Chapter 34 The Nest They Built
The Nest They Built
~HAZEL~
"Ilook ridiculous," I announce for the third time, staring at my reflection in the bakery's bathroom mirror.
"You look stunning," Mila calls through the door. "Now get out here before I eat all the test cookies!"
"Those are for the Halloween launch!"
"Then hurry up!"
I adjust the dress one more time, smooth down my orange-and-black curls that Reverie spent an hour styling into "effortless waves" that required approximately seventeen products, and take a breath that smells like vanilla extract and anxiety.
It's October 29th. Two days before Halloween. Two days before the biggest baking weekend of my entire career, and Rowan insisted I take tonight off.
Said he had a surprise. Something special.
I assumed dinner—maybe that new Italian place in Riverside, or the steakhouse everyone raves about. Put on the fancy dress, let him pull out my chair, pretend I know which fork to use for salad.
But when I emerge from the bathroom, he's not dressed for a restaurant.
He's in jeans—the good ones that make his ass look illegal—and a dark green henley that brings out the amber in his eyes, holding a lantern like we're about to go camping.
"Why do you have a lantern?"
"You'll see." His eyes do that thing where they go dark and hungry, traveling from my heels to my face slowly enough that I feel it like a touch. "You wore the dress."
"You asked me to dress up!"
"I didn't expect..." He trails off, shaking his head. "Come on. Before I change my mind about leaving this building."
"Leaving?" I follow him through the bakery, past Mila who wolf-whistles, past Rosemarie who gives me a thumbs up, out the back door into the October evening that's crisp and perfect and smells like wood smoke and possibility.
"Where are we going?"
"Backland."
I stop walking. Is he referring to the backyard?
"The abandoned barn space?"
"Not abandoned anymore,’ he says with a playful smirk that has me arching an eyebrow
He takes my hand—his is warm, calloused from years of firefighting, steady in a way that makes my chest tight—and leads me down a path I've walked a thousand times.
The path that leads to the empty lot behind the bakery, the space that's been sitting unused since I bought the building.
Weeds and old equipment and dreams I never let myself have.
Except tonight, the path is lined with lanterns.
Dozens of them, hanging from shepherd's hooks that definitely weren't there this morning, casting warm golden light that turns the October evening into something magical. The path winds through the overgrown grass toward the old barn, and as we get closer, I realize—
It's not abandoned anymore.
The barn doors are open, more light spilling out, and music drifts on the evening breeze. Something instrumental and soft, the kind of music that makes you want to slow dance or cry or both.
"Rowan?" My voice comes out smaller than intended. "What did you do?"
"We," he corrects. "What we did. All of us."
He leads me through the doors, and I—
I can't.
I literally cannot process what I'm seeing.
The barn has been transformed. The rafters are wrapped in fairy lights—the warm kind, not the harsh white ones, creating a soft glow that makes everything look like a dream. The old wooden floor has been cleaned and polished until it shines.
And in the center of the space, taking up easily a third of the barn, is—
"Is that a nest?"
"Your nest," Levi's voice comes from somewhere in the shadows, and then he's there, grinning like he's just revealed the world's best magic trick. "Do you like it?"
Like it? It's—
The nest is enormous, easily king-sized, built on a low platform that's clearly been custom-made.
Blankets layer on blankets—soft flannel, plush fleece, silk that catches the light, textures and colors chosen with such care that my chest aches.
There are pillows everywhere, in every size and shape, some embroidered with little pumpkins, some in solid autumn colors, some that look like they cost more than my monthly rent.
And the scents.
Oh god, the scents.
I can smell them from here—Rowan's cedar and smoke woven into a thick wool blanket, Luca's gingerbread and dark roast soaked into what looks like his favorite flannel, Levi's honey butter saturating a collection of pillows that are definitely from the ranch house.
"You scented it," I whisper.
"Of course we scented it," Luca appears from the other side of the nest, looking pleased with himself in that quiet way he has. "It's your omega nest. It needs to smell like our pack."
"But I—I never said I wanted—"
"You didn't have to." Rowan's thumb traces circles on my hand. "The way you arranged blankets on the couch. How you always steal my flannel. The fact that you've been sleeping with Levi's ranch hoodie for a week and think we don't notice."
My face burns.
"I was going to wash it—"
"Don't you dare," Levi interrupts. "That hoodie's job is to smell like pack. It's fulfilling its destiny."
