere seems much more relaxed, if our time visiting Elm Wood with them is an accurate representation. But you never know with packs: I know better than anyone how well the worst of them can be hidden in plain sight.

I’m in the middle of pouring out my cup and mulling distantly on the past when Thorn walks into the kitchen with Rowan on his hip.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” I echo, filling the empty mug beside mine for him.

“Thanks.”

I hum in reply and settle myself back against the counter to start nursing my coffee. He leans in to grab his mug and I try to not fixate on how close he is, or how him getting even within a few feet of me sets my skin alight.

“Any plans for today?”

“Work.”

“The usual, then.”

“Mhm.”

“Need anything in particular done today?”

“From you? No.”

“I’ll keep an eye on Rowan and do some chores, but I’ll take some time to use my laptop and work on some things too.”

If I’m not mistaken, he seems to get a little tense at that. I sneak a closer look at him and see a tension lock around his eyes as he stares off at nothing over his coffee.

“Alright.”

It would be too much to think he’s cagey about me getting ready to leave, right? It was his idea to have me stick through the trial, after all. Maybe he doesn’t want me to go…

I take another sip of my coffee and don’t mind that it’s a little bit too hot for my liking. The burn feels like a good self-correction for letting my mind wander into foolish territory.

He reaches past me to go for the cabinet, and just his arm coming within inches of me makes me go dead still. My heart is pounding in my ears to the point that I can barely hear him when he speaks up.

“Excuse me.”

“Yeah, of course, sorry,” I mumble and hurriedly shift out of the way so he can swing it open.

I watch on as he goes and retrieves a little tube of baby food for Rowan, who makes some happy noises at the sight.

“Yes, I know, young man. You’re hungry.”

He doesn’t really use a ‘baby talk’ voice with his son, which I think is just the most charming thing. All he does is speak softly and gently in his same measured tone. Every time it just pulls tighter and tighter on my heart strings.

And apparently it does the same thing to my libido, because it makes me want to climb him like a goddamn tree.

I stare down at my coffee and try to brace myself for the day as best I can.

And it really is a day. Not that anything major happens in and of itself. In fact, it passes in a way I can only describe as mundane. But it wears my nerves so thin to just have him existing around me. My entire being goes into a sensitive alert every time I have any trace of him in my space. Passing looks between us have me needing to fend off a mental tailspin, and it feels like I’m constantly trying to interpret traces of interest in every comment he makes. We even accidentally touch hands trying to both reach for Rowan and I’m glad it’s not just me who gets awkward after. I use it as a perfect opportunity to go excuse myself to go job hunting on my laptop alone, but I can’t help but feel like his eyes are drilling into me as I hurry upstairs.

By the time we get through dinner, I’m a bit of a nervous wreck, though I think I’m putting on a pretty strong front.

I’m in the middle of doing the dishes and putting things away when Thorn slips into the kitchen. Rather than making any sort of remark or commentary, he just nods in my general direction and goes for the fridge. I keep myself from staring and go back to work with the cleaning, though I stare after him when he makes his way back out the room.

Curiously, he goes to the front door and heads outside without a word.

He doesn’t usually do that.

I look to where Rowan seems to be dozing off in his little kitchen crib.

Normally, he’d be taking his son to bed and putting him down for the night around now.

With anxious questions buzzing in my skull, I work my way through the rest of the dinner chores and eventually go to sneakily investigate.

I peer through the window blinds and see him sitting on the porch swing. He’s not on the phone or anything that I can see. All he seems to be doing is nursing the bottle of beer I saw him leave the kitchen with earlier and staring out towards the night beyond.

What if I join him? Would that be too presumptuous? I should ask before I help myself to a beer and his company.

I shake my head and pace my way over to the kitchen to go take care of Rowan. I’m not some sheepish little girl anymore. If he gets upset about it, he’ll be sure to make it clear. And after everything that’s happened lately, I could use a goddamned drink.

