Page 29 of Nesting With My Three Alphas
"Where should I put these?" Kit whispered, holding Charlie's things.
"Just on the hall table. Thank you."
I settled Charlie on the sofa with gentle hands, and Kit was right there, pulling a throw blanket over her small form without being asked. My daughter murmured something in her sleep and snuggled deeper into the cushions, completely at peace.
"Thank you," I said as Kit straightened. "For today. For everything."
"Thank you for including me," Kit replied. "I had a wonderful time."
We were standing close in the dimmed living room, Charlie's soft breathing the only sound. Kit's scent was warm and inviting, and when she looked up at me, I saw something in her eyes that made my pulse quicken.
"Jonah," she said softly, and I thought she might be about to say something important.
Instead, she reached out and squeezed my hand, the same way she had on the hayride. "You've made this town feel safe," she said. "I wanted you to know that."
"You've made it feel right again," I replied honestly. "Just thought you should know."
For a moment, I thought she might lean closer. Her eyes dropped to my lips briefly, and I felt the pull between us like a physical thing. But then she stepped back, that careful distance reasserting itself.
"I should go," she said. "Let you get Charlie to bed properly."
"Of course." I walked her to the door, trying not to be disappointed. "Kit?"
"Yeah?"
"Sweet dreams."
Her smile was soft and genuine. "You too."
I watched from the window as she crossed the small yard to her own front door, pumpkin cradled in her arms like a prize. The porch light Reed had installed caught her hair as she unlocked her new deadbolts, and I found myself thinking about how perfectly she'd fit into our day. Into our lives.
When I turned back to check on Charlie, I found her awake and watching me with knowing eyes.
"You like Kit," she said matter-of-factly.
"We all like Kit," I replied, sitting on the edge of the couch.
"No, Dad. Youlikelike her. The way grown-ups like each other."
Sometimes my daughter's perceptiveness was alarming. "It's complicated, buttercup."
"Why?"
How to explain the delicate balance of three alphas all drawn to the same omega? The need to let Kit heal and choose for herself? The fear that wanting something good didn't automatically mean you deserved it?
"Because grown-up feelings usually are," I said finally.
Charlie considered this with seven-year-old wisdom. "Well, I think she likes you too. She smells different when you're around. Happier."
"Does she now?"
"Mmhmm. Like flowers before it rains, but in a good way."
I pressed a kiss to Charlie's forehead, marveling once again at her intuitive understanding of omega dynamics. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you to bed."
As I tucked Charlie in and listened to her recount her favorite parts of the day, I found myself thinking about Kit's hand in mine, the way she'd looked at me on the hayride, the moment when we'd almost kissed in my living room.
But there was something else lingering too. Kit's scent, faint but unmistakable, clinging to Charlie's clothes and the throw blanket. Vanilla and honey with those notes of contentment I was learning to associate with her happiness. She'd left a piece of herself here, and I found I didn't want it to fade.
