Page 43 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
The first was from Wes:Heard through Kit that you’re planning a gallery opening. Your work deserves to be seen.
I typed back,Thank you for giving me the chance to remember why I love this work.
The second was from Elias:Kit mentioned your exhibition plans. I’m so proud of you for sharing your gift with the community.
And the third, from Rhett:Hollis says you’re having an art show. I want to buy one for my office if they’re for sale.
I laughed, typing back,They’re for sale. Fair warning though, wildlife photography looks different from Duke Ravencrest.
Good. I need something real on my walls.
Something real.The phrase stuck with me as I looked around my small living space, thinking about authenticity and courage and the difference between creating for approval and creating for impact.
For the first time since leaving Chicago, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged. Not hiding from who I was, but celebrating it. Not apologizing for my gifts, but sharing them.
Tomorrow I’d hang photographs that told stories about healing and resilience. Next week I’d face whatever response my community had to my vulnerability.
And that felt like the most important photograph I could never capture.
Chapter 19
Willa
Istood in front of my bathroom mirror for the third time in ten minutes, trying to decide if I looked like someone who was casually stopping by an apothecary for tea or someone who was desperately seeking comfort before tomorrow night’s terrifying public exhibition. The navy sweater I’d chosen was soft and comfortable, but not so casual that it seemed like I hadn’t made an effort. My hair fell in loose waves around my shoulders, and I’d applied just enough makeup to feel put-together without looking like I was trying too hard.
You’re overthinking this, I told myself, but my hands were still shaking slightly as I applied lip gloss. Tomorrow night, strangers would examine my photographs and judge whether my work had value. Whether I had talent worth recognizing or if Sterling had been right about my artistic pretensions all along.
The thought made my stomach twist with familiar anxiety. What if people were just being polite about my wildlife photography? What if the gallery reception was awkward andpoorly attended? What if I froze up when people asked me about my work, unable to articulate why these images mattered to me?
My phone buzzed with a text from Elias:Still planning to stop by tonight? I have that blend ready for you, plus a few others that might help with tomorrow’s nerves.
The thoughtfulness of that message made something warm bloom in my chest. Elias had remembered my anxiety about the exhibition without me having to ask for support. He’d prepared multiple tea options because he understood that nervous energy affected people differently, that what worked for one person’s anxiety might not work for another’s.
On my way, I typed back.Fair warning, I might be terrible company tonight.
I specialize in terrible company. See you soon.
The walk to Elias’s apothecary took fifteen minutes through Hollow Haven’s quiet evening streets. Most of the shops on Main Street had closed for the day, but warm lights glowed in the residential windows above the storefronts, creating the kind of cozy small-town atmosphere that still surprised me after months of city living. The October air carried scents of woodsmoke and fallen leaves, crisp with the promise of winter.
Elias’s shop was tucked between the hardware store and a vintage clothing boutique, marked by a hand-painted sign that read “Wren Apothecary: Traditional Wellness & Scent Work.” Through the front window, I could see shelves lined with glass jars, dried herbs hanging in careful bundles, and the warm glow of what looked like candlelight.
I knocked softly on the door, suddenly nervous about imposing on his evening, but Elias appeared almost immediately. He was wearing dark jeans and a cream-colored sweater that made his bourbon and cedar scent seem warmer somehow, more inviting than medicinal.
“Perfect timing,” he said, stepping aside to let me in. “I just finished the evening preparations.”
The interior of his apothecary was exactly what I’d expected and somehow more intimate than I’d prepared for. Exposed brick walls lined with wooden shelves, mason jars filled with colorful dried plants, copper pots and glass distillation equipment that looked both ancient and precisely maintained. The air was rich with layered scents—lavender and chamomile, something citrusy and bright, the deeper notes of vanilla and sandalwood.
But it was the small seating area in the back corner that made my breath catch. Two comfortable chairs arranged around a low table, soft lighting from amber glass lamps, a tea service already prepared with what looked like four different blends waiting to be sampled.
“You set this up for me,” I said, surprised by how thoughtful the arrangement was.
“I wanted you to have options,” Elias replied, guiding me toward the chairs. “Sometimes what helps with anxiety changes depending on the specific kind of nervous energy you’re experiencing.”
I settled into one of the chairs, immediately surrounded by his scent signature in a way that felt intentional and comforting. The bourbon and cedar notes were stronger here, mixed with the botanical richness of his workspace, creating an atmosphere that felt both professional and deeply personal.
“Tell me about tomorrow night,” he said, pouring steaming water over what looked like a blend of chamomile and something citrusy. “What specifically has you worried?”
The question was direct but gentle, like he genuinely wanted to understand my anxiety rather than just fix it. I accepted the cup he offered, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic whiletrying to articulate fears that felt both rational and completely irrational.
