Page 7 of Nesting With My Three Alphas
"Some people don't like children nesting. Or anywhere near omegas." The words slipped out before I could stop them, revealing more than I'd intended.
Jonah's expression went very still. "Some people are idiots."
The quiet conviction in his voice made my chest tight. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like anyone who felt differently was clearly wrong.
"I'll be over in a few minutes," I managed.
"Take your time," Jonah said. "Charlie, come on. Let's go start the pancakes."
"Can we make extra?" Charlie asked as they headed for the door. "In case Kit wants seconds?"
"Sure, buttercup."
"And can we use the special chocolate chips? The ones Micah brought from his bakery?"
"We'll see."
Their voices faded as they left the duplex, but the warmth lingered. I stood in the empty room, looking at the spot where Charlie had built her little nest, and felt something shift inside my chest.
The space still smelled like us, like family, and for one dangerous moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to wake up to this every morning. To be part of something bigger than just survival.
I padded back to my bedroom and stood in front of the two suitcases I’d dragged upstairs last night. They held my carefully curated wardrobe. Marcus had always insisted I dress a certain way. Tailored clothes in muted colors, nothing too casual, nothing that might suggest I was anything other than perfectly controlled. But this was different. This was pancakes with a single dad and his pup who thought I was worth nesting with.
I pulled on a soft sweater in sage green, one of the few pieces I'd bought for myself instead of Marcus, and a pair of well-worn jeans that actually fit my curves instead of hiding them. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I barely recognized the woman looking back. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes bright with something I'd almost forgotten how to feel.
Hope.
Before I could lose my nerve, I grabbed my keys and headed next door. The scent of butter and vanilla drifted from Jonah's kitchen window, making my mouth water and my omega instincts purr with contentment. When was the last time I'd smelled food that was made with love instead of obligation?
I knocked softly, suddenly nervous. What if this was a mistake? What if I was reading too much into simple neighborly kindness?
But when Jonah opened the door, the smile that spread across his face chased away all my doubts.
"Perfect timing," he said, stepping aside to let me in. "Charlie's been asking every thirty seconds if you were coming yet."
"I heard that!" Charlie called from somewhere deeper in the house. "And it was only every minute!"
The inside of Jonah's duplex was a mirror image of mine, but where mine was empty and echoing, his was full of life. Crayon drawings covered the refrigerator, a stack of library books teetered on the coffee table, and there was something that looked suspiciously like art supplies scattered across the kitchen counter.
"Sorry about the mess," Jonah said, following my gaze to the colored pencils and sketchpad. "Charlie's been working on a project for school."
"Are those watercolor pencils?" I asked before I could stop myself.
"Yeah, I think so. Charlie's been experimenting with different techniques." Jonah glanced at me curiously. "You know about art supplies?"
Dangerous territory. But something about the casual domesticity of the moment made my usual walls feel less necessary.
"A little," I admitted. "I used to... I like to draw sometimes."
"Really?" Charlie appeared in the doorway, chocolate smudged on her cheek and excitement bright in her eyes. "You draw too? What do you like to draw?"
"Charlie," Jonah said gently, "let Kit get settled before you interrogate her about her hobbies."
But I was already moving toward the art supplies, drawn by the familiar sight of creative tools laid out with care. "It's okay. I used to draw a lot of different things. Landscapes, mostly. Sometimes people."
"That's so cool! Could you maybe show me sometime? I'm trying to draw a picture of our house, but it’s all wrong and the windows look funny."
"I'd be happy to help," I said, meaning it. When was the last time someone had been excited about my art instead of dismissing it as a waste of time?
