Page 24 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
As I read, I noticed Willa moving closer to our circle, ostensibly straightening nearby bookshelves but clearly listening to every word. The children were captivated, as always, but I found myself telling the story as much for her as for them.
“The little fox was afraid to trust other animals because she’d learned that sometimes when you let others get close, they might hurt you. So she stayed in her safe den and watched the world from a distance.”
“But that sounds lonely,” Maya whispered.
“It was lonely,” I agreed. “But the fox thought being lonely was better than being hurt.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Willa’s hands still on the books she was organizing. She was listening intently now, and I could scent the way my words were affecting her. Her jasmine and rain scent had grown stronger, more complex, tinged with something that felt like longing.
“Then one day, the fox got sick,” I continued. “She had a fever and couldn’t hunt for food. She was too weak to take care of herself the way she usually did.”
“Oh no,” Alex said, clutching his scent blanket tighter.
“The fox was scared. She’d never needed help before. But just when she thought she might not make it, she heard gentle voices outside her den. A family of rabbits had noticed she hadn’t been seen in days, and they brought her soup and medicine.”
“Rabbits helping a fox?” Emma asked skeptically.
“Sometimes the most surprising friendships are the strongest ones,” I said, glancing meaningfully toward Willa. “The rabbits didn’t try to change the fox or make her be something she wasn’t. They just offered kindness and waited to see if she’d accept it.”
I could see Willa’s chest rising and falling more quickly, could scent the way emotion was affecting her despite her suppressants. This story was hitting closer to home than I’d intended, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.
“What did the fox do?” Maya asked.
“At first, she was too scared to come out of her den. She’d been hurt before by animals who said they wanted to help but really wanted to control her. But these rabbits were different. They left the soup by her door and went away, giving her space to decide.”
“And did she eat it?”
“She did. And it helped her feel better. The next day, the rabbits came back with more soup and some funny stories that made her laugh. Day by day, the fox began to trust that maybe not all animals wanted to hurt her.
I watched Willa lean against the bookshelf, her gray eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my alpha instincts hum with protective awareness. She was seeing herself in this story, recognizing her own fear and isolation in the cautious fox.
“Did the fox ever come out of her den?” Emma asked.
“Eventually,” I said softly. “But not because the rabbits forced her to. She came out because she realized that hiding wasn’t the same as being safe. And because she discovered that the rabbits liked her exactly as she was. They didn’t want her to be a rabbit. They just wanted her to be a happy fox.”
“I like that story,” Alex said, snuggling deeper into his scent blanket.
“Me too,” Maya agreed. “Do you think the fox was scared even after she made friends?”
“Probably sometimes,” I admitted. “Learning to trust takes time, especially when you’ve been hurt before. But the rabbits were patient. They understood that some things can’t be rushed.”
Willa’s scent shifted, becoming warmer and less guarded. She was still listening, still affected by the parallels between the story and her own situation. I found myself hoping she understood that the patience I was describing wasn’t just fictional.
We read two more stories after that, but I kept thinking about the fox tale and the way Willa had responded to it. Children began getting picked up by parents, and our cozy circle gradually dispersed until it was just me, Willa, and the lingering scent of chamomile and comfort.
“That was lovely,” Willa said quietly, helping me fold the scent blankets. “The children clearly adore you.”
“They make it easy,” I said. “Children don’t overthink kindness the way adults do. They just accept it or they don’t.”
“Like the rabbits in your story?”
Our eyes met, and I saw understanding there. She knew I’d been talking to her as much as to the children. The question was whether she’d accept the message or retreat further behind her walls.
“The fox was smart to be cautious,” I said carefully. “Trust should be earned, especially for someone who’s been hurt before. But I hope she eventually realized that not all offers of friendship come with strings attached.”
Willa was quiet for a long moment, her fingers smoothing the soft fabric of the blanket she was folding. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
“What if the fox was more damaged than the rabbits realized? What if she had problems that couldn’t be fixed with soup and stories?”