I'm still staring at the nest, trying to form words, when I notice the corner of the barn.
There's a kitchen setup.
An actual kitchen.
Small but perfect—a commercial-grade oven, marble countertop, shelves stocked with baking supplies, even a stand mixer in that specific shade of pink I've been stalking online but couldn't justify buying.
"What—?"
"Your own test kitchen," Luca explains, moving to stand beside it like a proud parent. "For developing new recipes. Private space where you can experiment without the pressure of the bakery or the Halloween rush."
"We named it!" Levi bounces. "Pumpkin Soul. Like the cookies but also like, you know, the soul of pumpkin. Or pumpkin with soul. Or—"
"We named it Pumpkin Soul," Rowan interrupts gently. "Because you put your soul into every pumpkin thing you make."
I'm going to cry. Right here in my fancy dress with my curled hair, I'm going to absolutely lose it.
"There's more," Levi says, grabbing my other hand. "Come see!"
He practically drags me to the far wall where there's a bulletin board covered in—
Papers. Blueprints. Property documents.
"What is this?"
"The adjoining lot," Rowan says, and his voice has that professional quality, the captain voice that means business. "We bought it."
"You what?"
"Well, technically, you bought it," Luca corrects, pointing to documents that have my signature on them. "We just... handled the paperwork while you were sleeping."
"That's fraud!"
"That's romance!" Levi protests.
"Pretty sure it's still fraud!"
"Your lawyer approved everything," Rowan assures me, and he's trying not to smile. "Reverie too. They're both terrible at keeping secrets, for the record."
I stare at the blueprints, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. It's a house. A beautiful, sprawling house with an open floor plan and huge windows, and a kitchen that looks like something from a magazine.
"You're building a house?"
"We're building a house," Luca emphasizes. "All of us. Together."
"But I can't afford—"
"Already handled," Rowan says. "Pack finances. Don't worry about it."
"I have to worry about it! That's—that's too much!"
"Nothing's too much for you," Levi says simply. "We already talked to Mila about her dinner concept after Halloween. She's in. Wants to call it 'The Knotted Spoon' which is—"
"Amazing," I finish weakly.
"Right? And Rosemarie's been designing a whole café expansion for the second floor of the bakery. Full coffee bar, pastry case, those little tables by the windows. She's calling it 'Rosemarie's Rise.'"
My brain is trying to process everything, catching up in slow motion.
"You want to expand the bakery?"
"We want you to stop starting over," Rowan says quietly, and the way he looks at me makes my knees weak. "Every time something goes wrong, you start from scratch. New town, new life, new everything. But you don't have to do that anymore."
"We'll build from where you stand," Luca adds. "The bakery's successful. You're successful. We're just... growing with you."
Growing with me.
Not demanding I change, not requiring I fit into their lives, but growing with me. Building on what I've already created instead of tearing it down and starting over.
The tears come before I can stop them, hot and stupid and probably ruining the makeup Reverie swore was waterproof.
"Hazel?" Levi sounds panicked. "Are these good tears or bad tears? Because I can't tell and you're scaring me—"
I kiss him. Hard. Right on his surprised mouth that tastes like anxiety, hope, and that honey butter scent that means safety.
When I pull back, he's grinning like an idiot.
"Good tears," he confirms to the others. "Definitely good tears."
"The nest," I manage, wiping my face with the back of my hand like a child. "You built me a nest."
"We built you a nest," Rowan corrects, and there's something in his voice—pride, possessiveness, love so obvious it hurts. "Your space. Where you're safe. Where you can just... be."
Where I can just be.
Not perform. Not prove myself. Not apologize for taking up space or having needs or being too much. Just be.
I turn back to the nest, really looking at it now.
The way the blankets are layered shows an understanding of texture and weight that only comes from paying attention.
The pillows are arranged by size and firmness like someone actually researched optimal omega nest construction.
And the scents—god, the scents are so perfectly balanced that walking toward it feels like walking into a hug.
"Can I?" I gesture at the nest, suddenly shy.
"It's yours," Luca says. "You never have to ask permission for your own nest."
Right. Because it's mine. This is mine. All mine!
I slip off my heels—expensive and beautiful and absolutely not nest-appropriate—and step onto the platform. The blankets are soft under my feet, giving way just enough that I sink slightly, and when I lower myself into the center, it's like the nest rises up to embrace me.
Oh.
Oh, this is—