Page 98 of Dream Girl
“Oh, it is, and I accept.” I laughed as I squished into the nest with her. She covered us with a blanket that smelled of Wes.Pulling her to me, I hummed as I looked out the window into our landscaped backyard, which was illuminated by subtle lighting. This was exactly what I needed after a long day–a delightful meal, a glass of wine, some cuddles with Grace, and a hard fuck.
“Trying to get home could be long and complicated.” She closed her eyes.
“Then stay. Work for Spence. Marry me in a rose garden.” I meant every word.
Grace hummed. “That sounds amazing. But I don’t think I’m smart enough to work for Spencer. You’re so much more advanced here when it comes to qubits–and this simulator? I’m not this good. I want to be part of it, but I’m used to things being pure theory without even the means to prove it.”
“Spencer’s actually going forward with that? He’s been talking about it forever, since–did he tell you why?” I asked.
“He told me about his dad, and even gave me one of his old notebooks to look through,” she replied. “But the company is amazing.”
Wow, Spencer told her about his dad. He’d been wrecked after the accident, even tried to continue his research for a bit.
“Grace, you’re enough. Spence knows how to recognize talent, and he wouldn’t have made the offer if he didn’t believe in you.” I tipped my forehead to hers.
“What would it look like if I stayed?” Her voice went soft as her eyes pleaded with me, asking for reasons to stay.
“This.” I gave her a kiss, pouring all my desires into it.
She giggled. “But what about everyone else?”
“Brennan will come around. While he’s a stubborn, hardheaded alpha, he can be trained,” I grinned. “Speaking of hardheaded alphas, tomorrow night, or even Saturday morning, will you help me make a birthday cake for Wes? I’ve got his favorite recipe, but it’s a little much for me.”
Her face lit up. “Is this the recipe for Wes’ grandma’s lemon sponge? Oh, I’ve heard about it so much. I’d love to. I… I don’t have a present for him.”
“Birthday sex is always a good one. I have ideas.” It was a good thing this window seat wasn’t very big because the need to get handsy was growing. I’d have sex with her in it if she asked. Shit, I’d have sex with heranywhere.
She laughed. Oh, I loved that laugh. It was like champagne bubbles popping.
“I meant an actual something.” She frowned. “I don’t know what would be good–or even have any money.”
Which I understood. One thing that had caused me anxiety early on was that I made the least of everyone in the pack–not that Jett made that much more. While packs took care of each other, balancing out the finances so everyone could do something that made them happy, it still made me feel like I wasn’t contributing enough. That I wasn’t enough.
Something Caroline had capitalized on.
“How about after your doctor’s appointment, we pick something out together? You can pay me out of your first paycheck,” I suggested, knowing she probably wouldn’t accept me just buying it. “Or we could work out a trade–maybe some baking lessons?”
“Ooh, we can work out a trade. I want to see you in nothing but an apron.” Her hand smoothed over my chest.
The need to have her consumed me. “I love your little hideaway.”
“It’s so messy, I don’t actually need this many pillows in it.” She chewed on her lower lip.
“However many pillows you want is the number you need.” I grinned. “If it bugs you and feels messy, reorganize it until it’s how you like. We can go to Home Things tomorrow if you want different things or feel like you’re missing something. Yes,the saying that if you give an omega adult money they’ll buy blankets, pillows, and candles is true.”
“I love all the things you've got–and I love this window seat. But I don’t want anyone to think I’m messy.” She shook her head, frowning slightly.
“It’s yourroom, you can be messy if you’d like. That’s the great thing about having your own spot. If you're messy and your partner isn’t, you can keep your mess in your room. Likewise, if they’re messy and you’re not, you can retreat to your nice, tidy room,” I told her. “You know, a window seat overflowing with pillows isn’t messy, it’s cozy.” Nests came in all forms.
“My mom always said burrows and blanket forts were untidy. Granted, when I was tiny, I liked to make a burrow out of the clean laundry and watch TV in it with my dolls and stuffed animals, so I can understand how that might be an inconvenience.” A wistful smile played on her lips.
Clean laundry. Little Grace, long before she ever saw him in her dreams, made nests that smelled like Wes. My hand went to my heart.Aww.
“I used to make a fort with the clean sheets over the clothesline,” I told her.
“Blanket forts.” She sighed happily. “I was so sad the day my mom told me that I was too old for them, even with my younger brothers. Not that she’d ever let them stay up for long–even if they were inmyroom. She took away my dolls and toys for the same reason. Though my dad hid one of them for me. We always had so many fights about my room not being clean enough.”
While I was happy she was remembering more, those were some very sad statements. Nesting sometimes appeared as an instinct in very young children, ones too little to test. This wasn’t the first time I’d been told by someone that a loved-one thwarted their nest-making at every turn.
