Page 52 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
As people began leaving and Kit started the cleanup process, I found myself standing in front of my photographs one more time, trying to process the evening’s events.
“Successful night,” Rhett observed, joining me in front of the wildlife rehabilitation series.
“More successful than I dared hope,” I admitted.
“You earned every bit of recognition you received tonight.” His voice carried the same conviction he used when explaining mechanical repairs. A factual assessment rather than empty encouragement.
“Thank you. For being here, for believing in the work when I wasn’t sure I could.”
“You didn’t need any of us to believe in it. The work speaks for itself.” He paused, looking at the photographs with that focused attention he brought to complex problems. “But I’m glad I got to watch you remember how good you are at this.”
Wes and Elias appeared as we finished packing the photographs, both offering to help transport everything back to my duplex.
“I can manage,” I started to say, then caught myself. “Actually, yes. I’d appreciate the help.”
Accepting assistance without apologizing for needing it, acknowledging support without feeling diminished by accepting it. These were small things that felt significant after months of forced independence and self-reliance.
Driving home with my photographs safely loaded and three different men following to help me carry everything inside, I thought about artistic courage and community support, about the difference between being celebrated and being controlled. About how recognition felt when it was offered freely rather than used as leverage for behavioral modification.
Tonight felt like coming home to myself. Like remembering who I was before someone else’s expectations convinced me to become smaller.
Tomorrow, I’d follow up on the professional opportunities that had emerged tonight. I’d schedule meetings with conservation organizations and regional arts councils. I’d begin planning future exhibitions and considering career possibilities I’d stopped believing were available to me.
But right now, I just wanted to savor the feeling of being seen and appreciated for my actual work, my contribution to stories that mattered. I wanted to remember what it felt like to take up space with my creativity without apologizing for the room it required.
This was what artistic fulfillment was supposed to feel like,I thought as we pulled into my driveway. Not approval earned through compromise, but recognition given freely because the work deserved it.
Then I looked out the window to see the guys pulling up their vehicles behind me. And maybe, just maybe, this was what support was supposed to look like too. People who showed up to celebrate your successes without making them about their own needs or expectations. People who believed in your ability to succeed on your own terms while offering assistance when it was genuinely helpful.
People who understood that loving someone meant wanting them to flourish as themselves, not transforming them into someone else’s vision of who they should become.
The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. Because if that’s what these three men were offering, actual support for who I was becoming rather than attempts to shape me into who they needed, then I was going to have to decide what I wanted to do with that kind of unprecedented freedom.
But that was tomorrow’s challenge, I decided as we began unloading my photographs. Tonight was for celebrating what I’d accomplished and acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, I was ready to stop hiding from my own artistic potential.
Ready to stop apologizing for taking up space with work that mattered.
Ready to remember who I was when I was brave enough to be myself.
And maybe even ready to do all that with these three men standing beside me.
Chapter 22
Rhett
I'd been planning this for three days and still had no idea what the hell I was doing.
Standing outside Pine & Pages waiting for Willa to finish her shift, I watched as she said goodbye to Hollis, and felt like a teenager about to ask someone to prom. Which was ridiculous. I was thirty-two years old, owned my own business, and could rebuild an engine blindfolded. But asking an omega on what amounted to a date had my palms sweating like I was sixteen again.
The bell chimed as she stepped outside, her jasmine and summer rain scent hitting me immediately. She'd braided her hair back from her face, and there were ink stains on her fingers from handling books all morning. Everything about her looked soft and approachable, which made my gruff awkwardness feel even more out of place.
"Rhett," she said, genuine surprise and something that might have been pleasure lit up her expression. "What are you doing here?"
I cleared my throat and immediately wanted to punch myself for how rough it sounded. "Was wondering if you might want to get out of town for a bit. Just for an hour or two."
Smooth as sandpaper. Real impressive.
She tilted her head, studying my face with those intelligent eyes that seemed to see right through every wall I'd ever built. "Get out of town?"
