Page 45 of Heat Clickbait
Nova groaned, but he was smiling, the expression transforming his usually serious face into something boyish and endearing. "It was sixty-three slides."
"Sixty-three?!" My voice pitched higher with delighted disbelief.
"With animations," he added, clearly mortified but also proud in the way of someone who'd created something beautiful even if it was ridiculous. "Fade transitions, build sequences, embedded video demonstrations of proper textile layering techniques. Ghost helped with the technical specifications. There's a whole section on temperature zones with thermal imaging mockups and airflow analysis."
"That's the nerdiest, sweetest thing I've ever heard." I was laughing now, imagining him hunched over his laptop at 2 AM, perfecting slide transitions for theoretical nest architecture.
"Milo said it was—" He stopped, reconsidered with the careful diplomacy of someone protecting pack harmony. "Actually, Milo said something quite rude about what I could do with my projections. His exact words involved anatomically impossible placement suggestions."
"Milo stress-bakes while you stress-plan," I pointed out, thinking of the three dozen muffins that had appeared in our kitchen that week. "You all process differently."
"And you?" He studied my face with that intensity that used to make me want to hide but now made me want to be seen completely. "How do you process uncertainty? Emotional complexity?"
The question hit deeper than expected, forcing me to examine patterns I'd rather ignore. "Badly," I admitted, the honesty feeling like stripping off armor. "With vaping and avoidance and building walls disguised as independence. Performing confidence until I almost believe it myself."
"Past tense?"
"Trying to be." I played with his family ring, spinning the heavy gold around his pinky and feeling the weight of generations in the metal. "These individual dates... I'm hoping they help us see each other as people, individuals, instead of just 'my pack' or 'potential complications to my independence.' You're Nova who makes spreadsheets for coffee dates and irons casual clothes. Milo who names sourdough starters after exes and stress-bakes at 3 AM. Ghost who builds entire cities out of Legos when he's anxious and communicates in Discord messages even when we're in the same room."
"Crash who can't sleep without watching your old streams," Nova added quietly, voice warm with affection for his chaotic packmate.
"He what?" The information hit me like a small shock, warmth spreading through my chest at the thought of Tanner finding comfort in my voice.
"You didn't hear it from me." But his eyes crinkled with amusement behind his glasses. "He's got a whole playlist. 'Callie Being Savage' is the title, I believe. Forty-seven hours of curated content, organized by mood and energy level."
My phone buzzed against the table. Apparently, I had fifteen minutes until my cooking date with Milo. Nova had scheduled our coffee perfectly to end just in time, because of course he had. Probably factored in walking time and a buffer for saying goodbye.
"This was perfect," I said, meaning it completely. The agenda hadn't felt restrictive or controlling. It had felt safe, like someone cared enough to think through how to spend time with me properly. "The agenda and all."
"Would you..." He paused, consulting his phone with the air of someone checking notes before a presentation. "Item 7.4: Propose future individual activity."
"Nova." I couldn't keep the fondness out of my voice.
"Would you like to review business proposals together sometime?" he asked in a rush, words tumbling over each other. "I know it sounds boring, but I thought you might enjoy seeing the contracts people send. Some of them are genuinely hilarious in their audacity. There's one company that wanted to sponsor a 'heat cycle livestream experience' with live biometric monitoring."
"Are you asking me on a contract review date?" The concept was so perfectly him that I felt my heart do something complicated and warm.
"I might have wine. Good wine. And a color-coding system for the terrible clauses." His voice carried hope and uncertainty in equal measure. "We could make a drinking game out of finding the most ridiculous terms. Take a sip every time someone suggests content that would require us to violate basic dignity."
I leaned across the table and kissed him, quick and light but enough to make his eyes go wide behind his glasses, enough to taste Earl Grey and surprise and something that might have been joy. "Yes. But I get to make fun of your spreadsheets."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," he said, voice slightly breathless. "I'll prepare additional slides for mockery-resistant data visualization."
We walked back to the house together, his hand finding mine without consulting Item 5.3. The simple interlacing of fingers felt like a choice, like independence and connection learning to dance together instead of fighting for dominance. The late afternoon air carried the scent of approaching autumn, and I found myself thinking that maybe structure and spontaneity weren't mutually exclusive after all.
"You know Milo's going to make you cook," Nova warned as we approached the familiar blue door of the pack house. "Actually cook, not just eat and provide witty commentary."
"I'll probably burn water." The thought didn't terrify me as much as it should have, cushioned by the knowledge that Milo would find creative ways to work around my complete lack of culinary competence.
"He'll find it charming." Nova squeezed my hand once before letting go, fingers lingering in a way that spoke to reluctance. "He finds everything about you charming."
As I headed toward what would undoubtedly be a culinary disaster with Milo, Nova called after me, voice carrying across the small entryway, "Callie?"
I turned back, noting how the afternoon light caught the amber flecks in his dark eyes.
"Thank you for not mocking the agenda." The vulnerability was back, raw and honest.
"Thank you for making one," I said, meaning it completely. "It's very you. And very you is exactly what I wanted to see today."
