Page 32 of The Cuddle Clause

Maggie

The silence was the worst part. It filled the spaces between heartbeats, stretched seconds into hours, and made every creak of the house, every gust of wind outside, sound like the world was holding its breath.

I paced the floor in front of the door, arms wrapped tight around myself, staring at that heavy oak as if I could will Roman through it.

The walls here were thick and ancient, laced with protective wards that shimmered faintly if you squinted at just the right angle.

But all the magic in the world didn’t stop me from imagining the worst.

I’d tried to sit. Tried to distract myself. It lasted maybe five minutes before I was up again and back to wearing a path in the rug. The estate was too quiet now. No laughter from the courtyard, no distant clink of Lucien’s ridiculous goblets. Just the weight of waiting.

When the door finally opened, I could finally breathe again.

Roman stepped in first, a little disheveled, dirt on his boots, but whole.

His eyes found mine right away, and the tension in my shoulders evaporated instantly.

Lucien followed close behind, looking like he’d stepped out of a battle and straight into a photoshoot—blood smeared on his hands, hair smoothed back, his silver cufflinks glinting like the fight had been nothing more than an inconvenient errand.

“Everyone’s safe,” Roman said in that steady, low rumble that always made it easier to keep myself together.

Lucien grinned, all charisma and charm again.

“And now that that unpleasantness is behind us,” he declared, clapping his hands like he was starting a party rather than having just enforced pack law, “we simply must return to the matter at hand. The games! The bonding! The magic of union!” His eyes gleamed with a theatrical sparkle, as if the threat at the border hadn’t happened. “Come, come. Let the hunt continue!”

I barely heard him. Roman crossed the room in a few long strides, and before I could think better of it, I was in his arms. His warmth soaked through me, grounding, real. I gripped the back of his shirt, wanting to anchor myself to him.

“You’re okay?” I asked against his chest, my voice small, my heart still trying to slow down. “You’re not hurt?”

“I’m okay,” he said, his hands smoothing down my back, his cheek brushing my hair. “Promise. It was handled. I’m here.”

I pulled back to look him over, scanning for scrapes, bruises—anything that might say otherwise. He let me fuss, a small, crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

“You’d tell me, right? If something—”

“I’d tell you, Mags,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over my cheek, his eyes steady on mine. “I swear.”

The world could’ve burned down, and I wouldn’t have noticed. He was here. That was all that mattered.

Lucien cleared his throat—loudly and dramatically as only Lucien could. “As touching as this is,” he said, spreading his arms toward the courtyard where the rest of the couples were regrouping, “true bonding happens in the crucible of competition! Off you go!”

Roman took my hand, lacing our fingers together like it was second nature. Maybe it was.

“Ready to take the city by storm?” he asked with a relaxed grin that made me want to believe everything was fine.

“Let’s do it,” I said, the weight of worry finally starting to lift as we stepped back into the night.

The first clue that came through Lucien’s app read like something out of a fantasy novel: Seek shelter in the city’s ancient heart. The letters shimmered gold across the screen, vines curling at the edges of the message. I could practically hear Lucien’s voice in my head.

Roman smirked as he slid behind the wheel of his car, the engine purring to life. “City’s ancient heart. Subtle.”

I groaned as I buckled my seatbelt. “Do you think he writes these clues with a quill pen by candlelight?”

“Absolutely,” Roman said, pulling onto the road. “Lucien loves theatrics.”

The estate disappeared behind us, the city lights calling in the distance. “Probably in a leather-bound journal with ‘Alpha Musings’ embossed on the cover.”

The drive out to Muir Woods was easy, the city fading into hills and trees, the night cool and clear. Roman kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting between us, close enough that the back of his knuckles brushed mine every now and then. We didn’t need to fill the space with words.

When we reached the park, the world changed.

The air became cooler and damper, carrying the sharp green scent of moss and pine and earth that had never known concrete.

The moonlight slipped through the canopy in silver threads, the towering redwoods casting ancient and watchful shadows on the ground.

We moved quietly, fallen needles crunching under our shoes. The forest felt alive in a way the city never could. Every breath tasted like rain. Every sound—our steps, the distant chatter of hikers somewhere along another trail, the soft hoot of an owl—seemed magnified in the stillness.

