Page 33 of Nesting With My Three Alphas
As we walked toward the house together, I caught myself already planning what we might plant next fall. Already imagining the spring flowers we'd planted today blooming while I watched from the kitchen window, coffee in hand, surrounded by the scents and sounds of home.
Family.
The word didn't scare me as much as it should have.
Maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all.
The backyard was already transforming under Reed's efficient direction. He'd set up a portable grill with the practiced ease of someone who'd done this many times before, while Micah arranged containers of food on the picnic table with artistic precision.
"There she is," Reed said when he saw me, his grin warm and a little wolfish. As he moved past me to adjust something on the grill, I caught his scent, pine and honest work, with an undertone of something that made my omega instincts perk up with interest. The brief proximity sent a flutter through my chest that I tried to ignore. "How'd you like your first Hollow Haven gardening experience?"
"Educational," I said, settling onto one of the benches and trying to focus on something other than the way Reed's presence seemed to charge the air around him. "Charlie's very thorough with her research."
"Kid's gonna be a scientist someday," Reed said proudly. "Or a teacher. Or possibly both."
"What do you want to be when you grow up, Charlie?" I asked.
Charlie considered this seriously while helping Micah arrange napkins. "I think maybe a doctor for animals who also grows flowers. Is that a thing?"
"Veterinary botanist?" Micah suggested. "Sounds like a perfectly reasonable career goal to me."
"Veterinary botanist," Charlie repeated, clearly pleased with the official-sounding title. "Yeah, that's what I want to be."
The casual way they encouraged her dreams, the complete absence of adult cynicism about childhood ambitions, was yet another small example of how different this felt from the family dynamics I'd grown up with.
"What about you, Kit?" Reed asked, flipping what smelled like the most perfect burger in existence. "What did you want to be when you grew up?"
It was such a simple question, but it hit me harder than it should have. What had I wanted before I'd learned to want what was expected of me?
"An artist," I said, surprising myself with the honesty. "I used to draw constantly. Portraits, mostly. I loved trying to capture the emotions people thought they were hiding."
"Used to?" Micah asked gently, settling beside me with a plate that somehow contained perfectly balanced portions of everything. The warmth of his presence, the subtle scent of cinnamon and comfort that always seemed to surround him, made my shoulders relax.
"My parents thought it was impractical. And Marcus..." I trailed off, not sure how to explain how he'd gradually convinced me that my creative impulses were selfish indulgences.
"Marcus was an idiot," Reed said flatly, and the simple declarative statement somehow made me feel lighter.
"You should draw again," Charlie said matter-of-factly. "Drawing makes people happy. And you need more happy."
"Maybe I will," I said, and realized I might actually mean it.
Micah’s hand covering mine where it rested on the table, "If it’s something you’re interested in you should do it."
My omega hummed at the contact, the simple touch sending warmth spiraling through my chest. His hand was warm and callused from years of kneading dough, and something about the casual intimacy of it made me feel claimed in the best possible way.
"Was interested," I corrected automatically, then caught myself. "Am interested. I think. It's been a while."
"What kind of art?" Reed asked, leaning back in his chair with the relaxed confidence of someone completely comfortable in his own skin. "Painting? Sculpture? Interpretive dance?"
Despite myself, I laughed. "Drawing, mostly. Portraits. I used to be able to catch something about a person that they didn't even know they were showing."
"That's a gift," Jonah said quietly. "Being able to see people that clearly."
"Or a curse, depending on what you see," I said, thinking of all the times I'd drawn Marcus and somehow captured the coldness in his eyes that I'd trained myself not to notice in real life.
"What do you see when you look at us?" Charlie asked with the directness that only children could manage.
I studied them, really studied them, for the first time since arriving in Hollow Haven. Jonah, solid and patient, with laugh lines that spoke of joy despite the loss he'd endured. Reed, all sharp edges and hidden softness, the kind of man who'd give you his jacket in a snowstorm while claiming he wasn't cold. Micah, whose gentle hands and knowing eyes suggested depths of compassion born from his own grief. And Charlie, bright and curious and so full of love that it practically radiated from her small frame.
