Page 30 of Lycans & Lattes

Holding my mother’s furious gaze, I draped my arm around Willow’s shoulders and kissed her temple. The sounds of the other pack members dulled around us as every one of their ears tuned into the argument.

“I only want what’s best for you, and it’s not⁠—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” I interjected, giving her a warning look. “I think we’ve had enough of this party. Let’s go for a walk, Willow.”

I made sure to stare down each and every judgmental set of eyes as I went.

13

Willow

The wolf gathering wasn’t a total wash. As we left, Wyatt snagged a plate of his grandmother’s wild blackberry cobbler cookies.

Hand in hand, we passed through the corn maze and pumpkin patch to where a shoulder-high wall of hay bales separated tourist areas from the agricultural fields. The autumnal facade concealed the less majestic farming equipment, tractors, and sheds.

Here, Randy sourced most of the produce that was sold at Midnight Market and delivered to local businesses. Gourds, pumpkins, and heirloom corn varieties all grew in smaller sized patches, marked off with signs. Clearly, half of the fall fare that decorated the town stoops came from this back field.

Randy and his older brother had volunteered to mend the graveyard fence today, which meant we had the whole place to ourselves, and it was nice to escape from the bustle of pumpkin pickers. Wyatt led me over to a scattered patch of hay that cushioned the now-bare pumpkin patch. He shook off his jacket and laid it down for us to share as a makeshift blanket, then offered me the plate of cookies that smelled like heaven.

I bit into one, and my taste buds instantly awoke to the zing of blackberry and cinnamon. Wyatt’s grandmother taught jam making and canning to tourists at the Bats and Broomsticks B&B, and everyone always raved about her wild berry preserves.

Now, I understood why.

I would be dreaming about these cookies for the rest of my life. I wondered if she’d be willing to bake some for the café . . . but then I thought it was probably best not to harass an octogenarian.

“Wow.” I moaned, cramming the cookie into my mouth as I reached for a second. “These are better than Eloise’s cider donuts. Don’t you dare tell her I said that,” I scolded with a jam-covered finger.

Wyatt held his hands up. “I would never piss Eloise off like that. Your secret is safe.”

He took one of the cookies for himself, then laid the plate down close to my knee, knowing full well that he was going to be lucky to get a second one. “That was . . . intense,” he hedged. “I’m sorry my mom acted that way.”

“Honestly, it went better than I’d expected. It’s just going to take some time for us all to warm up to each other.”

The sun peeked through the clouds, and a ray of golden light cast over his blond hair, setting it aglow. He had been stone-faced and rigid when he’d picked me up at the café. Now that we were far from his pack, his shoulders relaxed and the gloom in his eyes was melting away.

“Thank you,” he said, squeezing my thigh. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it up to you, but I will.”

I shoved my second cookie in my mouth and hummed with pleasure. “You’re more than welcome.”

Wyatt’s brow popped. “Are you trying to make me jealous of my own grandmother?”

“I’m in love with these cookies.” I giggled around the crumbs.

“You’ve never acted this ravenous about any of my cookies,” he accused, a coy smile playing on his lips.

He reached out and took my hand, lifting my index finger to his lips and licking the jam clean.

My stomach fluttered, and though I’d never had any interest in exhibitionism before, I was seriously considering ripping my clothes off.

I was still a bit sore from our last round of mind-blowing sex, but I couldn’t seem to keep my mind out of the gutter. Everything Wyatt did turned me on, from the way his arms bulged when I grabbed his biceps to how he stood up to his mother without being disrespectful, to the way he grinned at me like he knew the exact direction of my thoughts.

Yep. I was definitely ovulating, and I was still reeling from the fact that Wyatt had known before I had. Who needed a period-tracking app when you had a werewolf around?

Wyatt tipped his head toward the plate of cookies. “Another? I like seeing you insatiable.”

And there went my insides, melting again. Maybe in accepting Wyatt’s mating bond, I’d kicked some sort of hormonal trip wire.

I pulled him closer. “I feel pretty ravenous for you.”