Roman found the hollow tree first, a massive redwood with an opening wide enough for us to slip inside. “There’s our ancient heart.”

We squeezed into the space together, the bark rough against my back, his chest brushing mine as he shifted to make room. No awkwardness. No tension. Only warmth. It made me feel safe.

I fumbled for my phone, trying to angle the camera in the tight space, and Roman laughed quietly, his breath stirring the loose strands of my hair. His lips brushed the top of my head.

“Hold still,” I muttered, trying to find the right angle.

“You’re the one who’s moving,” he teased, but he stayed still, patient as ever, one hand resting at my hip, steadying me without even thinking about it.

The flash of the camera caught the curve of the wood around us, our faces close, smiles real. For a moment, I forgot about the scavenger hunt, the games, the rest of the world. It was just us, tucked inside the heart of something older and stronger than either of us could ever be.

When we stepped back out into the night, the forest felt different. Or maybe I did. Either way, I wasn’t ready to let go of Roman’s hand.

We were grinning like idiots, flushed from laughing too hard and standing too close.

My phone was still in my hand, the selfie on the screen—a little blurry, but perfect in the way that mattered.

Roman’s arm looped around my shoulders, his cheek pressed lightly to mine, both of us framed by the curve of the ancient tree.

“All right,” I said, tapping through Lucien’s app. “One down.”

The app let out a ridiculous sparkle sound as I uploaded the photo, like a fairy had blessed our union. A golden checkmark scrolled across the screen, followed by Lucien’s message: Your bond grows stronger! Proceed to the next sacred task.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop smiling. Roman’s thumb brushed over the back of my hand, a silent, grounding touch.

The app chimed again, dramatic as ever, and the next clue scrolled into view: Sweeten your bond at the city’s temple of chocolate.

Roman chuckled, already pulling me toward the car. “Ghirardelli Square. Lucien really is planning the perfect date night, huh?”

“Better than his brunches,” I said, falling into step beside him. And just like that, we were off to our next ridiculous adventure, hand in hand.

By the time we rolled into Ghirardelli Square, night had fully set in, but the place was as alive as ever.

The glow of the old factory sign cast warm light across the brickwork, the square buzzing with tourists clutching ice cream cones, couples wandering arm in arm, families corralling kids hopped up on sugar.

The scent of chocolate filled the air—thick and sweet.

It wrapped around a person and made you forget every single decision that had led you here.

Not that I was complaining.

Roman parked at the curb and cut the engine. The second the door shut behind me, the richness of it hit, like stepping into a dream where calories didn’t count and decisions like this didn’t spiral into an existential crisis about self-control.

Roman smirked as we walked up the steps, his hand brushing the small of my back.

“Temple of chocolate,” he said, glancing around at the crowds. “Lucien’s really outdone himself.”

The shop was lit with that soft, golden glow that made everything feel cozy even as people were lined up three deep at the counter. Roman grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the ordering line. “What’s the move, killer? Sundae for two? Or are we going full sugar-coma?”

“Let’s go full sugar-coma,” I said. The night was already surreal, so why the hell not?

When it was our turn, Roman ordered the biggest sundae on the menu without hesitation. The bowl was so massive it could have doubled as a birdbath.

We carried it out to the steps and claimed a spot near the fountain.

A musician nearby strummed a guitar, singing something low and soulful.

The night air was crisp but not cold, carrying the scent of the Bay, of melted chocolate, of sea breeze and city grit.

I curled my legs beneath me as Roman settled close, his thigh brushing mine as he handed me a spoon.

As we dug in, I snapped a selfie. We stole bites from each other’s side of the bowl like we weren’t both grown adults who could have just ordered two. But this was better. This was ours. I stole a spoonful of fudge from his side, grinning as he mock-glared at me over the rim of his own spoon.

“Thief,” he said.

“Cry about it,” I shot back, but the words lacked heat, softened by the way my heart was beating, by the way his smile reached his eyes.

Somewhere in the middle of the sundae, when I was starting to feel the first edge of sugar-induced regret, Roman’s eyes brightened with mischief, and he swiped a smudge of chocolate from his thumb across the tip of my nose.

I grabbed a napkin, laughing despite myself. “You’re an absolute menace.”