Page 19 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
“Not usually,” I admitted. “But you found her. Seems right that you should get to see her go home.”
Willa was quiet for a long moment, her fingers still tracing the photo’s edge. I could see her weighing something internal, some conflict I didn’t understand but could recognize in the tension around her eyes.
“I’d like that,” she said finally. “To see her fly again.”
“I’ll let you know when we set the date.” I pulled out my phone, then realized I was about to ask for her number and had no professional justification for needing it. “Unless you’d prefer I stop by here again?”
“Oh.” She blinked, clearly not having thought through the logistics. “I suppose… here’s my number. For the release notification.”
She rattled off the digits while I entered them into my contacts, her name appearing on my screen next to a string of numbers that somehow felt more significant than they should have. Willa Rowan. Even her last name sounded like something from a nature guide.
“Got it,” I said, pocketing the phone. “I’ll text you when we know more.”
“Thank you.” She looked down at the photo again, her expression softening. “For updating me. For including me. It means more than you probably know.”
There was something in her voice that made me want to ask what she meant, what deeper significance this rescue held for her. But I’d learned to recognize the signs of someone who’d shared as much as they were ready to share. Whatever story was behind her request for updates, whatever reason she needed to know this broken thing would heal, she wasn’t ready to tell it.
“She’s a fighter,” I said instead. “Just needed the right support to remember how to heal.”
Willa’s eyes met mine, and I caught a flash of something vulnerable and understanding before she looked away. “Some things just need time and the right environment.”
“And people who believe they can get better.”
The words hung between us, loaded with more meaning than either of us was ready to acknowledge. We were definitely talking about more than the owl.
She understands what it’s like to feel grounded, I realized, watching her carefully return the photo to the counter. That’s why this mattered to her.
The thought came with a surge of protective instinct that caught me off guard. Whatever had broken Willa’s wings, whatever had made her afraid to reach for the camera that clearly belonged in her hands, I found myself wanting to create the kind of safe space where she could remember how to fly.
“Actually,” I said, then stopped myself. I’d been about to mention the town council meeting, the development threat, the two years of research I’d compiled that might not matter if corporate money talked louder than environmental science. But that wasn’t her problem.
“What?” Willa asked, and there was something encouraging in her voice. Like she genuinely wanted to know what I’d been about to say.
I found myself looking at her really looking at me, with the kind of attention that suggested she understood what it meant to care deeply about something most people didn’t notice. The way she’d studied that owl photo, the careful respect in her voice when she’d asked about the release, told me she might actually understand why this mattered.
“There’s a town council meeting tomorrow night,” I said, surprising myself with the admission. “About a proposed development that would impact the watershed where we found her. Where we’ll release her.”
Willa’s expression shifted, becoming more focused. “What kind of development?”
“Luxury spa resort. Corporate investors want to build on three hundred acres of protected woodland.” The words came easier once I started, like a dam breaking. “Two years of environmental impact studies. Documented proof that development would contaminate the aquifer, destroy critical habitat, disrupt migration patterns that have existed for centuries.”
“And you’re worried they won’t listen to the science.”
It wasn’t a question. She understood exactly what I was facing.
“Economic projections tend to be more persuasive than wildlife surveys,” I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Especially when the economic projections come with campaign contributions.”
Willa was quiet for a moment, her fingers still resting on the owl photo. “This place means something to you. Beyond just the work.”
“Grew up here,” I admitted. “Learned to identify bird calls before I could ride a bike. My father used to take me hiking in those woods every weekend, taught me that everything in anecosystem depends on everything else. You damage one piece, the whole system suffers.”
I’d never told anyone that or about my father and why I chose this work.
“And now someone wants to pave over your childhood for a spa resort,” Willa said softly.
The understanding in her voice caught me off guard. She didn’t try to offer solutions or tell me everything would work out fine. She just acknowledged that this was personal, that fighting for something you loved was hard but necessary.
“The owl we rescued,” I continued, not sure why I was sharing this but unable to stop. “Her territory includes the nesting sites they want to clear. If the development goes through, she’ll come back to find her home gone.”
