Page 12 of How I Met My Mate

The table—solid oak, probably hand-built—is set for two. There’s a plate of scrambled eggs flecked with herbs, bacon curled and glistening, golden toast stacked neatly beside a jar of homemade berry jam. A bowl of sliced fruit—peach, apple, and honeydew—sits in the center, along with a small vase holding a single wildflower, probably picked from outside.

Cole is standing beside it, phone in one hand, coffee in the other. He’s barefoot, his hair still damp from a shower, wearing just jeans and a plain gray T-shirt that does nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders.

He looks up the moment I walk in.

“Morning,” he says, all easy charm and suspiciously casual tone.

I fold my arms, giving him my best don’t-even-try-it stare. “Morning. So… who were you talking to? You sounded… tense.”

For just a heartbeat, something flickers in his eyes—gone before I can pin it down. He picks up his mug, takes a long, unnecessary sip, and sets it down again. “It was nothing important. Just logistics.”

“Logistics,” I echo.

He lifts a shoulder and gives me a charming shrug. “Pack business is boring. There’s a reason I let my brother be Alpha. I’d rather talk about us.”

On the one hand, I want answers and I don’t like that he’s shutting me out. On the other hand, I also want to know what our future holds.

I settle down at the table and shovel a pile of bacon onto my plate, and then follow it up with a pile of fluffy golden scrambled eggs, as he sits down in the chair across from me.

He leans back in his chair, coffee mug cradled in his hands, and says quietly, “You know what I want?”

I swallow a bite of buttery eggs and raise an eyebrow. “I’m afraid to ask.”

His mouth curves. “A life that feels like this. Breakfasts together. Stealing your bacon.”

“But there’s a giant pile of bacon on-” I’m pointing at the plate in the middle of the table.

He reaches over, plucks a piece off my plate, and pops it in his mouth before I can protest. “Yours tastes better.”

I can’t help but laugh, but then I grow serious. “You’re asking for…forever. Why? Why me?”

He studies me for a long moment, the teasing fading from his face. He sets his mug down and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Because it just feels right,” he says finally. “Not just right—it feels inevitable. In the best possible way. You’re my person. You’re what I’ve been waiting for all along, without even knowing I was waiting.”

I blink. “That’s a lot to take in from a man I met yesterday.”

He nods slightly. “Yeah. It is. But that’s what being fated means for us, Alexis. It’s not just chemistry or attraction. It’s… the bond. The pull. The sense that your soul recognizes someone before your mind has caught up. You feel it in your bones, and no matter what you tell yourself, you can’t unfeel it. I thought it was a myth until I met you.”

Something in his tone—soft, reverent—makes my chest tighten.

“When I met you,” he continues, “there was instant recognition. I looked at you and I thought, her. I just…my words aren’t coming out right. You’re my fated mate, which means you’re the person the universe chose for me. The one I was built for. The one I’ll protect, no matter what it costs.”

My throat goes dry. “You barely know me.”

His eyes gleam with a warmth that flows over me like sunshine. “Maybe not every detail. But I know the important things. I know the way your heartbeat changes when you’re about to challenge me. I know that you’re strong and smart and funny. I know you’re not afraid of wolves—but you’re terrified of belonging anywhere. And I know that when you laugh, it sounds like home.”

I stare at him, words caught somewhere between my heart and my throat.

“That’s what being fated means,” he says quietly. “It’s not magic. It’s… recognition. It’s every part of me knowing, without question, that you’re it.”

I swallow hard. “That’s not fair. You know, to the very depths of your soul, and I’m sitting here questioning, wondering whether this is real, wondering if you’re just using me to…”

To distract me from whatever secret you’re keeping.

“Using you?” he looks puzzled. “Wolves don’t lie about our fated mates. Ever.”

His phone rings, and he looks at it and rolls his eyes. “Hello, mother of all nags,” he answers it. “Yes, we’ll be there shortly. Keep your fur on.” And he hangs up.