Page 105 of Mark & Don't Tell

Chips, spicy turkey jerky, good granola bars, dark-chocolate-covered pretzels, Hello Pandas. Yeah. This is what a pantry should look like, I think as I grab a jerky stick and a handful of pretzels. Salty and sweet? Yes, please. Carrying my mini hoard out of the pantry, I set it next to the slices of apples and the milkshake I made myself.

The amount of food I have in front of me gives me pause for one moment. I glance at the clock. It’s three p.m. Tonight is Sunday and Letti’s family dinner. But that’s like three hours from now. With how hungry I’ve been, I’m sure I can work up a bit of an appetite before then.

I don’t know what’s been going on. It’s almost like my heat is on the way, but the calendar says it isn’t for another few months. Maybe this hunger is thanks to the fact that, for the first time in a long time, I don’t have to worry about food?

I grab the milkshake and take a drink, leaving the other snacks behind as I venture through the house. If this sudden rush of hunger is related to my heat, I need to pick a room for my nest. Aside from the rooms upstairs, the guys have shown me a few other options they’re willing to convert.

I can’t bring myself to claim the library—it would be a crime to destroy those pretty wooden built-ins.

God, this shake is good.

Turning toward the unused office, I hum a song that’s been stuck in my head and admire the abstract paintings hanging on the walls. Art is everywhere in this house. Every wall that has space has some sort of art. It’s amazing. My favorites are the abstracts, though. Something about the broad strokes is bold but almost sad at the same time. Like the artist let their emotions take control to create mirages in sweeps of color and shapes.

The office door hangs open, and I stop to rest against the threshold. There are two other offices in the mansion. Who needs three offices? I guess the people who buy houses like this do a lot of business. The guys don’t really fit with the uptight vision that’s in my head. To me, the type of people who’d live here work from the time they wake up until they go to sleep, keeping spreadsheets or contracts with them while they sip whiskey by the fire.

My pack doesn’t do that. At least, they haven’t while I’ve been here. I appreciate that they can separate work from home. I’m not sure I’d enjoy being jealous of a job on top of being jealous of time.

The office has a simple desk and chair and a few short bookshelves that are bare. A complete waste of space. Plus, this room faces northeast, so it’s not super bright. There’s definitely nest potential here.

I reach the bottom of my shake, the straw gurgling in protest, and I sigh, debating between going back for my snacks or clearing out the room. It’s not dirty, by any means, but it needs a change. The room is practically begging for me to Marie Kondo its ass...that is, if she knew how to build a nest.

Setting the cup down on a table in the hall, I head for one of the bookshelves and test it out. It’s not that heavy. Definitely scootable. I grab the edge of the desk next and lift. Yeah, I can totally do this. I’ll get my snacks later.

As I secure my curls with the giant clip that’s doing a semi-okay job of holding them back, a rush of urgency fills me, and I move like lightning, quickly dragging the bookshelves out of the room. I can’t lift the desk, so I carefully scoot it out of the room as well, thankful that there are smooth pads on the bottom to protect the floor. I roll up the rug that’s cute, but not my vibe, and then it’s a simple matter of grabbing the rest of the sparse decor and lining it up in the hall with everything else.

I’ll figure out how to deal with all that later. Right now, I need to clean the walls and mop. Maybe find a candle. My box of nest supplies is severely lacking, which means it’s time to go hunting.

I feel no shame when the guys come back from their run and find me with a handful of their softest shirts and sweaters. They close the front door and look at me, stopped on the stairs, arms overflowing with loot.

“Not a word,” I warn them before continuing down the stairs. “These are mine now.”

“But I like that sweater,” Lincoln pretends to whine.

Shooting him a haughty look, I head toward my nest. “Yeah, well, tough luck, Chuck. By omega law, all your favorite hoodies and shirts are mine now. May as well get used to it. Oh, I also grabbed Kai’s comforter and Vic’s chenille throw.”

“What else did you steal?” Vic asks, a hint of a laugh framing his words.

“Stealing is such a violent word, don’t you think? Is it really stealing if it’s still in the same house?” I glance over my shoulder before disappearing into the room. It’s definitely not perfect, and I couldn’t afford a bed or anything, but I found an air mattress in the hall closet. I drop my armful of items onto the bed and grab the first one, folding it and eyeing the guys, who are standing in the doorway.

“Daria,” Kai begins. “Is that an air mattress?”

“Yup.” I focus on folding the clothes and not the insecurity rushing through me. I know it’s not perfect, but it’ll do. Plus, it’s better than being on the floor. I’m not exactly overflowing with cash. I was fine with them supporting my snack habit, but buying all the things I need for my nest? That’s a lot to ask.

“Is that what you want in your nest?” Kai asks.

I glance at him, noting that he’s wearing a carefully neutral expression. Like he’s trying to hide his reaction from me. “It’ll get the job done, and this way, we won’t have to spend any money.”

His eyes narrow. “We can buy you whatever you want.”

I shake my head. “This is fine. More than adequate.”

“You deserve more than an air mattress,” Kai says.

“What if I want the air mattress?”

“Bunny, come on, let us buy you something nice.”

I glance at Lincoln. “I don’t need you to buy me something. I have what I need.”

---