Page 10 of Autumn be His Wife (Alphas Fall Hard Collection #4)

The bell above the door of Sweet Temptations jingles, a sound that always feels like coming home. Eli, now twelve and all long limbs and boundless energy, pushes the door open with a dramatic flourish.

“After you, m’lady,” he says, his voice cracking just a little on the last word. He’s been practicing his manners, and my heart swells every time.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” I say, playing along as I step into the familiar, sugar-scented air.

Dusty follows close behind, his hand finding the small of my back, a warm, steady presence. It’s our little Saturday ritual. After chores and errands, we come here for a slice of whatever’s freshest. It’s our version of a three-person date.

While I’m worried about the sugar going to my ankles, Dusty’s happy to encourage each bite. Says the slices make me taste even sweeter, whatever that means.

Izzy looks up from behind the counter, her face breaking into a wide smile that reaches her eyes. “Well, if it isn’t one of my favorite families! I was wondering if you’d show up today.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Dusty says, his voice a low rumble beside me. He guides us toward our usual booth in the back corner—the one with a dipped vinyl seat we’ve all claimed as ours.

Eli slides in first, immediately craning his neck to see the pie case. “What’s the special today?”

“For my best customer?” Izzy leans on the counter, playing along. “That would be the peach-raspberry. Just pulled it out of the oven twenty minutes ago.”

Eli’s eyes go wide, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t have to swipe the corner of his mouth. “Yes, please.”

“Make it three,” Dusty adds, sliding across from Eli.

He stretches his arm along the back of the booth, and his fingers find my shoulder, absently tracing little circles as I follow him.

It’s a simple touch, one he probably doesn’t even think about, but it still sends a wave of quiet contentment through me.

As the curly-haired woman disappears in the back, I’m left with a rumbling stomach and a toothache as I breathe in the mouth-watering air.

Our pie arrives, three gigantic, steaming slices that ooze from the sides. For a few minutes, the only sounds are the clinking of forks and hums of appreciation.

The pie is a perfect balance of sweet and tart, the flaky crust crumbling onto the plate. I catch a drip of ruby-red raspberry syrup with my finger, and Eli grins at me from across the table, a dab of vanilla ice cream on his chin.

“A successful trip?” Dusty asks, his voice a low rumble of amusement as he watches Eli attempt to devour his slice with pre-teen gusto.

“The most successful,” Eli confirms, leaning back in the booth with a contented sigh.

His eyes are bright, flickering between the two of us, and I see the pure, uncomplicated joy there.

This is his normal. Our little family outings, his dad’s arm around my shoulder, the shared indulgence of a Saturday treat.

It’s the foundation of his world, and seeing how solid and happy it makes him is a gift I’ll never take for granted.

Dusty’s thumb continues its gentle, absent-minded circles on my shoulder.

He doesn’t need to say anything. The quiet comfort in his touch says it all.

This is ours. This peace, this simple joy, this love that settled in not with a dramatic crash, but like the gentle rising of bread—warm, steady, and nourishing.

We pay the bill amid Izzy’s cheerful farewell, promising to see her next week. The afternoon sun is warm on our faces as we step outside onto the sidewalk. Eli immediately slots himself between us, his small, sticky hand finding mine while he bumps his shoulder playfully against Dusty’s arm.

“Race you to the truck?” he challenges, already bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Dusty chuckles, a rich, warm sound that seems to soak up the sunlight. “You’re on, buddy.”

But he doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he gives it a gentle squeeze, his gaze meeting mine over our son’s head. In his eyes, I see the whole journey—the hesitant beginnings, the hard-won trust, the sleepless nights, and the joyful mornings, all leading to this perfect, ordinary moment.

Eli takes off with a whoop, and we follow at a slower pace, walking hand-in-hand.

There’s no real rush. We have exactly where we’re meant to be, right here, together. And it’s more than enough.