Page 69 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

“Do I?” Orion challenged, tilting his chin up defiantly despite being pinned. “Because sometimes I wonder if you see people or if you just see—”

Dante kissed him, hard and sudden and thoroughly enough to cut off whatever accusation was coming next. Orion made a muffled sound of protest that turned into something else entirely as Dante’s teeth found his lower lip.

“Ahem.”

They broke apart to find Granny Lu watching them with raised eyebrows, her wheelchair positioned strategically to block their exit from the corner they backed themselves into.

“While I appreciate that young love is passionate,” she said dryly, “perhaps you could save the territorial displays for somewhere that isn’t the breakfast table?”

Dante released Orion and stepped back, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “Sorry, Granny Lu.”

“Sorry,” Orion echoed, though he didn’t look repentant.

“Mmm.” Her sharp eyes moved between them with obvious amusement. “You know, there are private rooms designed specifically for this sort of... discussion.”

“We weren’t—” Dante started.

“Of course you weren’t,” she said pleasantly. “Just like you weren’t having a ‘discussion’ yesterday in the supply closet, or the day before in the workshop, or last week behind the generator building.”

Orion made a strangled sound. “You knew about— ”

“Boy, I’ve been running this collective since before you were born. You think anything happens here without me knowing about it?” She shook her head with fond exasperation. “At least try to be subtle about your foreplay. Some of us are trying to eat.”

The afternoon work with Riot was more challenging, partly because of the technical complexity and partly because Orion kept showing up to “check on their progress” and then proceeding to critique Dante’s methodology.

“That’s not how you calibrate a signal filter,” Orion said for the third time in an hour, appearing at Dante’s shoulder with the demeanor of a particularly judgmental cat.

“It is how you calibrate a signal filter,” Dante replied without looking up from the control panel. “I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been picking locks.”

“Corporate methodology,” Orion said dismissively. “All efficiency, no elegance. You’re brute-forcing the calibration instead of listening to what the system needs.”

Riot, who had been watching their exchange with obvious entertainment, finally intervened. “Maybe,” he suggested diplomatically, “you could show us this ‘elegant’ approach?”

“Gladly.” Orion moved to push past Dante, who caught his wrist and pulled him closer instead.

“Or,” Dante said, “you could stop being a know-it-all and let me finish what I’m doing.”

“Make me,” Orion challenged, and there was that familiar spark in his eyes that usually preceded either violence or sex.

“Tempting,” Dante murmured, his grip tightening on Orion’s wrist. “But Riot doesn’t need to see you lose another argument.”

“I don’t lose arguments, I just get interrupted by—”

Dante spun him around and pressed him face-first against the nearest wall, one hand braced against his spine to keep him there. “By what?”

Orion’s response was breathless and probably not appropriate for their current audience. “By tactical advantages I’m not prepared for.”

“That’s what I thought,” Dante said, releasing him.

Riot was shaking his head in amazement. “You two are exhausting just to watch. How do you have energy for anything else?”

“We don’t sleep much,” Orion said cheerfully, smoothing down his shirt.

“You know,” Riot said as they calibrated signal filters, “when I first saw you in the Neutral Zone, I figured you for standard corporate issue. All polish and no substance.”

“Thanks?”

Riot grinned. “Turned out I was wrong. You’ve got more substance than most. Takes guts to walk away from everything you’ve ever known.”

“I didn’t walk away,” Dante corrected. “I was dragged, kicking and screaming, by a man who refused to let me make the safe choice.”

“Same result,” Riot said with a shrug.

Movie night turned out to be a pre-Adjustment action film that managed to be both ridiculous and entertaining.

Orion provided running commentary about the implausibility of the chase scenes, while Riot offered professional observations about the tactical errors being made by both heroes and villains.

Granny Lu dozed in her wheelchair, waking occasionally to make sharp remarks about the leading lady’s impractical footwear.

Later, walking back to their house under stars that were visible without corporate light pollution, Orion slipped his hand into Dante’s.

“Happy?” he asked.

Dante considered the question seriously.

Three months ago, happiness had been a foreign concept—something that might exist in the abstract but had no practical application to his life.

Corporate conditioning taught him satisfaction, efficiency, and the successful completion of objectives. But happiness?

“Yeah,” he said, surprised by how true it was. “I really am.”

“Good,” Orion said, squeezing his hand. “Because I’ve been thinking.”

“Always dangerous.”

“I want to learn to cook,” Orion announced. “Properly cook, not just heat things up. Lilac says there’s someone in the southern settlement who teaches traditional techniques, and I want to try it.”

Dante smiled. It was such a normal desire—wanting to learn a skill, to create something with your hands, to feed the people you cared about. The kind of simple aspiration that corporate life made impossible.

“We could visit,” he said. “Make a week of it. I’ve been curious about their agricultural innovations anyway. ”

“A week away from the collective,” Orion said thoughtfully. “Just the two of us, traveling like normal people. When’s the last time either of us did something that normal?”

“Never,” Dante admitted. “But I’m willing to learn.”

“Good,” Orion said, then paused. “Though I should probably warn you that I’ll be insufferable if I turn out to be naturally talented at cooking.”

“You’re already insufferable,” Dante pointed out. “At least this way you’d be insufferable and useful.”

Orion’s elbow caught him in the ribs with practiced precision. “Bastard.”

Dante caught the arm and used it to pull Orion against him, spinning them so Orion’s back hit their front door. “Your bastard,” he said.

“Always,” Orion said softly, and the sudden sincerity in his voice made Dante’s chest tight in the best possible way.

They’d reached their porch, the house waiting for them with warm light spilling from the windows. Home, in every sense that mattered.

“Any regrets?” Orion asked, echoing the question he asked that first night.

Dante looked around—at the collective settling into evening quiet, at the man beside him who turned his entire world upside down, at the life they built together from nothing but stubborn determination and impossible hope.

“Just one,” he said.

Orion raised an eyebrow.

“I regret that it took me so long to figure out what I wanted,” Dante said softly. “I could have saved us both a lot of trouble if I’d been smarter about it from the beginning.”

Orion laughed, bright and genuine in the evening air. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I like our story the way it happened. ”

“Even the part where you spent weeks plotting my death?”

“Especially that part,” Orion said, standing on his toes to kiss him. “It makes the ending so much better.”

Dante pulled him closer, still marveling at the simple miracle of being allowed to do this. No corporate schedules. No handlers monitoring their interactions. No missions pulling them apart.

Just this: a life they chose, in a place they belonged, with each other.

It was, he thought, the best possible ending to the worst possible beginning.

And tomorrow, they’d wake up and do it all over again.