6. Warm and Welcoming
1895 Words
Elena's POV:
The moment we got in, I rubbed my hands together, trying to revive feeling in my fingers. Caleb immediately went to Milo, rubbing warmth into his tiny fingers with soft, careful strokes.
It did something painful to my chest.
Then he glanced at me—just for a second—but the look was enough to send heat crawling up my neck.
He cleared his throat. “Sit. Both of you. I’ll make hot chocolate.”
I nodded and walked toward the fireplace. Milo trailed behind me, his small boots thumping on the wooden floor as he sank onto the rug beside me.
Those eyes… Big and bright blue. The exact shade as his father’s.
Dangerous.
I sat cross-legged on the big, thick rug, Milo tucking himself right into my side like it was the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of him, his tiny weight leaning on me, made something inside me melt—dangerously so.
Behind us, from the kitchen, came the soft hiss of warm milk and the clinking of mugs. Caleb had a quiet, steady way of moving. No loud banging or slamming, just the patient rhythm of a man who had learned to navigate life without startling a child.
It soothed me more than I wanted it to.
Milo pressed closer, snuggling as if I’d always been here, as if this was… normal.
My heart tugged.
No. Stop that, Elena. He belongs to Amelia. Not you.
Not your business.
Definitely not your heart.
I needed to leave the second the snow let up. Because this father-son duo was lethal. Lethal for my sanity. And my chest. And my entire future. I couldn't make any mistakes.
“You know Aunt Harp?” Milo asked.
I smiled. “Yes. She’s my best friend.”
Milo nodded wisely. “She’s loud. But I love her.”
I choked on a laugh. “She is. Very loud. And I love her too.”
“And she talks a lot.”
“That’s true," I chuckled.
“And she says bad words when she steps on Legos. Grandma tells her not to say bad words.”
I snorted. “That’s… also true.”
He leaned in conspiratorially. “She said one when grandma bake a cake.”
“What did she say?”
He mouthed it dramatically—nothing came out, but the shape of the word was unmistakable.
“Oh Goddess,” I whispered, laughing into my sleeve. “She didn’t.”
Milo nodded proudly. “I told Daddy that Aunt Harp needs a time-out.”
A small puff of laughter floated in from the kitchen. I didn’t need to look to know Caleb heard that entire exchange.
“And Daddy told me,” Milo continued with all the seriousness of a monk delivering ancient wisdom, “that grown-ups don’t get time-outs. They just get… consequences.”
I raised a brow. “Consequences? What consequences did she have?"
"Dad made her train with his beta, and aunt Harp hate Uncle Pete."
I burst out laughing, unable to help it. Milo beamed, clearly pleased with himself.
The fireplace crackled, warm and gold, painting his little face in soft light.
“What about you?” I asked. “Do you get time-outs?”
He shook his head fiercely. “No.”
“Oh? Really?”
“Because…” He puffed his chest. “…I’m good.”
I arched a suspicious brow. “All the time?”
He hesitated. “…Sometimes.”
“That sounds more accurate.”
He leaned closer, whispering, “I share snacks at school.”
“That’s sweet of you. Sharing is good.”
He made a face. “Yeah, but Tommy never shares back. He give broccoli, but broccoli is NOT snack. It’s punishment.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth, laughing, but Milo was not done.
“And Miss Avery broccoli good,” he continued. “But Miss Avery never eats broccoli.”
"Broccoli is good for you. It makes you grow tall."
"Like daddy?" Milo asked, and I nodded.
"Yes. Tall like daddy."
"Did you not eat broccoli, Lena?" he asked innocently, looking at me with a confused look.
Goddess... this boy! I might not be a giant like his daddy, but I was... average.
I choked on nothing.
"Brutal, Milo Monroe, brutal. I am tall." I pressed a hand to my chest and he chuckled.
Milo looked up at me with those impossibly bright eyes. “I like you, Lena.”
I swallowed hard. Too hard. My throat burned with emotion I absolutely could NOT afford.
“I… like you too, Milo.”
From behind us, I heard Caleb’s breath hitch—so soft I almost thought I imagined it.
I didn’t turn. I didn’t dare.
The fire crackled, Milo leaned on me like he belonged there…
…and for a terrifying heartbeat…
It felt like he did.
***
Caleb returned after a few more minutes, with three steaming mugs, setting them in front of the fireplace before kneeling to increase the fire. The flames grew brighter, crackling their way to life.
He sat beside Milo, the firelight painting his sharp jaw in gold. He sipped his drink quietly, staring into the flames like they held every answer he didn’t want to say aloud.
