Page 25

Humans don't meet the love of their lives at six o’clock and understand it by six fifteen.

Hell, if someone had told me yesterday I'd be sitting on a moonlit beach beside my fated mate, I'd have laughed them out of my shop.

While she's gathering her thoughts, I look down at the saddlebag I brought with me.

I pull out an old quilt I keep tucked inside for late-night rides.

Spread it over the sand.

Then, I grab a bottle of water.

And finally—my emergency chocolate bar.

The one I'd been hiding from myself all week.

But hey, priorities change.

I glance over my shoulder.

She's watching me with that curious little smile.

“What?”

“You came prepared.”

“I ride a motorcycle.”

“So?”

“So you learn to keep snacks.”

She laughs.

“I like your survival instincts.”

“My Wolf insists.”

The words slip out before I can stop them.

Her brows knit together.

“Yourwolf?What is that some kind of biker slang?”

I clear my throat.

“Uh, yeah, a figure of speech.”

Smooth, Jameson.

Real smooth.

I make a mental note to stop talking like I’m an actual Werewolf.

Probably good advice.

I walk back and offer her my hand.

“Come on.”