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She makes little jokes, but only when she’s extremely relaxed. The fact that I did that for her, today, fills me with more pride than fifteen seasons in the NFL ever has.
“I hope not,” I grunt, playing along. “Gnomes are a bitch.”
She giggles, but the humor quickly falls off her face. Intensity brightens those big green eyes. “Jonah, did you do all of this yourself?”
I nod, coming a few steps closer. “It was no big deal. I planted some tomatoes and a bunch of herbs over there. If they like this spot, you and I will go to the garden center and get more. Maybe a few more fruit trees, too. They look nice, right?”
She just stares at me, gaze swirling as her scent sweetens. I’m too far away to tell if she’s happy or upset, so I do my best to give a casual shrug. “If you don’t like it, I can?—”
With my eyes cast down, I miss the way she darts toward me.
Which is how the Orlando Ospreys center winds up getting thrown to the ground by an omega.
chapter
twenty-nine
Jonah is every bit as comfy as he looks.
I lie in the crook of his bare shoulder, resting my head where it meets the broad expanse of his chest. Tracing a finger along the thick black lines inked over his heart, I turn and look up at the copse of oak trees swaying overhead.
He catches me peeking again, chuckling quietly over his purr and pulling me in closer. “I’m glad you like your garden, manamea.”
Sweetheart. He calls me that all the time. And, sometimes, when I’m feeling extra shy, hummingbird. Either way, everything he says is layered with undeniable fondness.
Which I still don’t understand.
He won’t let me do anything for him. Every time I offer, he just tells me we have time. Like there really isn’t any rush—like he actually wants… to get to know me?
I feel like we’ve made some pretty good progress on that. He quizzed me about all my favorite foods, the types of music I like the most, how I feel about all the clothes Tristan’s personal shoppers sent for me.
I’ve learned about him, too. The big man loves any sort of sporting event—even things most people don’t usually watch, like surfing and bowling. He’s passionate about cooking and spending time outdoors, which means he loves to grill on the enormous gas range the pack has in the backyard.
I’ve only been here for a week, but it’s already clear he’s the peacemaker of the pack, with a deep understanding of all the other guys and tons of insights he has no problem sharing with me. That’s how I learned that Spencer has a touch aversion and Avery used to be a tattoo artist.
He’s also been the source of all my Tristan intel. I haven’t had the nerve to ask many questions, but so far Jonah’s told me that their pack leader may seem fussy, but he’s really the least-picky eater of them all. He’s also not at all particular about what they do to spend time together as a pack and prefers making most decisions as a group.
Other than that, the other info I’ve gleaned is pretty useless. He likes to change into comfortable clothes the moment he gets home; he’s a bit of an insomniac; and, according to Jo, he has “a black thumb” that can kill any houseplant, no matter how hardy.
Something this big man clearly doesn’t struggle with, if this beautiful garden is any indication.
Every time I look around, I can’t control my smile. So I hide my face against his pec instead, scent-marking him before I realize what I’m doing. His purr deepens, his hand spreading wide over the small of my back.
Bearded lips graze my forehead before he nestles his chin against the crown of my head. We stay there, content, for a long moment before he rumbles, “I’ve been thinking about things we could do together. Places to take you. Things you might want to learn.”
No one’s ever been as kind to me as this alpha. In fact, I doubt anyone’s been this kind to another human, ever. And without expecting a single thing in return. Not even an explanation as to how I ended up here.
Why do I suddenly feel like I might cry?
“Jo?”
He turns his face into my hair. “Mmhmm?”
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to talk to you all. I know I promised I would. I’m sure you’re all getting frustrated…”
It isn’t really a question, but he hears what I’m asking anyway. Hitching me closer, his voice lowers into a soft murmur. “Serena, where you’ve been doesn’t matter to me. I only need to know where you want to go. So I can take you there.”
His words sink in slowly—their meaning and his absolute, mind-boggling sincerity.
