Page 18 of The Cuddle Clause

Roman

When Maggie walked into the kitchen, I short-circuited. Every thought I had derailed when I looked at her. She looked ridiculous. And completely, unfairly adorable.

It should be illegal to look like that before nine in the morning.

That now-familiar ache pressed against my chest. That thing she did to me without meaning to. Like she opened the windows and let the storm in.

She didn’t notice me staring as she sipped on her coffee. Or if she did, she didn’t comment. She leaned against the counter and muttered, “What’s for breakfast?”

Her cheeks were flushed, her voice raspy with sleep. Her whole body sagged like she’d had the worst sleep of her life. I didn’t know why, but my brain caught on it. Was she okay? Did she have a nightmare? Was this about me?

I kept my voice easy. “Nothing. Remember? Today’s the pack bonding brunch.”

She let out a full-body groan. “Shit. I forgot all about that.” She brushed a hand over her hair like that would tame it. It didn’t. “Do I need to bring something? Is it like… potluck meets primal intimidation?”

I laughed before I could stop myself. “It’s mostly awkward small talk and subtle judging. And waffles.”

Maggie’s eyes widened in panic. “I have no clue what to wear. Are people dressing up? Do I need heels? Do I need to be forest chic?”

I took another sip of coffee and answered the way I always did: by defaulting to patterns. “Sun dresses. Flats. Sweaters. Some women wear jeans, but it’s usually the rebellious cousins. Don’t wear red. It makes Lucien weird.”

She stared. “Uh… What?”

“He says it disrupts the color symmetry of the brunch layout. It bothers me too, honestly.”

Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something, but she simply shook her head and marched to her room. I followed, lingering near the door while she tore through her closet like a woman preparing for war.

She held up three dresses, each more chaotic than the last. I didn’t comment as I scanned her clothing rack and pointed to a floral one shoved near the back. “That one.”

She narrowed her eyes at it. “Isn’t it too cutesy?”

“It’s perfect,” I said without thinking. “You’ll fit in with all the other women your age. But you’ll look the best.”

She stilled, like I’d said something I shouldn’t have. Too late, I realized I had. I looked down at my feet and fidgeted with my waistband. I hadn’t meant to say that part out loud, but I had meant what I’d said.

She didn’t say anything.

We parted to get ready. My routine was fixed. Structured. Cologne—three sprays, always. Button-down shirt, sleeves rolled precisely to the elbows. Collar double-checked in the mirror.

The cuffs of my sleeves never sat quite right. I adjusted them three times before they felt balanced. Not tight. Not too loose. Just right. It was a little hit of relief in the middle of a morning I couldn’t predict.

I grabbed the keys just as Maggie stepped out of her room. And—Jesus.

She looked the way every candle I’d ever lit felt: soft, warm, a little wild. The floral dress skimmed her body, and my throat went dry.

I opened the door for her without a word. She passed by, close enough that her shoulder brushed mine. Neither of us said anything about it. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it was charged like a live wire just beneath the surface.

I kept my hand in my pocket so I didn’t do something stupid like reach for hers.

As we made our way down the hallway, she flashed me that sideways smirk I was beginning to crave every moment of the day. “You clean up nice, Velasquez.”

I smirked back, grateful for the banter. “Don’t get used to it, Mags. This is strictly brunch formal.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “That a real dress code?”

“It is now.”

I pulled the car into Lucien’s circular driveway, tires crunching softly over imported gravel.

The estate loomed in front of us, marble columns lined up like soldiers, perfectly symmetrical and aggressively pristine.

The house sat high enough above the pack lands that, on a clear day like today, you could see the silver glint of the Bay in the distance, framed by the soft rise of the Marin headlands.

The smell of eucalyptus drifted faintly on the breeze, mixed with the salty tang that traveled up from the water.

The place had been invaded by fresh flowers.

Garlands were draped over banisters, bouquets exploded out of vases, and petals fluttered like they were contractually obligated to charm.

Lucien never did subtle, especially not for a pack event.

This brunch was a power statement. Even the landscaping screamed curated perfection—lavender hedges trimmed to impossible precision, blackthorn trees lined like sentries along the property’s edge, and the redwoods from Muir Woods visible beyond the outer garden walls.

I tapped my thumb against the steering wheel out of habit. Sensory input helped when my brain started spiraling. I didn’t like crowds. I especially didn’t like pack crowds. Too many smells, too much energy, too much pressure to smile like I wasn’t two seconds from bolting.

