Page 25 of The Alpha’s Runaway Mate (Evermore Hollow #1)

NINETEEN

NOLAN

It’s been a few weeks since the pack dinner, and for once, life feels… easy. Calm, even.

Jessica’s been working at the bookstore during the day, handling accounting, organizing inventory, keeping Miller sane. Paige says she’s basically turned the place into a well-oiled machine, which doesn’t surprise me. Nothing runs smoother than when Jessica puts her hands on it.

She’s picked up a few shifts at Snarl too, helping out behind the bar when things get busy. I used to handle the books myself, but I finally handed them over. She’s way better at that kind of thing, numbers, systems, keeping track of things that make my head hurt just thinking about them.

We still haven’t figured out what exactly happened to Declan. Whatever followed him back that night, it’s been quiet. Too quiet.

But it’s been a month since anyone’s seen or sensed anything off, so for now, we’re living like normal. Normal feels good. Especially with her in it.

Tonight’s one of those rare nights where everything just clicks. The air’s easy, laughter rolling through the bar. There’s a good crowd, enough noise to fill the place, but not enough to feel crowded. Music hums low from the jukebox, lights dimmed to that perfect glow between cozy and rowdy.

Brooke and Mason are across from me, Mason nursing a beer while Brooke tells a story that keeps making him shake his head and smile like a man who’s long since accepted defeat.

Paige’s sitting beside Jessica, the two of them laughing about something I missed, and I don’t even care what it is, hearing Jessica laugh like that does something to me every damn time.

I lean back in my chair, watching her talk. The way her hands move when she gets excited, the spark in her eyes, the sound of her voice weaving through the noise, it’s grounding. She fits here like she’s always belonged. Hell, maybe she has.

Mason catches my look and grins around the neck of his beer. “Whipped,” he mutters under his breath, not even trying to hide it.

“Keep talking,” I warn him lightly, “and I’ll tell Brooke what you said about her chicken and dumplings last week.”

Brooke perks up instantly. “What did you say about my cooking?”

Mason groans. “Nothing! I said it was great!”

I smirk, lifting my glass. “Pretty sure the word ‘soggy’ was used.”

Brooke narrows her eyes, and Paige starts laughing so hard she nearly spills her drink. Jessica’s shaking her head, trying not to laugh but failing miserably. Mason glares at me across the table like I’ve just betrayed some sacred brotherhood.

“Alpha or not,” he mutters, “that was low.”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” I say, grin tugging at my mouth.

The banter goes on for a while, light and familiar. These are my people, loud, loyal, the kind that make a place feel like home. I spent years thinking leadership meant distance, that I had to stay a step above everyone to keep order. Turns out it’s not about distance, it’s about connection. Trust.

Jessica’s hand finds mine under the table, her thumb brushing lazy circles against my skin. The touch pulls me back down from whatever thoughts I was drifting into. She gives me that small smile, soft, private, the one she doesn’t share with anyone else.

I squeeze her hand, leaning closer. “You okay?”

“More than okay,” she says, voice low enough just for me. “I love seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Relaxed,” she teases. “Almost human.”

I laugh quietly. “Careful. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

She leans in, eyes sparkling. “I think you’re doing that all on your own.”

Before I can respond, Paige groans dramatically. “Ugh, you two are disgustingly cute. Can you at least pretend we’re not all single?”

Jessica laughs, cheeks flushing. “You’re not all single.”

Paige tilts her head toward Mason and Brooke. “Yeah, but they’re boringly married. You two are in the fun stage. Give it a few years.”

Brooke swats at her with a bar napkin. “Don’t listen to her. It gets better with time.”

Mason winks. “Depends on the day.”

The table erupts in laughter again, and for a moment, everything feels easy. Simple.

Outside, thunder rumbles low, distant, not threatening, just a reminder that the mountains have a heartbeat of their own.

Jessica leans into me, resting her head against my shoulder. “This is nice,” she says softly.

“Yeah,” I murmur, my hand finding her thigh. “It is.”

And it is. The laughter, the warmth, the smell of beer and smoke and home, it’s everything I didn’t realize I’d been missing.

By the time we step outside, the night air’s cool and still. The rain earlier has left the pavement slick, reflecting the glow of the neon sign like a ripple of firelight.

Jessica’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright from laughter. She looks up at me, smiling that soft, knowing smile that makes my chest tighten every damn time.