The three of us sat there, wrapped in the glow of the fire and the faint sweetness of chocolate in the air. Milo finished his drink first—Caleb had cooled his to a warmer temperature—and the boy let out a soft, sleepy sigh as he leaned further into me.
Then came the yawn. Before I knew it, Milo had slid sideways, his tiny head settling effortlessly on my arm as if he’d done this his whole life. As if he belonged there.
Caleb’s gaze lifted. Over his son’s sleeping form, his eyes found mine
His lips parted and his eyes flickered. With something like… longing. Or fear of longing.
He cleared his throat.
“If you feel sleepy, buddy, go to your room.”
But Milo was already asleep, breathing softly against me, cheeks pink from the cold earlier.
I shook my head. “He’s fine.”
“But—” Caleb started.
“It’s fine,” I repeated, softer this time. He gave me a nod.
We drank our hot chocolate, the silence so warm it felt like being wrapped in a blanket. Finally, he broke it—his deep voice threading through the crackle of wood.
“So… how did you end up here?” he asked.
I hesitated. “Harper…”
At her name, his eyes flashed with annoyance and understanding.
A low groan slipped from him. “That meddlesome fool.”
I huffed a small, guilty laugh. “I’m sorry. I didn't know...”
“You didn’t do anything. You don't have to apologize for her.”
“I think I should just go back after the snow stops,” I murmured.
Caleb looked sharply at me. “Or… you can stay here. I’ll find another place for me and Milo It is not a problem..”
I blinked at him. That wasn’t what I expected—not from him. I mean, after last night and how adamant he was about not leaving... this was a shock.
“It’s okay,” I said quickly.
“No.” His voice softened, low and rough. “I don’t want you to leave just because of this mix-up.”
I shook my head again. “You two were here first. And I don’t want to be an inconvenience. It's better for me to leave.”
His eyes held mine, earnest and searching. "Is it? Better? You..." He trailed off.
My heart stuttered. That wasn’t fair. He wasn’t allowed to mean things like that. Not with his son sleeping against me. Not with the firelight making everything feel softer than it should.
“I came because Harper insisted,” I whispered, rubbing Milo’s back very gently. “She said I needed a break. A… reset.”
“And do you?” His voice dropped. “Need one?”
“Apparently.” I forced a small laugh. “I’ve been overworking. The bakery. Life. Everything.”
He nodded, understanding far too much. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to ask more, but instead he leaned back slightly.
“So why aren’t you celebrating Christmas with your pack?” I asked after a while.
His jaw flexed, a hint of sadness flickering. “Sometimes the noise gets to you. Sometimes… you just want to get out of your obligations and breathe.”
I nodded. “I don’t know what it feels like to be an Alpha. To carry all that weight. But… it must be hard.”
He let out a long, quiet sigh.
“It is hard. Don’t mistake me. I love my pack. I love what I do. But it gets overwhelming sometimes. And this—” he gestured around the cottage “—is my reset. My escape.”
I wanted to say something comforting, but the words lodged in my throat.
His eyes shifted, shadows deepening. “After Amelia…” he trailed off, looking toward the fire, jaw tightening.
My stomach twisted. Harper had told me everything that happened... and she was so angry when she said. She cursed Amelia with every inch of her being.
“With how close you and Harper are,” he said quietly, “I knew she must’ve told you.”
I nodded. “She did. And I’m sorry, Caleb.”
He swallowed hard.
“I thought I could handle it. I did... But Milo… he was only three. And I watched him waiting for her—every day, wondering what happened to momma, and..." He winced. "I hated seeing him like that."
My chest tightened painfully.
“He still asks about her,” Caleb continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “He tries not to. He asks me late at night, when he is sleepy... and...”
I placed my free hand gently over Milo’s small fingers. He stirred a little, then relaxed again.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been,” I said softly.
Caleb laughed quietly, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Hard is… inadequate. She didn’t just leave me, and the pack... I would have moved on from that. She left him. And that—” He looked away, voice roughening.
Without thinking, I reached out and touched the back of his hand.
Warm. Solid. And trembling, just barely.
He stiffened at first, like my touch shocked him, but he didn’t pull away. His eyes snapped to mine, something intense flickering.
I immediately started to pull my hand back.
“Sorry, I—”
“No," he breathed placing his other hand on top of mine, trapping it between his warmth.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Caleb Monroe looked at me like I was a flame he wanted to touch but knew would burn him.
“Thank you,” he whispered after a long time.
I didn’t know what exactly he was thanking me for... but I appreciated it.
And I knew…
This was more than I intended to feel.
And yet…
I didn’t move.
I sat with my hand trapped within his, feeling... happy to be trapped.
(-)
- Writer
