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Dillon

Five Years Later…

I never thought I’d find peace.

If anyone had told eighteen-year-old me that I’d end up mated to a wolf shifter, raising babies in a safe town, and running a thriving art store with my best friend, I would’ve laughed in their face. Or cried. Or both. Because back then, that kind of life didn’t feel possible. Not for me.

But here I am, five years after meeting my mate, wiping my paint-covered hands on my apron as the bell above the front door of Howl & Hue jingles and my daughter squeals from the back room.

“Mommy! Mommy, he’s here!”

I glance toward the open studio space, my heart squeezing at her excitement. “He” is Jensen, no doubt stopping in to pick up the girls for lunch while Mabel and I finish inventory.

Sure enough, a second later, I hear his familiar footsteps—heavy and sure—and then his warm voice, deep with affection. “There’s my little artist. Did you make something new for me?”

Our daughter, Eliza, barrels into him with a shriek of delight, throwing her arms around his legs. Jensen crouches to scoop her up, peppering her freckled cheeks with kisses until she giggles.

“I painted you a dragon!” she tells him proudly, pointing to the drying rack near the window.

“You did?” He raises his brow. “Is it the fire-breathing kind? Or the kind that eats pancakes?”

Eliza bursts into laughter. “Both!”

I lean against the edge of the counter and soak them in—my mate and our four-year-old daughter. She has his dark hair and my green eyes, and she already bosses him around like a seasoned general. Not that he minds. Jensen adores her. He adores both of our girls.

“You’re early. Couldn’t wait to see us?” I tease, walking over to kiss his cheek.

He tugs me close for a proper one, sliding an arm around my waist. “Always. Finished my shift early. Harris took over the last hour. I wanted to see my girls and steal a few more minutes with my mate.”

“You’re smooth,” I murmur, smiling against his lips.

“I try.” He lowers his voice. “You should see what I have planned for tonight.”

“Gross,” Mabel calls from the storeroom. “I don’t want to hear about your matey shenanigans while I’m trying to count clay.”

Jensen chuckles as Eliza wiggles in his arms. “What about June? Is she ready?”

“She’s in the back room playing with Luke. Miles dropped him off this morning.” I pause. “Brace yourself. She found the glitter again.”

He winces. “That’s going to end up in my truck again, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

Jensen heads for the kids’ area, and I turn back to the counter, where Mabel is emerging with a clipboard and a frustrated sigh.

“We’re low on watercolor pads and that weird biodegradable glitter,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Why are we selling glitter that disintegrates when wet?”

“Because parents begged us to after Luke dumped regular glitter in the toilet, and it looked like a unicorn crime scene,” I remind her.

She snorts. “That’s right. Miles still swears there’s glitter in his tool bag.”

“There probably is.” I grin, glancing around the shop as I make a note on the restock list.

Howl & Hue is everything we dreamed of and more.

We teach art classes, host after-school programs, and sell supplies to locals and tourists.

The front of the store is filled with sunlight and color, with art hanging from every surface.

The back is our workshop and studio. And it’s right down the street from our houses.

When Mabel and I pitched the idea of converting the old bakery into an art store, the pack rallied around us.

Ryker offered the building for next to nothing, Griffin and the other members helped us renovate it, and our mates…

Well, they insisted on doing all the heavy lifting. Not that we complained.

“Ready, squirt?” Jensen asks as he reemerges holding a paint-smeared toddler with my fiery red curls and his blue eyes. June clings to a purple dragon plushie and beams at me.

“Bye, Mama! Love you!”

“Love you, too, baby,” I call after her.

Mabel steps around the counter and kisses the top of Luke’s head. “Be good for Daddy.”

Jensen grins. “See you both later.”

“Can’t wait!” I shout as they head out.

He winks, then leans close to whisper, “I’ll have them back in two hours. Then you and I have a date in the woods.”

My breath catches. He’s been planning a surprise for our anniversary all week, and I have no idea what it is. I just know it involves a blanket, a picnic, and no tiny humans.

“Don’t be late,” I whisper.

He nods, then disappears out the front with the girls in his arms.

The door closes behind them, and the shop feels quieter. Calmer.

Mabel exhales next to me. “Is it weird that I still get butterflies when Miles comes to pick up Luke?”

“No,” I say softly. “It just means we picked the right mates.”

“How did we get so lucky?”

I think about our old lives—the broken homes, the fear, the nights we spent planning our escape from Idaho. We were two scared girls who wanted something better.

And we found it.

“It wasn’t luck,” I say. “We fought for this.”

Mabel bumps my shoulder. “Yeah, we did.”

We finish the rest of the inventory in peace, then head out the back. The girls' paintings cover the walls, and the smell of chocolate chip cookies lingers in the air from this morning’s baking disaster courtesy of Eliza, who insists she’s going to be “a baker-artist-superhero” when she grows up.

I check the clock. One hour until Jensen’s back.

I wander into our breakroom and head for the bathroom, changing into a flowy sundress and brushing the paint from my curls. I barely finish pinning the last curl when I hear the front door open and the unmistakable patter of little footsteps running amok.

Jensen appears a second later, his eyes raking over me as he leans against the doorframe.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “You’re trying to kill me.”

I smile and step into his arms. “You like it?”

“I love it. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

We leave the kids with Mabel and Miles and walk hand in hand into the woods, following a trail that leads to our spot—a little clearing near the creek.

Jensen spreads a blanket on the ground and pulls out the picnic he packed: sandwiches, fruit, wine, and two cupcakes from the bakery.

“You remembered,” I say, touched.

“Of course I did. It’s our anniversary.”

I sigh as I bite into the raspberry-filled cupcake. Five years mated. Five years of fighting and falling in love and building a life. I never thought I’d find this kind of forever, but with Jensen, forever doesn’t feel like enough.

We eat, talk, and laugh. Jensen stretches out, pulling me into his arms. We lie in the sunshine, warm and tangled together, and for a while, we don’t say anything.

Then he speaks.

“Do you remember the first time I held you like this?”

“In the hospital. I was still mad at you.”

He chuckles. “You were furious.”

“I didn’t trust anyone. Especially not a hot EMT with a wolf problem.”

“I’m still a hot EMT with a wolf problem.”

“You’re my problem,” I tease.

He grins, rolling so I’m underneath him. “I’d like to propose a solution.”

“Oh, yeah?” I arch a brow. “What kind of solution?”

“The kind that involves making another baby.”

My eyes widen. “You want a third?”

He kisses the corner of my mouth. “I want as many as you’ll give me.”

I bite my lip, heart thumping. The thought of expanding our family, of another little piece of Jensen and me running around the shop, makes my chest ache with happiness.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s do it.”

We don’t make it back for a long time.