Page 44 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
“I haven’t shown my work publicly since Sterling,” I admitted. “The last time I had an exhibition, he spent the entire evening pointing out technical flaws and explaining to anyone who would listen how photography was just a hobby before I focused on more practical pursuits.”
Elias’s expression darkened slightly at the mention of Sterling, but he didn’t interrupt.
“Tomorrow night, people are going to look at my photographs and decide whether they have value. Whether I have talent worth recognizing or if I’m just another omega playing at being artistic.” I took a sip of the tea, surprised by how perfectly the blend addressed my specific emotional state. “What if they’re just being polite? What if the whole thing is awkward and everyone leaves early?”
“What if they love your work?” Elias asked quietly. “What if people connect with your photography because it shows them something beautiful they wouldn’t have seen otherwise?”
The possibility felt both thrilling and terrifying. “I don’t know if I remember how to talk about my artistic process without apologizing for it.”
“Then don’t apologize.” His voice carried gentle conviction. “Your work documents conservation efforts that matter. It shows wildlife rehabilitation from perspectives most people never see. It connects aesthetic beauty with environmental awareness in ways that make people care about protecting what they’re seeing.”
Elias understood me in a way that even I had forgotten about. He got why these photographs mattered beyond just technical competence or artistic vision.
“Sterling convinced me that wildlife photography was self-indulgent. That real art served commercial purposes orenhanced social standing, not just personal satisfaction.” I paused, tasting the tea and feeling some of my nervous energy begin to settle. “But watching people look at the prints yesterday, seeing how they responded to the images, I remembered why I loved this work originally.”
“Because it matters,” Elias said simply. “Because it tells stories that need telling, because it makes people see beauty and dignity in creatures they might otherwise overlook.”
“Because it feels like contributing something meaningful instead of just taking up space with creative pretensions.”
“Art that serves something larger than itself while still maintaining personal vision.” He leaned forward slightly, his attention completely focused on my words. “That’s not self-indulgent, Willa. That’s exactly what art is supposed to do.”
The validation in his voice, the way he understood both the artistic and conservation aspects of my photography, made something tight in my chest begin to loosen. This was what support was supposed to feel like. Recognition and encouragement without attempts to reshape my vision according to someone else’s expectations.
“This tea is perfect,” I said, gesturing toward my cup. “How did you know exactly what I needed?”
“Experience with anxiety patterns. Also, I may have been paying closer attention to your scent signatures than is probably professional.” His admission carried a hint of vulnerability that made me look at him more carefully. “You’re not the only one who’s been nervous about tomorrow night.”
“You’re nervous about my exhibition?”
“I’m nervous about watching you be vulnerable in public and not being able to do anything to protect you from criticism or judgment.” His bourbon and cedar scent intensified slightly, carrying notes I was learning to recognize as protective concern. “I’m nervous about wanting to support you withoutoverstepping boundaries you haven’t given me permission to cross.”
He’d been worried about me. About my emotional wellbeing, about my artistic success, about my ability to handle public attention without getting hurt.
“What boundaries?” I asked quietly.
The question hung between us, loaded with implications neither of us had been ready to acknowledge until now. Elias set down his tea cup, his attention entirely focused on my face like he was trying to read something important in my expression.
“The boundary between professional support and personal investment,” he said carefully. “Between offering wellness assistance and admitting that I care about your happiness in ways that go beyond healer-client relationships.”
My heart rate spiked at his admission, nervous energy shifting into something warmer and more complex. “What if I don’t want that boundary?”
“Then I’d say I’ve been hoping you’d tell me that for weeks now.”
The honesty in his voice, the way he looked at me like I was something precious and worth protecting, made me feel simultaneously vulnerable and powerful. This wasn’t Sterling’s conditional approval based on how well I served his image. This was recognition and care offered freely because Elias saw value in who I actually was.
“I don’t understand pack dynamics,” I said slowly. “Don’t know how omega-alpha relationships work when there are other alphas involved who matter to me too.”
“Neither do I,” Elias admitted. “But I know I want to be part of whatever you’re building here. I want to support your artistic recovery and your conservation work and your right to take up space with a creative vision that matters.”
“What does that look like?” I asked. “Supporting someone without trying to fix them or improve them?”
“It looks like offering tea blends when you’re anxious without assuming you can’t handle your own emotional regulation.” His voice was soft, thoughtful. “It looks like celebrating your artistic breakthroughs without taking credit for your healing. It looks like believing in your ability to succeed while being available when you need assistance.”
The tea had definitely helped settle my nervous energy, but Elias’s confession and his presence was doing something more complex. Making me feel seen and appreciated for my actual self rather than my potential for transformation. Making me remember what it felt like to be valued for my thoughts and creativity and perspective, not just my willingness to support someone else’s vision.
“Tomorrow night is going to be overwhelming,” I said, thinking about the reception and the strangers who would examine my work. “All those people looking at my photographs, asking questions about my artistic process, judging whether my vision has value.”
“All those people getting to see your talent displayed properly for the first time,” Elias corrected gently. “Getting to witness conservation photography that shows them beauty and dignity they might have missed otherwise.”
