Page 14 of The Raven's Alpha

“Coffee?” I ask.

“That sounds amazing, thank you.”

I nod my head and flip the switch, the room is bathed in a warm, golden glow. I make my way to the coffee-nook, the soft hum of the machines providing a gentle background melody. As I work on our drinks, I tune in to the sounds of Darcy making breakfast- the crinkle of wrapping paper, the clink of utensils on a plate, and the quiet rustle of his movements. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, mingling with the aroma of toast and perhaps something sweet.

When I turn around, I have to make a conscious effort to keep my grip on the cups firm, lest they slip from my hands and shatter on the floor. The sight that greets me is a pleasant one, however. Darcy has shed his layers, revealing a pair of dark wash jeans that fit him like a glove, and the soft, cable-knit pullover jumper that I sent him yesterday. The jumper looks better on him than I remembered, and I find myself smiling as I take in the relaxed, rumpled appearance of his morning attire.

“Wow, Darcy," I say, my voice barely above a whisper as I take in the sight of him in my jumper.

He looks up at me, his eyes uncertain. "Too much?" he asks, his voice tinged with self-doubt.

I shake my head, feeling a flutter in my chest. "No, not too much at all," I say, trying to sound calm and composed. "You look... beautiful. You always look beautiful, but there's something about seeing you in my clothes that makes me feel... happy." I trail off, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks.

Darcy's expression softens, and he looks at me with a warm, gentle smile. "Thank you, Eddy," he says, his voice low and husky. He takes a step closer to me, his eyes never leaving mine.

I take a step back, trying to play it cool, but I can feel my face burning with embarrassment. "Goddess, I'm rambling like an idiot," I mutter under my breath.

Darcy chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're not rambling," he says, his voice low and reassuring. "I think you're being very sweet."

I feel my heart skip another beat as I realise that he's being sweet back. I look away, trying to compose myself, but I can't help sneaking another glance at him. He's still wearing my jumper, and it looks like it was made for him.

I take a deep breath and try to focus on the present moment. We're standing in the kitchen, surrounded by warmth and comfort. It's just a normal morning, but somehow it feels like so much more.

As I pass him his coffee, our fingers brush and I feel a spark of electricity. We sit down to eat, and the silence between us is like a warm blanket. I take a bite of my sandwich and savour the flavour, but my mind is racing with all the things I want to say. I want to tell him how I've been feeling lately, how his presence in my life has made me feel alive again. I want to ask him about his day, about his plans for the future. And most of all, I want to touch him, to feel his skin against mine.

"You told me to come and find you when I was ready," he says, his voice low. "And I'm finally ready." He shrugs his slender shoulders, a hint of nervousness in his eyes. "I feel like I have to explain some things to you before we go any further," he says, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Is now a good time?" he asks, glancing around the empty cafe.

I'm supposed to be starting on prep, but all I can think about is getting out of here and spending time with my mate. I don't want tospend the day sweating over hot trays and dealing with demanding customers. I want to spend hours talking about our dreams and aspirations, and finding out what makes him tick. I want to laugh and joke together, to feel like we're truly connecting. But for now, I'm stuck here, stuck in this mundane routine that feels like it's suffocating me

"I probably should make a start on the prep work for the morning," I say, my voice a mix of guilt.

"How about I come back later and...?" he starts to say, but I cut him off, my hand waving dismissively. "No, no, stay here," I say, trying to sound more convincing. "You don't have to do any work, but you can drink some coffees and people watch.”

As I watch him hesitate, I feel a pang of desperation in my chest as I try to think of a way to keep him here. I haven’t had nearly enough time with him yet. Sure, he could come back later, but I don’t want that. I want him here with me, now, where I can share my passions and hobbies with him.

Darcy's gaze roams the bakery, his eyes landing on the cupcake display case. He glances over at me, a hint of excitement in his voice. "Can I try my hand at decorating some cupcakes?" he asks, his enthusiasm infectious. I smile, feeling a sense of warmth and connection. His eyes sparkle with excitement as he considers the possibility of decorating cupcakes.

“Sure thing, darling.” I feel a flutter in my chest, I realise that I wouldn't take the term of endearment back even if I could. It was too real, too true. And so, I let the word hang in the air, hoping that he could hear my sincerity.

Darcy's eyes flick towards mine, his cheeks flushing with a gentle pink as he processes the affectionate term. I grin back at him, feeling a sense of connection and companionship as I look at his flushed face. He takes my hand, and I help him carry his stuff into my office, careful not to jostle him too much as we navigate the narrow hallway.As we step into the cosy room, I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling like we're finally settling into a peaceful space. I give his hand a gentle squeeze, grateful for this quiet moment with him.

