Page 13 of Altius
“Who’s here?” she asked, reaching for the tea.
“Just me and Joaquin, for now. He’s got rehearsal later.”
It was a struggle to remain silent as she bypassed the food, picking up the cup of pills instead. She knew better than to take pain medication on an empty stomach—she was a doctor, after all.
But my job was to be patient and offer snacks. Lots of snacks. It was up to her whether she wanted to eat them or not.
Kelsey’s orders.
“Owen’s across the hall working, and Wyatt’s not back from practice yet.” I glanced at my watch. “Cal left a few hours ago. Said something about needing supplies.”
Morgan washed down the pills with two large sips of tea.
“Mhm.” Her thumb absently rubbed against the mug handle. “Probably getting a hormone monitoring sensor. Can’t go back to work until my levels stabilize.”
I couldn’t help but glance toward her spacious bathroom. Shouldn’t an omega have something like that on hand, given they go into heat up to four times a year?
But then again, Morgan had never been a typical omega.
Take her bedroom, for example.
Sure, it was elegant, but everything was muted, verging on dull. Dark grays and blues dominated the space—shades that probably had names like wet cement or melancholy blueberry—with a few subdued lavender accents. Nothing sparkled, not even the hardware.
The entire loft was minimalist to an almost uncomfortable degree. It’s like she was allergic to clutter. The only personal touches were the dozens of pillows scattered about, the family photos lining the staircase, and some cute kitchen accessories.
Where were Kelsey’s flowers and candles? Or the fairy lights, crystal chandeliers, mural wallpapers, gilded mirrors, and funky vases from Beaufeather’s website? You know, the typical omega opulence.
“If you want to explore,” Morgan said, fiddling with a grape, “go for it. Just avoid my nest and Kelsey’s bedroom.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said, shifting my weight from one foot to another.
Way to be obvious, you idiot.
Much to my relief, Morgan ate the grape. A tiny caloric victory.
“Then what are you going to do while I slug out?”
“Well, I made some soup—tomatoey chicken and rice. Kelsey told me where to find her recipe book.” I scratched the side of my neck. “Might try to make one of the yummy, pancake-like things in there. They’re all attributed to Oma. Is she one of your grandmothers?”
“Yeah. She was Papa’s mother. Passed away from cancer a few years ago.” She coughed and took another sip of tea. “Themini-pancakes—poffertjes—shouldn’t be too hard to make. But if they give you trouble, flag the recipes that look good. Kelsey loves having a reason to make Dutch snacks.”
She glanced up at me, scanning my expression for a silent question, which prompted one side of her mouth to curl upward.
“And yes, Van Daal is Dutch. My parents took their omega’s surname because they collectively decided it was the best option.”
“Compared to?”
“Lipski, Falaguerra, or Bland. Our mom and Dad met first and planned to hyphenate their names when they got mated. There’s an alternate universe where I’m Dr. Lipski-Bland. Except I’m technically a Falaguerra, so maybe not.”
“Is it…” My curiosity couldn’t overcome my insecurities.
“Fun having a big, multi-cultural family? Yes, with a few caveats. Take Nonna. She’s Pops’ mother and an omega with an incredible gift for cooking and homemaking. But the same goes for Papa. Their clashes are usually playful, but sometimes, they get offended or territorial, and feelings get hurt.”
Although she seemed tempted to go into further detail, Morgan opted to eat the grape instead. Another small win for sustenance.
“And I don’t enjoy having dozens of people freak out every time I have a health issue.” Her amber eyes locked onto me. “What about you?”
Her gaze’s familiar, reassuring intensity gave me the strength to be vulnerable.
