Page 41 of The Butcher

“Thank you,” I say quietly as I turn to face him. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Reaching into the bag, he pulls out a few tops, a couple pairs of pants, and several pairs of heavy wool socks like the ones he’s wearing.

“Sweats.” Clayton holds up one of the shirts. “Even with the fireplaces, it’s cold this time of year.”

I don’t know what sweats are, but they do look warm.

The second bag has a little more of the same; short sleeve shirts, some made of flannel, and the fuzziest pajamas I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen those, either, but my mother talked about a pair of silk pajamas my father wore and those were not fuzzy from her description.

“So,” Clayton clears his throat again, looking around the room before his eyes drop to the last, very large bag. “I sort of need to set this part up, but only if you want me to. I’m happy to do it, and it won’t take me very long, but Nan said you could really use your own space in here, that a nest is really important and while I don’t know much about those other than what my dad had, I tried to get a few things that?—“

“What did you say?” I take another step toward him, my eyes instantly welling with tears.

“Uhm… Which part?”

I blink rapidly, trying hard not to dissolve into a sobbing mess. I might not have even heard him right. “The, the stuff in the bag. What it’s for?”

“Your nest?” His shoulders drop and he blows out a breath. “I told her I wasn’t the one for this. I mean, I know why she picked me to do it but I don’t know the first fucking thing about how this all works and the last thing I wanted to do was?—“

“You brought things for me to… To actually make a nest?”

Clayton blinks twice then just stares at me. “Was Nan wrong?”

“About what?” I frown and sniffle at the same time.

“Are you not an omega?”

“I am.”

“And omegas like to make nests… right?”

Nodding, I wrap my arms around my waist and squeeze. “We do.” Even if I’ve never had the chance to make a proper one.

His entire body relaxes as he smiles. “Well, good. Great. I brought a few things to get you started. Anything you don’t like, pitch it, anything you do, we’ll get more.”

Clayton grabs the bag and heads toward the door next to the bathroom, talking the entire time about colors and textures, all sorts of things I’ve never even heard of, and when he pulls it open, I all but gasp.

It’s a closet.

A closet big enough to walk into, without any windows or shelves, just one rack that goes around the top, and there’s nothing hanging from it at all.

This man, this stranger, went out of his way to buy things that I needed, and he didn’t just stop at clothes.

I turn from the closet as soon as he disappears into it, sinking slowly onto the edge of the bed before covering my face with my hands.

I don’t really know anything about making a proper nest, either, but the fact that he thought of it means everything to me.

Crying quietly, I let that sink in.

A perfect stranger is helping me build a nest, and I don’t even care if his scent is in there right now. The fact that I’ll have my own space to get anyone else’s scent out of is more than enough.

In a matter of months, a handful of perfect strangers have done more for me than anyone else has in my entire life, and if I’m not careful, I’ll let myself get used to it.

A sinking feeling fills me as I cry, one that sits in my stomach like a stone.

I can’t do that. Just like everyone else I’ve dealt with since my mother died, no one actually gives a shit about a worthlessomega, and none of them hesitated to throw me away because of it.

Chapter Eleven

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