Page 57 of Sawyer

I searched his face, trying to read between the lines.

“Casey…”

“I’m serious,” he said, his hand resting on mine, squeezing it lightly. “I’m putting the past where it belongs. Today is about us. About moving forward, right?”

I nodded slowly, my chest tightening at how brave he was.

Brave, not because he wasn’t scared, but because he chose to face it anyway.

“If you’re sure,” I said, still hesitant. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this for me.”

“I’m doing this for us,” he replied, giving me a soft smile. “And I want to meet your pack. To see where you grew up.”

I stared at him for a moment, my heart swelling with emotion. He was doing it—for us.

For our future, for the life we were building together. And if that didn’t make me love him even more, I don’t know what did.

“All right,” I said, brushing my thumb across his cheek. “But if it gets too much, you tell me. Promise?”

“I promise.” He leaned into my touch, closing his eyes briefly as if savoring the moment.

Chapter 15

Casey

“Ican’t believe you made this for today!” A voice carried through the double doors leading to the dining hall of the pack house.

The sound of bickering followed. Sawyer’s hand hovered on the doorknob, ready to open it, but he paused, wincing slightly as the voices continued inside.

He turned to me, his brow furrowed, a mix of hesitation and embarrassment on his face.

“This is starting to feel like a bad idea. Maybe we should just catch a movie instead,” he muttered.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Why? You think I’ll find out some deep, dark secret about you? And here I thought I was supposed to be the nervous one today.”

Chuckling, I rested my hand over his. With a slight squeeze, I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

The dining hall stretched out before us. A long wooden table sat at the far end of the room, surrounded by a few people who had already gathered.

“What took you guys so long?” Miles called out, his voice bright as he walked toward us with a grin.

Before I could answer, he placed a hand on my shoulder, steering me toward the table.

When Sawyer first mentioned the pack house’s dining hall, I imagined something simple—maybe like a camp cafeteria.

Instead, it felt like I’d walked into a colonial estate or a mountain hunting lodge, complete with heavy wooden beams and creaking floorboards.

The walls were lined with dark wood paneling, and large windows with a view of the forest beyond. The whole place had a historical feel to it, like it had stood for centuries.

I looked down at my outfit—a dri-fit shirt, weathered hiking jacket, and boots still caked in dirt from a hike months ago.

I’d dressed casually, thinking we’d head out for a hike after lunch, but now I felt completely out of place, like I’d shown up to a wedding in jeans.

I glanced around and noticed that the others were dressed just as casually, which helped me feel less out of place.

“Settle a debate for us. What’s worse to bring to a potluck: a store-bought rotisserie chicken or a lovingly handmade frittata?” Miles asked as we reached the table, gesturing between two covered dishes.

Noah crossed his arms. “You forgot to mention the frittata was made bysomeonewho always cracks eggs with half the shell still in them.”