“I picked up two substitute days next week,” he announces without looking up, as if continuing a conversation we’ve been having all along. “The history teacher has a family emergency, and the science department needs coverage for a conference.”
I turn on the kettle as I take in the scene. The kitchen lights illuminate the chaos of his workspace while the windows frame the encroaching darkness outside, where rain now pelts the glass in irregular patterns.
“Carson emailed about the board presentation.” Leif continues scrolling through the document on his screen. “He wants me to add a section on community integration metrics, whatever that means. And the parent committee chair called about next month’s agenda. Apparently, I’m supposed to lead the discussion on curriculum alignment.”
My nostrils flare, catching the familiar scent of his Omega pheromones, but beneath the sweet-cedar, sour stress and exhaustion cling to him like a second skin.
“The documentation for Quinn’s quarterly review is due Friday,” he adds, flipping through a stack of papers with color-coded tabs. “I’ve got most of it done, but out of nowhere, Carson demanded I have Sprinkles’s training verification notarized, which means finding time to visit the courthouse, and?—”
“Shit.” The curse slips from my lips as a burnt smell registers to my nose.
I cross to the stove in three quick strides, grabbing a pot holder to lift the lid off the Dutch oven. Steam billows upward, carrying the acrid scent of burned vegetables.
“Sorry, I saw you were busy in the backyard and thought I’d get things started.” Leif rubs his temples. “But I got caught up in emails and forgot.”
The burner clicks as I turn the dial off. The veggies aren’t salvageable, but that’s not the problem. Right now, my attentionis fixed on Leif, still wearing his outdoor clothes in my warm kitchen, surrounded by papers that multiply every time he visits.
“When did you get here?” I ask, wiping my hands on a dish towel.
Leif checks the time in surprise. “Around four, I think? Blake picked Quinn up for an ice cream date, and Carson wanted to discuss some committee assignments after school, but I managed to get away with a phone call instead of an in-person meeting.”
Four o’clock. It’s now past seven. Three hours he’s sat at my kitchen table, still wrapped in his coat and scarf as if he might need to flee at any moment.
I cross back to the table and stand beside his chair. Without asking permission, I reach over and close his laptop with a soft click. His fingers freeze mid-tap, hovering in the air where the keyboard used to be. Next, I gather the scattered papers, aligning their edges into a neat stack before sliding them out of his reach.
“What on Earth…” he says in confused protest.
His body tenses, poised between reaching out to reclaim his work and waiting to see what I’ll do next.
“You’ve done enough tonight,” I tell him, gentle but firm. My hand finds his shoulder, the muscles rigid beneath layers of fabric. “The work will still be there tomorrow.”
His throat works as he swallows, focus shifting to the laptop before returning to me. “But the deadline?—”
“Is not tonight.” I squeeze his shoulder, applying pressure until the rock-hard knots release from his muscles. “Right now, you need food. And to take off this coat before you overheat.”
The golden light from the hanging fixture above us catches in his mauve hair, highlighting streaks of palest pink among the deeper tones. He appears both younger and older than his years, vulnerable in his exhaustion.
“I can reheat last night’s soup,” I offer, moving toward the refrigerator. “Or we can order in. Either way, you’re done working for tonight.”
His hands fall to his lap, fingers curling into loose fists before relaxing on his thighs. “I should at least answer the parent committee’s email.”
I shake my head, pulling a container from the refrigerator. “Tomorrow.”
“What if Carson?—”
“Tomorrow,” I repeat, placing the container on the counter with more force than necessary. The plastic thuds onto the wooden surface, punctuating my statement.
Leif blinks, then begins to unwind his scarf. The cream-colored wool slips from around his neck and pools on the table. Next comes his coat.
“You’re right.” He drapes the coat over the back of his chair. “I’ve been at it since morning. I just... There’s so much to keep track of.”
The soup warms on the stove as I find bowls and spoons. When I turn back, he’s hunched forward with elbows braced on the table, hands covering his head. The sweater he wore under his coat hangs loose on his frame. He’s lost weight over the last two months.
“Dinner first,” I say, placing a hand on the nape of his neck, the heat of his skin warming my palm. “Then rest. Everything else can wait.”
His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath before he straightens. “Thanks for stopping me. I think I needed it more than I knew.”
Leif’s cedar scent spikes, a burst of pheromones calling to my Alpha instincts to protect, comfort, and claim. His scent stabilizes a moment later, but the reaction remains, settling deep as I ladle soup into waiting bowls.