Page 99 of Nesting With My Three Alphas
Thoughtful was Reed's diplomatic way of saying that Kit had been processing something, probably the significance of hitting the one-year anniversary of our bonding. For someone who'd spent the first part of her life believing she didn't deserve good things, anniversaries of happiness could be emotionally complex.
"She's been in her studio since dawn," Jonah said. "Working on something she says is 'just for us' and won't let anyone see until tonight."
Just for us. Kit's most meaningful gifts were always the ones that came from her art. Pieces that captured moments oremotions or the small details that made our family unique. She'd painted Charlie reading in the garden, sketched Reed building something in his workshop, drawn me baking with the focused intensity that meant I was problem-solving through pastry.
Each piece was a love letter in watercolor and charcoal.
"She's also been getting mysterious phone calls," Reed added. "Something about consulting work for other communities. I caught part of a conversation about 'curriculum licensing' and 'trainer certification programs.'"
This was news to me. "She didn't mention consulting work."
"Because she probably doesn't think it's important enough to mention," Jonah said with the exasperated fondness of someone who'd spent months learning to decode Kit's self-deprecating habits. "You know how she is. Someone could offer her a tenured position at an art college and she'd describe it as 'helping out with some classes.'"
The morning rush picked up, cutting off our speculation as the bakery filled with its usual mix of locals grabbing coffee and tourists following the scent of fresh pastries. I fell into the familiar rhythm of customer service, but part of my attention remained focused on the envelope from the Portland Arts Council and the mystery of whatever Kit was creating in her studio.
And the phone calls about consulting work that she considered too minor to mention.
By noon, the bakery had settled into the quieter pace of early afternoon, and I found myself arranging the anniversary cupcakes in transport containers with perhaps more care than strictly necessary. Tonight wasn't just about celebrating our first year with Kit. It was about acknowledging how completely she'd integrated into our lives and our community.
How essential she'd become.
The door chimed again, and this time it was Kit herself, paint-stained and slightly wild-haired from whatever creative intensity had kept her occupied all morning.
"Don't look at me like that," she said immediately, catching my expression. "I know I look like I've been wrestling with art supplies."
"You look like someone who's been creating something important," I corrected, moving around the counter to kiss her hello. She tasted like coffee and possibility, with just a hint of anxiety underneath her usual vanilla-honey sweetness.
"Maybe," she said, but there was something in her eyes. Excitement mixed with nervousness that suggested whatever she'd been working on mattered to her deeply.
"Hungry?" I asked, already knowing the answer. Kit forgot to eat when she was deep in artistic focus, a habit that triggered every nurturing instinct I possessed.
"Starving, actually." She settled onto the stool behind the counter, the one I'd designated as hers months ago when it became clear she'd become a regular fixture in my afternoon routine. "And slightly overwhelmed by whatever conspiracy you three have been planning."
"What makes you think we're planning anything?"
Kit gave me a look that suggested my poker face needed work. "Reed spent an hour this morning arranging lighting like he's preparing for a photoshoot. Jonah keeps hiding mysterious packages. And Charlie asked me very specific questions about my favorite colors and whether I prefer surprises that are 'beautiful' or 'meaningful.'"
"For what it's worth," I said, pulling ingredients for her favorite sandwich from the refrigerator, "we tried to keep it simple. But Charlie may have influenced the scope of the celebration."
"How much influence are we talking about?"
"She's been planning this for three weeks. There are charts involved."
Kit laughed, the sound carrying the mixture of amusement and overwhelm that meant she was simultaneously touched and slightly panicked by the attention. "Should I be worried?"
"You should be prepared to feel very loved," I said honestly. "Which I know makes you nervous, but try to remember that you deserve it."
Her scent shifted, picking up notes of the emotional complexity that anniversaries brought up for her. Gratitude mixed with disbelief that this life was actually hers, joy tempered by the lingering fear that good things were temporary.
That we might change our minds about wanting her.
"Micah," she said quietly, "can I ask you something?"
"Always."
"Do you ever think about what would have happened if I hadn't come here? If I'd chosen a different town, or if I'd stayed in Chicago, or if I'd just... kept running?"
The question caught me off guard with its sudden vulnerability. "Why are you thinking about that?"
