Page 46 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
“It means I’ll be there because I want to celebrate you, not because I’m monitoring your emotional state or managing your stress levels.” His voice was soft but certain. “It means I care about your success because it matters to you, not because it reflects well on my ability to support omega wellness.”
The concept was so foreign to my experience with Sterling that I almost couldn’t process it.
“And if people don’t respond well to my work? If the reception is awkward or poorly attended?”
“Then I’ll still be proud of your courage in showing your photography publicly. And I’ll still believe your artistic vision has value that goes beyond one evening’s reception.”
Unconditional support. Not dependent on outcomes or other people’s approval, but consistent recognition of my worth regardless of external validation.
The tea had definitely helped settle my nervous energy about tomorrow night, but Elias’s presence was creating different kinds of awareness. The way he looked at me like I was something worth appreciating, the way his scent signature seemed designed to make me feel safe and desired simultaneously, the way our conversation had shifted from professional support to personal admission without feeling manipulative or pressured.
“I should probably head home,” I said, though the last thing I wanted was to leave this warm, intimate space where I felt completely understood.
“You should,” Elias agreed, but he didn’t move to end the conversation. “But first, can I say something that might sound presumptuous?”
“Everything you’ve said tonight has been exactly what I needed to hear.”
“Tomorrow night, when people are looking at your photographs and recognizing your talent, remember that their appreciation doesn’t create your worth. Your work has value because you created it, because it documents stories that matter, because it connects beauty with conservation in ways that make people care about protecting what they’re seeing.” He paused, his bourbon and cedar scent intensifying in ways that made my skin feel more sensitive. “Their recognition is wonderful, but it’s not what makes your work important.”
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it completely. “For the tea, for understanding why tomorrow night matters, for believing in my recovery when I’m still learning to believe in it myself.”
“Thank you for trusting me enough to help.”
I stood to gather my purse and jacket, reluctant to leave but aware that staying much longer would shift the evening into territory neither of us had explicitly negotiated. But as I reached for my things, Elias’s hand covered mine, warm and certain.
“Willa,” he said quietly.
“Yes?”
“I need you to know that what I feel for you isn’t just appreciation for your art or protective instincts about your wellness needs.” His voice was soft but steady, like he’d been planning these words for weeks. “I care about you. About your happiness. I care about you in ways that have nothing to do with professional support and everything to do with recognizing someone extraordinary when I see her.”
Someone extraordinary. Not someone with potential to become extraordinary with the right guidance, but someone who already was.
The honesty in his admission, the way he looked at me like I was precious and worth celebrating, made my heart race with something that felt like hope and desire and recognition all at once.
“I care about you too,” I said, the words coming easily.
He didn't want to fix me or change me, he just wanted to stand by my side while I figured it out for myself. He wanted to be the person I could lean on if I needed him.
The space between us seemed charged with possibility and nervous energy and the kind of attraction that built slowly through understanding rather than instant chemistry. His hand was still covering mine, warm and careful, like he was askingpermission for increased intimacy without pushing for more than I was ready to give.
“Tomorrow night,” he said quietly, “after your artistic triumph, after people have recognized your talent properly, would you like to have dinner with me? Not as healer and client, but as two people who care about each other and want to explore what that might mean?”
A real date, with romantic intentions acknowledged and mutual interest clearly established.
“Yes,” I said, surprised by how easily the acceptance came. “I’d like that very much.”
“Good.” His smile was warm and genuine, carrying none of the territorial satisfaction Sterling would have shown at securing my agreement. “Something quiet where we can talk without distractions. Where you can tell me about how it felt to watch people appreciate your work.”
“Elias,” I said softly, testing the feeling of his name in this new romantic context.
“Yes?”
Instead of answering with words, I stepped closer, closing the space between us until I could smell the full complexity of his bourbon and cedar signature. Until I could see the flecks of green in his brown eyes, the way his breath caught slightly as he realized what I was about to do.
I reached up to cup his face with my free hand. My heart racing even as it felt like the world stood completely still for us.
The kiss was soft and careful and charged with weeks of building attraction and emotional intimacy. His lips were warm against mine, tasting faintly of the chamomile tea we’d shared, and when he kissed me back it was with the same patience and attention he brought to everything else. He was completely focused on the moment without rushing toward what came next. His hand slipped around my waist as he held me closeand I leaned closer not wanting there to be anything that could separate us in this moment.
