Page 26 of That Defining Moment

Lysander’s answering smile was all the confirmation that Hamish needed.

By the time they pulled into the driveway back home, the back seat held two IKEA bags, a shower curtain, a lemon tree, the half-dead rosemary, the basil, and a bag of potting mix that had split in transit and dusted everything with a fine layer of soil. Hamish carried the plants around to the back garden while Lysander hauled the IKEA bags through the front door, and they met again in the kitchen.

Cassian was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor with a plastic takeaway container in his lap and syrup on his chin.

The container was from a bakery on Lygon Street, and it had clearly once held a generous quantity of baklava. Roughly a quarter of it remained, the rest reduced to a slick of crushed pistachio and syrup residue.

“Cass.” Hamish set his keys on the counter and looked down at the wreckage. “How much baklava was in there when you started?”

Cassian held up the container for inspection. “It came with twelve pieces.”

“And you’ve eaten nine of them.”

“The Universe provided. I’ve left some for you and Lysander as an act of generosity and kind regard.”

Hamish rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Well, I suppose you’re not having dinner tonight, then.”

Cassian’s eyes flew wide, and his mouth dropped open in dismay. “What? Why, alpha?”

Hamish laughed. The sound echoed off the kitchen tiles, filling the small room. Lysander had appeared in the kitchen doorway with an IKEA bag slung over one shoulder, his hip propped against the frame. Hamish, even when he’d been living alone, had always considered his kitchen a bit too cramped for comfort, but somehow its boundaries seemed to have expanded so that it became exactly the right size for him and these two.

“What do you want, Cass?” Hamish leaned against the counter and looked down at his mobile screen. “I’ll order in. No more sweets, though.”

Chapter Thirteen

Cassian had been mentioning a librarian named Elisa at dinner for the past couple of weeks. She’d been working with him three afternoons a week on his reading at the Yarra-Melbourne Regional Library on Swanston Street, and whatever she was doing was landing. He’d come home last Tuesday and read from a recipe book out loud at Hamish’s request, faltering only once.

He’d set off that morning with his thongs on and his library card in both hands, reciting the tram route under his breath, and Lysander had watched him through the kitchen window until his blond head disappeared from view.

Brown Sugar Bakery was three blocks from the cottage, wedged between a Vietnamese grocer and a place that did twelve-dollar smoothies with adaptogenic mushroom powder. Lysander pushed through the door and into the warm, butter-heavy air, already thinking over what he wanted.

An alpha at the window table looked up from his laptop.

Lysander clocked it the way he always did, and went through his usual calculation: was this a man who’d seen Lysander naked on a screen, or just a stranger who wanted to get into his pants?

The alpha’s eyes dropped to Lysander’s arse as he turned towards the counter. Just checking him out, then. Lysander let it be.

“Can I get a dozen mixed pastries, please?” He leaned against the counter while the woman behind it reached for one of the periwinkle cardboard boxes stacked beside the register. “And make sure there are a few of the Portuguese tarts in there.”

“How many tarts?”

“Five, please.”

The pastéis de nata here were absurdly good, burnished on top, the custard still trembling when he bit through the shell, and Cassian had developed a fixation on them. He’d eaten three in a row last Monday and then sat on the couch in a state of transcendent stillness for twenty minutes.

The treats were for Elisa, who had given Cassian her time without asking for anything in return. The worker laid a croissant, two pains au chocolat, a slice of olive oil cake, and the Portuguese tarts into the box. Lysander waited with his hip against the counter, his gaze drifting across the café.

There was a woman with a pram eating avocado toast one-handed while her baby gnawed on a teething ring. He looked past a couple wearing matching activewear, and a man reading the paper, eventually landing on a bright, white-blond head near the back wall.

Lysander’s attention moved to it before his brain caught up, because that particular shade of blond that caught light like a signal flare was one that he’d come to connect with Cassian. It was bent towards a brown-haired alpha, who was rugged and good-looking, with a square jaw and well-developed forearms.

But Cassian was supposed to be at the library…

Lysander’s hand stilled on the counter. He looked again, properly this time, and yes, that was definitely Cassian with an alpha who didn’t look like his name would be Elisa.

Lysander picked up the periwinkle box from the counter and crossed the café.

He kept his face neutral and his stride unhurried, threading between tables with the pastries tucked under one arm. When he reached their table he slid into the empty chair beside Cassian.