Page 17 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
"Thank you for checking on me earlier. And for reminding me that not everyone wants to tell you how to live your life."
He smiled, and for the first time since he'd entered the store, he looked genuinely relaxed. "I have a feeling that woman would have very strong opinions about both of us if she knew our whole stories."
"Probably. Good thing she doesn't get to write them for us."
"No," Cassian agreed, tucking the books under his arm as he headed toward the counter to pay. "She doesn't."
After he left, I found myself thinking about our conversation. There had been something beneath the surface, some conflicthe was wrestling with that went deeper than typical family expectations. But whatever it was, he seemed like someone who was genuinely trying to do the right thing, even when it was difficult.
It was nice to meet someone else who understood that sometimes the bravest thing you could do was choose your own path, even when it disappointed people who thought they knew what was best for you.
The camera bag was still in my car, still wrapped in blankets like something shameful. I'd managed to avoid thinking about it for three whole days, convinced myself that I could build a life here that didn't require me to confront that part of myself.
But Mrs. Vaughn's casual mention of photography as a "lovely omega hobby" had brought it all rushing back. The weight of the camera in my hands, the way composition used to come naturally, the satisfaction of capturing a moment that told a story worth preserving.
The way Sterling had slowly, systematically convinced me that none of it mattered.
"Real photographers make money, Willa. Real photographers have clients and commercial success and the kind of recognition that builds careers. What you do is... decorative. Pretty pictures that make people feel good but don't serve any practical purpose."
"If you want to play with cameras as a hobby, that's fine. But don't pretend it's professional work. Don't pretend it's something that could support you."
"Pack life requires focus on what matters. On building something sustainable together. Your little artistic experiments are a distraction from what we're trying to accomplish here."
I shook my head hard, forcing Sterling's voice back where it belonged. In the past, with everything else I'd left behind when I drove away from his carefully controlled life.
But the damage was done. Mrs. Vaughn's innocent suggestion had cracked something open that I'd worked hard to keep sealed. Now I couldn't stop thinking about the camera equipment, about whether I even remembered how to use it anymore, about what it would feel like to look through a viewfinder again.
The front door chimed, and I looked up to see Elias approaching with what looked like another tea blend. He took one look at my face and immediately shifted into what I was beginning to recognize as his professional healer mode.
"Rough afternoon?" he asked gently.
"Something like that."
"Want to talk about it?"
I almost said no. Almost fell back on my default response of deflection and avoidance. But something about his presence, calm and non-judgmental, made me reconsider.
"Someone suggested I should take up photography," I said carefully. "As a hobby. For omega creative expression."
"And that bothered you because...?"
"Because I used to be a photographer. Before I moved here. And I'm not sure I want to be one again."
The admission hung between us, more revealing than I'd intended. Elias nodded like it made perfect sense, like people went around abandoning their entire professional identities all the time.
"What changed?" he asked.
"Someone convinced me I wasn't very good at it."
"Someone whose opinion you trusted?"
"Someone whose opinion I thought I should trust."
"Ah." He set the tea blend on the counter. "That's different."
"Is it?"
"Trusting someone and thinking you should trust someone are two very different things. One comes from the heart, the other from obligation or expectation."
