Page 16 of Pack Plus One

But talking about baking is always easier than navigating the complicated dynamics of alphas and omegas and packs.

“I’ve always loved creating things.” I smile, gaze shifting to the gardens before us. “There’s something magical about taking basic ingredients and transforming them into something that makes people happy, you know? And I was tired of working in other people’s kitchens, following their recipes.”

“You wanted creative control,” he says, nodding.

“Exactly. Plus, there’s a serious lack of omega-owned businesses in the area. I wanted to show that we can be more than just... pack accessories.”

I wince at my own words, suddenly aware I might be insulting the very concept his pack is built on. But Liam doesn’t look offended.

“That’s admirable,” he says after a moment. “Taking that risk.”

What? He…doesn’t think I’m ‘brave’ or ‘stupid’?

I stare at him for a few moments.

“Terrifying is more like it,” I admit. “But worth it, I hope.”

“It will be,” he says. When I glance at him, there’s an intense look in his eyes that makes me completely aware that we’re out here alone, standing so close together. His scent—old books and rain—wraps around me, comforting rather than overwhelming.

I release a short, breathy thing that can hardly be classed as a laugh. “I’m working on a recipe. Lavender honey cake with blueberry filling. I have a thing for blueberries. But the recipe’s been driving me crazy for weeks.”

Now, why did I say that? He didn’t even ask. It’s one thing to bore your date with details of your life. But your fake date? That has to be some crime. It is really too easy to talk to this alpha.

“Sounds delicious,” he replies, his gentle voice dropping an octave that makes something flutter low in my chest.

“Sorry, I tend to ramble about baking.”

“Don’t apologize.” He smiles, a genuine one, revealing perfect teeth. “It’s refreshing to hear someone passionate about their work.”

Oh…God. He’s perfect.

The French doors open behind us, and Caleb’s imposing figure fills the doorway. “There you are,” he says, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

“Just getting some air,” Liam explains, straightening up.

Caleb nods, then fixes his gaze on me. “Your…ex has been looking for you.”

My stomach drops.

“Don’t worry,” Caleb says, stepping onto the balcony. “He won’t approach you while we’re here.”

The confidence in his voice is both reassuring and a little intimidating. He moves to stand beside me, close enough that his arm brushes against mine. Unlike Jude’s deliberate touches, this contact seems unconscious, natural. I try to ignore the tingle that races up my arm.

A waiter appears with a tray of champagne. I reach for a fresh glass. I’ve probably had enough, but it keeps my hands occupied. Offers instances where I can take a sip and gather my thoughts before I say or do something stupid. But my head is pleasantly fuzzy, and the last thing I need is to make a fool of myself at Eric’s pre-wedding dinner.

Caleb’s gaze is steady, assessing. “How are you holding up?”

"I'm fine," I say automatically, then amend, "A little tired, maybe. And hungry." My stomach chooses that moment to growl softly, reminding me I've barely eaten all day. "I keep thinking about this little Mediterranean place near my apartment. They make this slow-roasted lamb that's just..." I trail off, realizing I'm rambling about food to an alpha I barely know. "Sorry. Stress makes me fixate on comfort food."

“We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

The offer is so casual, so natural, as if we really came together. As if he’s genuinely concerned about my comfort. It sends a strange warmth spreading through my chest.

“Soon,” I promise. “I just need to make it through the next half hour.”

Caleb’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Has that ex of yours been bothering you without one of us noticing?”

“N-no,” I say, aiming for lightness and missing by a mile.