“Are you good to drive?” she asks, teasing, even though she knows I’ve only had one beer.

I nod. “Are you doubting me already?”

She grins. “Never.”

We climb into the truck, doors shutting with a solid thunk that cuts out most of the noise from the bar behind us. The cab fills with quiet, just the hum of the engine, the faint patter of rain dripping from the trees, and the low rhythm of her breathing beside me.

I glance over at her. She’s watching the road, but her hand’s resting on her thigh, fingers brushing the hem of her jeans. It’s such a small thing, but it pulls my attention like gravity.

Halfway down the road, I reach over and slide my hand over hers. She turns her palm up, threading her fingers through mine without looking away from the windshield. That little spark of contact runs straight through me.

She finally glances over, her smile quiet but full of heat. “You’re staring.”

“Can’t help it,” I say, voice rougher than I intend. “You’re hard not to look at.”

Her cheeks flush. She leans a little closer, her scent curling around me, vanilla, pine, the faintest trace of whiskey from earlier. I can feel her watching me now, the tension between us thick and easy all at once.

At the next red light, she shifts in her seat, her knee brushing mine. Her hand drifts to my arm, fingers tracing along the edge of my sleeve.

“Eyes on the road, Alpha,” she murmurs.

“Trying,” I say. I’m not.

The light turns green, but neither of us moves for a second too long. Then I clear my throat, put the truck back in gear, and head toward the ridge.

By the time we pull into the driveway, the air inside the cab feels charged, thick with everything we haven’t said yet but both understand.

I put the truck in park, but I don’t move. She turns toward me, that small, teasing smile curving her mouth. “What?” she asks softly.

Instead of answering, I reach across the console and catch her chin with my hand, tilting her face up.

The second our mouths meet, the rest of the world goes quiet.

Her lips part under mine, soft and sure, and I can taste the faint sweetness of whiskey and vanilla.

Her fingers slide into my hair, and when she sighs against me, it feels like something inside me finally exhales, too.

The kiss deepens, slow and unhurried but full of promise, like we’ve got nowhere to be but here.

When she finally pulls back, her forehead rests against mine. Her voice is a whisper. “You sure you don’t want to go inside?”

I breathe out a laugh. “If we stay out here, I’m not going to make it that far.”

Her smile widens, that spark of mischief lighting her eyes. “Then what are you waiting for?”

I grin, start the truck again, and pull us the rest of the way up the drive toward the cabin, our cabin.

And as the headlights cut across the trees and she laces her fingers through mine again, I can’t help thinking that whatever peace this is, I’ll fight like hell to keep it.

The second my boots hit the ground, I know something’s wrong.

It’s subtle at first, a shift in the air, a scent that doesn’t belong, but it’s enough to set every instinct I have on edge. The hair on the back of my neck lifts, my pulse kicking up as I draw in a slow breath through my nose.

It’s human. Male.

And not from around here.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

The easy warmth from earlier drains out of me in an instant, replaced by something sharp and cold. My bear stirs beneath my skin, restless, ready to fight, and every thought in my head starts moving too fast. Who it could be. What they wanted. How close they got.

Jessica’s halfway out of the truck when she catches the change in my body language. “What is it?” she asks, voice low, careful.

I lift a hand slightly, signaling for her to stay behind me. “Someone’s been here.”

She freezes, eyes darting toward the cabin. “How do you know?”

“I can smell it.” The words come out rougher than I intend, my voice dipping into that deep, gravelly edge that always comes out when my instincts take over. “It’s not one of ours. A man. Human.”

Her heartbeat stutters, quick and shallow. I can hear it, feel it, taste it. I step closer to the porch, automatically positioning myself between her and whatever might be waiting. The light over the door glows steady and harmless, but that only makes my skin prickle harder.

She swallows hard. “Do you think they’re still here?”

“Doubt it,” I say, though the words don’t sit right in my mouth. The scent’s faint but recent, no more than an hour old, maybe less. Fresh enough to make my chest tighten.

We’ve gotten lazy. Comfortable. Thought being this far out meant we were safe. I let myself believe that no one would come looking for us this deep in the ridge, that the kind of trouble she ran from couldn’t find her here.

But there’s one thing we haven’t talked about since that first night, one thing I never wanted to bring up.

Ethan.

Her ex. The reason she ran. The reason my bear still bristles every time his name crosses my mind.