We walk into the kitchen and he flashes a shy, endearing smile, his cheeks still flushed from the nickname. I lead him through the morning's tasks, showing him where everything is stored and how to expertly measure out the ingredients. The sweet scent of vanilla wafts through the air as we work, and I feel a sense of comfort and routine wash over me. As we finish up, I take Darcy's hand and lead him to the counter where we'll be baking. "Let me show you how we make these cupcakes," I say, my voice warm and encouraging, "and then you can take over the decorating.”

I slide open the worn cover of my beloved recipe binder, the pages rustle softly as I flip through them until I land on the one with the perfect cupcake recipe. I know I could digitise my recipes, but there's something special about holding these dog-eared pages in my hands, feeling the weight of years of memories and trials baked into each recipe. I've grown attached to this binder, not just because it holds my favourite recipes, but because it's a tangible connection to my past, a reminder of all the times I've cooked and shared with loved ones.

I arrange the ingredients and utensils on the counter, the soft clinking of the mixing bowls and the rustle of the recipe pages create a soothing melody as I step back to let him work. His brow furrows slightly as he reads the recipe, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he commits each measurement to memory. A small crease forms between his eyebrows as he focuses on the task at hand, his eyes darting back and forth between the recipe and the ingredients. As he reads, his tongue darts out to moisten his lips, a tiny flicker of nervous energy that belies his focus on the task at hand. He looks endearingly awkward, like a gangly teenager trying to find his footingin a new world – and yet, there's something undeniably charming about it.

I could spend all day observing him, watching the way his face lights up with focus and concentration as he works. But I know there's still work to be done before the morning rush begins. I pull out my phone and the opening chords of 'Welcome to Paradise' fill the room, the crunching guitars and driving beat creating a sense of energy and anticipation that seems to vibrate through the air.

I find myself thinking deeper about my mate, it's just with his striking appearance - the jet-black hair and perfectly manicured nails that always seem to be on point - that I had a preconceived notion of him as someone who was a bit of a loner, someone who kept to himself and didn't really connect with others. But as I've gotten to know him better, I've discovered that he's actually friendly and easy-going, with a sunny personality that shines through despite his grungy look. Those earlier thoughts are all on me, and it's a reminder that I shouldn't be so quick to judge people based on appearances. After all, who am I to judge? As someone who's been judged harshly by others for being an alpha, I should know better than anybody else not to make assumptions about someone based on their surface-level characteristics.

While we wait for the cupcakes to bake, I take a few minutes to tidy up the workspace and prep the display cases for the morning rush. By the time Darcy's cupcakes are done, I'm just about ready to open the bakery doors. I show him where I keep all the decorating items, giving him free reign on how he wants to make them look. As he pulls out a few piping bags from the cupboard, I'm impressed by how easily he finds them, like he's done this a thousand times before. He chooses his icing colours with care, selecting just the right shades to create a beautiful design. I'm glad I always have a steady supply of icing on hand, knowing that it will be easier for me to fulfil any special orders that come in throughout the day.

I open the front door and I'm greeted by the warm rays of sunlight that illuminates the display cases and makes the freshly baked bread smell even more enticing. I take a moment to appreciate the peaceful atmosphere of the bakery before the morning rush begins, savouring the quiet before the chaos. I leave Darcy to start decorating and I turn my attention to the music, adjusting it to a gentle background hum that will create a calming atmosphere for our customers without overpowering their conversation. I switch to a soft piano melody, hoping it will help create a sense of tranquillity in the bakery that will help our customers relax and unwind.

As the morning flies by, I find myself lost in the beauty of Darcy's creations. The cupcakes are a feast for the eyes, with delicate swirls of frosting and intricate piping designs that make them look like tiny works of art. My heart swells with pride and admiration as I gaze at the finished cupcakes, feeling a sense of ownership and satisfaction that comes from seeing my mates vision come to life through Darcy's talent. Of course, I know that Darcy won't be perfect at everything, but so far, I'm thoroughly impressed.

I take a moment to catch my breath and survey the aftermath of our busy morning. I glance around the cosy bakery and wonder how I'd ever gotten along without this place. I watch as Darcy moves around the shop, chatting with customers and making sure everyone leaves with a smile on their face. The small town's tight-knit community means that everyone knows each other's names, and I'm struck by how effortlessly Darcy interacts with the regulars. As I take a moment to relax, I'm left wondering what took us so long to meet in this small town where everyone seems to know each other.

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