Page 78 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
"I think so," she said, stepping further into the barn. "Just feeling a little restless. Thought maybe I could help with something."
Restless. That was one of the early signs Elias had briefed us on. The omega instinct to organize and prepare, to make sure everything was perfect before the vulnerability of heat hit.
"Sure," I said, though honestly there wasn't much that needed doing. I'd been looking for busywork to keep my hands occupied while my brain processed the reality of what was coming. "Want to help me figure out the best way to arrange your gear?"
She nodded and moved to stand beside me, close enough that her scent wrapped around me like a physical thing. It was stronger today, more complex. Still fundamentally Willa, but with new layers that made my alpha hindbrain start paying very close attention.
"This is my main camera body," she said, lifting an expensive-looking digital SLR from its foam padding. "And these are the lenses I use most often."
As she talked me through her equipment, explaining the differences between portrait lenses and landscape lenses, macro capabilities and telephoto reach, I found myself studying her hands. The way she touched each piece with the kind of reverence reserved for things that mattered. Tools of a trade she'd been forced to abandon but was finally ready to reclaim.
"You miss it," I said, not quite a question.
"Every day," she admitted. "Even when I convinced myself I didn't, I missed it. The way light changes everything. How you can capture a moment and make it permanent."
"You know everything he ever said was wrong, right?" I asked, and she looked up at me with something like surprise.
"Was he though? I mean, how many people actually make a living with photography? It's not exactly practical."
"You know what's not practical?" I said, setting down the lens I'd been holding and turning to face her fully. "Crushing someone's passion because you're too insecure to let them shine at something you can't control."
The words came out harder than I'd intended, but I couldn't seem to soften them. The idea that anyone had convinced this incredible woman that her gifts weren't worth pursuing made me furious in a way that felt protective and possessive and entirely beyond reason.
"Rhett," she said softly, and there was something in her voice that made me realize I was probably projecting more intensity than the situation called for.
"Sorry," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "I just hate that he made you doubt yourself."
"He made me doubt a lot of things," she said quietly. "But being here, with you and Wes and Elias, I'm starting to remember who I was before. Who I still am."
The hopeful uncertainty in her voice made my chest tight. She was rebuilding herself piece by piece, and somehow we'd gotten to be part of that process. It was humbling and terrifying and the most important responsibility I'd ever been given.
"You want to see something?" I asked impulsively.
She nodded, so I led her to the far corner of the barn where I’d already moved some of my personal things a few days before. Stuff that didn't really belong in the house but that I couldn'tbring myself to throw away. I dug through a cardboard box until I found what I was looking for.
"What is it?" Willa asked, watching me unwrap something from an old shop rag.
"The handle from my coffee mug," I said, holding up the curved piece of ceramic. "From that first day at Pine & Pages."
She stared at it for a long moment, then looked up at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "You kept it?"
"Yeah. I saw Hollis taking out the trash in the evening and found myself digging through the garbage to find it." I felt heat climb up my neck, suddenly aware of how strange this probably seemed. "I don't know why. Just felt like I should."
That wasn't entirely true. I knew exactly why I'd kept it. Even then, when I'd been convinced she was just another omega passing through town, something about her had gotten under my skin. The way she'd looked at me after the mug broke, like she was afraid I'd blame her for it. Like she'd expected anger instead of the concern that had actually hit me. And yet, there was a fascination, like she couldn’t bring herself to look away.
I'd kept the handle because even then, some part of me had known she was going to matter.
"Rhett," she said again, but this time my name sounded different. Softer. Warmer.
"I know it's weird," I started, but she cut me off by stepping closer.
"It's not weird," she said, reaching out to touch the ceramic piece in my palm. "It's sweet. I can't believe you kept it."
Her fingers brushed mine as she examined the broken handle, and the contact sent electricity up my arm. She was close enough now that I could see the pulse point at her throat, could smell the way her scent was deepening and changing.
"I kept thinking about you," I admitted, because apparently my mouth had decided to operate independently of my brain."That whole first week, I kept thinking about the way you looked when it broke. Like you expected me to yell at you."
"Most alphas would have," she said quietly.
