“Thank fuck for that.”
Like a bucket of cold water, the sound of voices in the hallway reminds us both where we are. They’re right outside the door, and we have no way of knowing if they’re going to knock or keep walking by. Either way, it’s a bad look for us to be rutting against the door like this, in the place where Lincoln works.
I can see the realization of that flash through Lincoln’s eyes, and he swallows hard and takes a steadying breath. Reluctantly, he steps back, letting me down from where he had me pinned.
We’re both breathing hard, and I don’t even want to think about what I look like right now. I feel flushed and overheated, and my skin has always been good at giving that away.
I clear my throat and reach for my bag. “I, uh, came because someone dropped this off at the bar for you, but it’s for the fire house. I thought it might be important.”
I pass the file folder over and he flips through it before raking a hand through his hair. “Approvals for extra trainings,” he murmurs. “Definitely important. Thank you.”
I nod. “I’m—I should go.”
Before he can say anything, I get myself together as much as I can and then turn to leave, my knees wobbling as I show myself out.
Chapter 22
Everett
It takes a few days for me to wrap my head around the fact that Harper and Cash hooked up, and once the truth of it settles like a stone in my gut, there’s nowhere to hide from the fact that I’m attracted to this pretty, curvy Omega who lives in our house and works in our bar.
It’s obvious Lincoln and Cash want her too, so that’s all of us under her spell somehow.
There’s a day in there where Harper comes home, flushed and smelling familiar under her own scent, and then Lincoln arrives a few hours later, smelling like her. Whenever the two of them are in the kitchen or the living room together, Harper flushes and looks away, and there’s a new, charged energy whenever we’re all in the same room.
Something happened between them, then.
I can’t blame Lincoln for it. There’s something about Harper lately that makes her seem more vivid and bold than she was when she first came to Silver Falls. It’s like she’s coming back to life after whatever tried to dim her light in the past.
It’s nice to see her like this. When she was all wilted and shrinking back, that didn’t seem like the person she was. Thisversion of her feels more real, like the way she was before was just a pale shadow of the bright person she’s meant to be.
It also makes me feel protective of her. It’s like an itch under my skin that makes me watchful and wary. I don’t want her light to go back out. I don’t want her to go back to being afraid to accept help or convinced she has to do everything on her own.
I don’t want her to get hurt by this thing that’s clearly building between all of us.
One night I’m downstairs late, drinking whiskey and thinking. It’s not something that happens all the time, but there are nights when I can’t sleep, and lying in bed with the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me is just a recipe for making me restless and agitated. So I always get up and come downstairs quietly, careful not to wake anyone up.
It’s usually quiet, just me and the bottle and my thoughts, but after an hour or so, I hear footsteps on the stairs and look up to see Harper coming down.
She startles when she sees me, a flush creeping over her skin. She’s wearing an oversized shirt and some shorts that don’t do much to hide her soft curves, and the collar of the shirt slips over one shoulder, showing off skin and a smattering of small, faint freckles.
I swallow and toss back the rest of the whiskey in a rush.
“Sorry,” she murmurs softly. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be up this late.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her with a shrug. “You’re allowed to skulk about at night, just like the rest of us.”
She huffs a little laugh, shaking her head. “I’m not skulking. I just thought I’d make a cup of tea. I was having some issues sleeping.”
“Makes two of us.” I toast her with my empty glass. “Even though tea never does much for me on nights like this.”
A small smile flashes over her pretty face, and she tucks some sleep-mussed hair behind one ear. “I think if I started drinking whiskey to sleep, I’d just be awake even more. But to each their own and all that.”
I watch her as she moves around the kitchen, putting the kettle on and selecting a chamomile tea bag.
It’s a familiar scent by now, the floral smell tickling my nose but doing nothing to mask Harper’s own sweet scent, which is somehow amplified by her still being warm from bed. Either that or I’m just too attuned to her now, not able to block out anything about her.
She pulls the kettle from the stove before it can whistle and fills her cup with boiling water and honey, stirring and keeping an eye on the clock on the stove before discarding the tea bag and cradling the steaming cup in her hands.