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She had texted me this morning.

Patty: Good morning to the future alpha of this family, who I assume has spent the last eight hours staring at his bedroom ceiling thinking about a specific girl.

Hudson: I’m literally right in the middle of a fence repair, Patty. Don’t start.

Patty: Oh, please. We walked down to the parking lot together at midnight. I saw the look on your face under the security lights. You looked like you’d just been hit by a very polite freight train.

Hudson: I was just tired.

Patty: My romantic intuition says something happened, and it better have. I spent twenty minutes tracking a caterpillar’s journey across the parking lot. Did you finally use your words or what?

Hudson: I kissed her.

Patty: OH MY GOD. Finally! Details immediately. Did you crash into the pantry? Did a mixing bowl shatter?

Hudson: It was a normal, incredibly good kiss. And then I left with you like a gentleman.

Patty: A gentleman? In this economy? Disappointing. But fine, I will accept this victory for the pack.

I hadn’t answered.

The front doors opened. Conversation continued for several seconds before enough people noticed who’d entered.

Sloane stood at the door, wearing a knee-length burgundy dress and black boots. She had a jacket draped over one arm and held the pecan pie like an offering. Her hair fell around her shoulders, and the freckles across her cheeks stood out against the color gathering there.

When she saw me, a slow smile spread over her face.

I crossed toward her, aware of heads turning and people whispering with no effort at concealment.

“You made it,” I said.

“I was promised a hundred and one years of accumulated chaos.”

“We might not deliver all of it tonight.” I took the covered pie dish from her hands.

She hesitated before reaching for my free hand and intertwining our fingers. The effect on the pack was immediate.

Trevor whistled from beside the dessert table.

Jason said, “I knew it,” loud enough for the entire room.

Grandma Ruth clapped both hands. “It’s about time.”

Sloane nearly stopped walking.

I squeezed her hand. “Welcome to privacy,” I murmured.

“This is horrifying.”

“You’ll adjust.”

“I doubt it.”

Patty appeared in front of us, wearing a black velvet dress and a grin large enough to qualify as threatening. “Aw, you’re holding hands.”

Sloane looked down. “That appears to be the situation.”

“In public,” Patty added.