Page 42 of A Cobbled Conspiracy
“Your medication,” I said, recognizing the prescription bottle.
“Part of why I came by,” he said, tucking the bottle back into his pocket. “I wanted you to see me taking it. Keeping my promise about managing my health properly.”
The gesture was so thoughtful, so deliberately transparent, that it made my chest tight with emotion. After all his evasiveness about business matters, this simple honesty about his health felt precious. “What was the other reason?”
He gave me a look that was pure alpha satisfaction mixed with tender affection. “I think I already accomplished the other reason.”
The implication made me blush, but it also made my heart race with something deeper than arousal. This man, this complicated, protective, sometimes infuriating alpha, was mine. He was taking care of his health, taking care of me, building a future with me that he didn’t even know included a baby yet.
The weight of my secret pressed against my chest again, made heavier by the intimacy of the moment. “Dominic, I?—”
My phone buzzed with a text message, interrupting whatever I’d been about to say. I glanced at the screen to see a message from Adelaide’s office about the town hall meeting this evening.
“The meeting is at seven tonight,” I said, showing him the message. “Are you and Blake attending?”
“I’ll be attending as your mate,” Dominic said, his expression shifting back to business mode.
"But you won't be revealing what you and Blake are up to?" I replied, my fingers tracing the edge of his shirt’s placket. "The community might want to help."
His fingers closed around mine, drawing my hand upward until his lips found the sensitive skin of my wrist. “Blake and I should have news to share soon. Not tonight, but soon.”
“What kind of news?” I asked, though I suspected he’d be as evasive as before.
“Patience, baby,” he said, his smile carrying an edge of satisfaction that made me both curious and nervous. “Blake’s been working his magic, and I’ve been having some productive conversations.”
I felt that familiar flutter of unease at his carefully chosen words, but I pushed it aside. His demeanor was steady and certain in a way that beckoned trust. “And you think it will make a difference?”
“I think people will be pleased with what we’ve accomplished,” he said, pulling me close for a soft kiss. “Trust me, Leo. Soon, we’ll have good news to share with everyone.”
I smiled, nodding. My own unspoken secret weighed silently between us.
Soon, I promised myself.Soon, I would find the right moment to tell him about the baby. When things were calmer, when we had privacy and time to process what it meant for us.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Millcrest Community Center buzzed with nervous energy as we arrived at seven PM sharp. I’d expected a modest turnout—maybe thirty or forty concerned residents—but the main hall was packed with nearly two hundred people. Folding chairs had been arranged in neat rows, but many attendees stood along the walls or clustered in the back of the room. The air was thick with a disharmonious jumble of pheromones that layered over each other until my stomach lurched.
I pressed closer to Dominic, my fingers finding the fabric of his shirt as I resisted the overwhelming urge to bury my face in his chest to block out the competing scents. His arm encircled my waist, pulling me against the solid warmth of his body, as if instinctively seeking to alleviate my discomfit.
“Impressive turnout,” he murmured. His cool gray eyes swept the room with the kind of analytical attention that suggested he was cataloging faces and assessing the crowd’s mood.
Blake and Jake had claimed seats behind us, while Penny squeezed into a chair on my other side. I noticed that Dominicand Blake had been unusually quiet during the drive over, exchanging those meaningful glances that suggested they were having conversations I wasn’t privy to.
“There’s Adelaide,” Penny said, nodding toward the front of the room where a small stage had been set up with a microphone and speakers.
Adelaide Fairfax stood beside the podium, her silver hair catching the fluorescent lights as she spoke quietly with a small group of district business owners. Even at sixty-eight, she radiated the kind of natural authority that made people lean in when she talked. Her emerald green blazer was perfectly pressed, and her voice carried easily across the murmuring crowd as she offered reassurances to worried residents.
But it was Paula Winslow who drew my attention. She sat in the front row, looking smaller and more fragile than I’d ever seen her. Paula had always been the kind of person who seemed to have endless energy—working twelve-hour days at the pharmacy, organizing community events, volunteering at the Historical Society. Tonight, she looked exhausted in a way that went beyond simple fatigue. Her usually perfect silver hair was disheveled, and dark circles under her eyes suggested sleepless nights and emotional strain.
“She looks terrible,” Penny whispered to me.
“Four generations of her family have run that pharmacy,” I replied quietly. “Can you imagine having to be the one who loses it?”
Adelaide approached the microphone, and the crowd immediately quieted. The respect she commanded was evidentin how quickly conversations died and attention focused on the small stage.
“Friends and neighbors,” Adelaide began, her voice carrying the kind of practiced authority that came from decades in public service. “Thank you all for coming tonight. I know many of you rearranged your schedules, left your families, closed your businesses early to be here. That tells me something important about our community—that when one of us is threatened, we all feel that threat.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. I noticed several people nodding, their expressions reflecting the kind of solidarity that made small communities like ours powerful.