Thanks to Rowan already nodding off, it only takes me a few minutes to go and get him settled down in his room. Once I make my way back downstairs, there’s no sign that Thorn’s come back inside. So with that, I head into the to pop open the fridge, pluck out one of the bottles from the six pack, get the top off, and make my way out front.

The sound of the door perks him up from where he’d been slumped back. I try not to lose my nerve when I see him staring at me in the dull glow of the porch light.

I lift the bottle in a cheeky little salute and take a sip as I make my way over to the railing. The wood makes a dull thud when I set the bottle down next to me and cross my arms against it to support my weight.

“Rowan’s asleep?”

I reach into my pocket and pull out the little baby monitor to wiggle it demonstratively.

“Mhm.”

I place it next to beer on the railing and I chuckle a bit at the sight.

“They’re a hell of a pair, right?”

Thorn follows my gaze. It takes a beat, but he huffs in amusement. I can’t help but feel a warm twisting swell of pride in my chest at that. For a man as severe as Thorn, every crack was a major success. And I like to think I’m pretty funny.

“Match made in heaven.”

I laugh under my breath and let my eyes linger on the two objects. But then his words remind me of the mate bond, and I have to go for a drink to chase the thought away. A few moments pass with the crickets singing along out there in the dark beyond our little refuge of light.

“How’s work been going?”

“Fine.”

“It’s interesting to see a Council member just… Around. I remember when we were kids and how much they seemed like some sort of. I dunno. Boogeymen.”

“Neither of our packs weren’t particularly fond of the Council back then. So of course they seemed distant and frightening to us. Cherrygrove and Portsmill did their best to stay under their radar, and when they did show up, they needed to make sure they didn’t get put on any lists.”

“So, the Council keeps lists, huh?”

“Too fucking many,” he grumbles.

I laugh at that, brighter and louder than before. Without thinking about it, I shift my posture and turn a bit more towards him and even feel a trace of a smile tightening my cheeks.

“I guess that explains all the paper pushing you seem to do.”

“We have to constantly process and file reports, conduct investigations, and ensure the smooth operation of our society.”

“Yeah. I suppose if I think about it, there’s a lot on the Council’s shoulders. You guys have to make sure wolves don’t just eat each other alive or blow our cover to all of humanity.”

He hums and I hear his exhaustion drag it out just a bit too long.

“And so much more.”

I take this moment to really look at him. The lighting is too soft now, but I know there are some fine lines tracing around his eyes kept in a constant vigilant squint and between his frequently furrowed eyebrows. And I know from the other day that he has so many scars across his body from what must have been thousands of fights over the years.

Even as a young man, he’d been one to take the world on his shoulders. It hadn’t surprised me to hear that he’d gone off to do just that with the Council.

A question edges along my thoughts, but before I can muster the will to ask, I brace through a sudden shiver that rattles through my limbs.

I go for a deep swig and it distracts me enough that I don’t notice him until there’s a warmth settling around my shoulders and I feel him towering not inches from me.

Startled, I lower the bottle and gently grip at the edge of his jacket he’d slipped around me.

With him this close, my body vividly reminds me just how desperately it wants him. Knowing that the heat I feel against my skin is his makes me feel far drunker than a few sips off a beer should.

To the point that I completely forget myself and turn my face into fabric, nuzzling into the soft fleece. It even smells like him, and my eyes close as I take in a long, slow drag of him.

But then I remember that he is right fucking there and freeze.

I feel far too warm now thanks to the blush that hits my face like a freight train on a brick wall. Will I ever stop embarrassing myself?

I shift a bit away from him and force myself to look out into the woods—because if I look at him I’m pretty sure I’m going to just self-combust.

He clears his throat before speaking in a low, careful murmur.

“It’s okay.”

My head tilts back towards him, and my confusion makes me bold enough to try and look up at his face. The quiet intensity of his expression makes my knees nearly buckle out from underneath me.

I try to speak, but my mouth just gapes open.

Thorn fills the silence, and the words are one I couldn’t have even dared to dream of.

“I love your scent too.”