But Maggie was here, and for reasons that would require a therapist and a few years of unpacking, she calmed me—mostly.

I couldn’t depend on her to regulate me, though. I needed to figure out a way to get us out of the inevitable mating. I should’ve had a clear plan at this point, but I had absolutely nothing, which wasn’t fair to Maggie.

She was fixing her lipstick in the mirror and checking her hair, which was pinned up with a few pieces falling in that just-woke-up-like-this way.

She looked like she belonged here more than I ever had.

A distant foghorn echoed from somewhere near the Golden Gate.

That low, familiar note that always reminded me the city wasn’t far, even if this world felt like another planet.

Inside, the string quartet was playing something classical and vaguely suggestive. The foyer buzzed with shifters dressed in brunch-formal attire: tailored shirts, pastel dresses, jewelry that was probably enchanted, cursed, or both.

I leaned close to her ear as we stepped inside. “Welcome to brunch with the beautiful and the borderline feral.”

She snorted as she scanned the crowd. “Are you sure this is a brunch? It looks like a wedding and a perfume commercial had a baby.”

That made me grin. The place was decked out beyond reason. Lucien didn’t know how to do anything halfway. Table runners in forest greens and golds. Mini waffle towers with edible flowers. Floating candles bobbing in champagne flutes. The air smelled like citrus, sugar, and power.

People started swarming us almost immediately. A council member slapped my back in greeting, then turned to Maggie with a curious look that made my hackles rise.

I slid an arm around her waist and leaned into the act. “This is Maggie. She’s off-limits and allergic to small talk, so maybe keep the questions to a minimum.”

That earned me a quick glare from her, but I caught the twitch of her mouth. She was trying not to laugh. We moved deeper into the fray. More handshakes. More introductions. Every third person asked if we were mated yet.

I smiled through it. “Not officially, but it’s only a matter of time, right, honeybun?”

She elbowed me. My grin widened.

We took our seats at the main table. I pulled out her chair, handed her a mimosa, and fed her a blackberry from my plate. When I casually brushed my fingers over hers, I pretended it was part of the act.

It wasn’t, though. I really wanted to feel her skin.

Lucien’s latest date, a wide-eyed shifter from another pack named Cally or Calla or something with a K, asked if Maggie and I were emotionally in sync. I nodded solemnly. “Incredibly. It’s cosmic.”

Maggie rested her chin on my shoulder like she was indulging a long-suffering spouse. “He cries at animal documentaries. You should see his sensitive soul in action.”

I choked slightly on my croissant. She was enjoying this way too much.

Then came the wives. They surrounded Maggie like she was a new puppy at a birthday party. Complimented her dress. Her energy. Her aura—whatever that meant.

One brushed my arm on the way out and whispered, “She grounds you. That’s what you need.”

I smiled politely as I filed that comment deep into the back of my brain with the other things that scared me.

The wives weren’t done, though. Now they were giving Maggie mating advice.

“Make sure he shifts somewhere soft.”

“If he growls during sex, it means he’s into it.”

“Let him sleep near your dirty laundry. It bonds him to your scent.”

I wanted to evaporate.

A chime rang through the house. Everyone turned toward the main table where Lucien stood, mimosa raised like some kind of dramatic brunch prophet.

“To our pack,” he said, voice booming. “Our strength has always been our bond. The world changes, but our connection keeps us steady. I look around and see a future bright with new beginnings, new mates, new alliances. To those still choosing, we support you. We celebrate you. I, for one, can’t wait to see which connections solidify in the coming weeks. ”

Glasses clinked. People cheered. Maggie was staring at Lucien like he’d grown a second head.

“These people are insane,” she whispered under her breath.

She wasn’t wrong.

The mingling resumed. I got pulled into a conversation about perimeter security with an overzealous council member, and when I turned back around, Maggie wasn’t alone.

Some baby-faced shifter in a too-tight tan suit was standing way too close to Maggie.

His cologne hit before his voice did—some cloying vanilla-amber mix that reeked of desperation and a mid-tier department store.

He had one arm braced behind her like he was boxing her in, and he was grinning like he’d already won.

“I’m just saying,” he said in a voice that was too smooth, too practiced, “if I were lucky enough to be your date tonight, I wouldn’t be standing so far away.”