9. Felix #3
She's perceptive, and the way she's looking at me with those brilliant blue eyes that seem to see everything. It makes me want to tell her things I've never told anyone outside the pack.
"What about you?" I deflect. "Don't you get lonely? Living alone, dedicating so much time to work, not..."
I trail off, realizing I'm about to ask about her dating life, which crosses several lines of professional appropriateness.
"Not what?" Belle prompts, but there's amusement in her voice rather than offense.
"Not building the kind of personal relationships that most people prioritize at our age," I finish carefully.
Belle laughs, and the sound is warm and genuine.
"You mean why am I not married with kids and a white picket fence?
Trust me, everyone in town asks me the same question.
The answer is that I haven't found anyone who interests me more than my work does.
Maybe that makes me weird, but I'd rather be happily single than unhappily partnered. "
There's something sharp and defensive in her tone that snaps out before she can stop it. Once she says it, I can see her catch herself, her expression softening slightly.
"That doesn't make you weird," I assure her. "It makes you honest about what you want from life."
"Exactly! Though try explaining that to a small town that thinks there's something wrong with any woman over twenty-five who isn't actively seeking a mate."
The casual way she says "mate" makes me wonder if Belle understands pack dynamics, if she's aware of the complexities of secondary gender relationships or if she's using the term in the more general sense that betas often employ.
"Is that what people say about you?" I ask, genuinely curious about how the community perceives her choices.
"Oh, I'm definitely the subject of regular speculation," Belle says with obvious amusement.
"Lady Inkwell has written at least three gossip columns about my 'mysterious romantic status' and why eligible bachelors should consider the benefits of dating a librarian.
It's mortifying and hilarious at the same time. "
"Lady Inkwell writes about you specifically?" I ask. I’ve only started reading her columns, when I have nothing better to do, and to see if we feature in it.
"Lady Inkwell writes about everyone, apparently my love life, or lack thereof, is considered newsworthy. Last month she suggested that I might be 'too intellectual' to attract masculine attention, which was both insulting and ridiculous."
The idea that Belle would be considered too intellectual for masculine attention is so absurd that I nearly laugh out loud. Any man would be lucky to have her attention, let alone her affection.
"That's definitely ridiculous," I agree. "Intelligence is attractive, especially when it's combined with passion for meaningful work."
Belle's smile is radiant. "Thank you. I've always thought so, but apparently that's a minority opinion in Willowbrook."
As we continue examining the basement level, while checking foundation conditions, mechanical systems, and potential for below-grade expansion.
I find myself increasingly drawn to Belle's combination of intelligence, enthusiasm, and genuine care for others.
She asks detailed questions about structural requirements, space planning, and acoustic considerations that demonstrate real understanding of architectural complexity.
But more than that, she seems genuinely interested in me as a person. Not the mysterious member of the feared "Beast Pack," not the architect she's hired to solve her space problems, but Felix Romano the individual.
"How did you end up in Willowbrook?" she asks as we examine the foundation walls. "I mean, your work is incredible, and you could be designing major projects in Chicago or New York. What made you choose small-town restoration work?"
The question is personal but not invasive, asked with genuine curiosity rather than nosiness.
"Sometimes the most important work happens in places that don't make headlines," I reply, running my hand along the brick foundation to check for structural issues. "And there's something satisfying about preserving buildings that matter to communities, even if they're not architecturally famous."
"That's beautiful," Belle says softly. "The idea that all communities deserve beautiful, functional spaces regardless of their size or economic status."
"Exactly. Architecture should serve people, not just impress them."
"Is that why you three chose to settle here instead of staying in the city?"
The question touches on territory I'm not sure how to navigate. The truth is that we moved to Willowbrook because small towns are better hunting grounds for unmated omegas, because the anonymity of city life makes it harder to identify and approach potential mates.
But I can't exactly explain that our residential choice is based on reproductive strategy.
"We wanted a place where we could build something lasting," I say instead, which is true even if it's not the complete truth. "Somewhere we could put down roots and become part of a community."
"Have you? Become part of the community, I mean?"
Her tone is gentle, but there's real interest behind the question. Belle seems genuinely curious about our experience as outsiders in a small town.
"It's... complicated," I admit. "People here have strong opinions about newcomers, especially ones who don't fit expected social patterns."
"The 'Beast Pack' reputation," Belle says with obvious understanding. "That must be frustrating."
"Sometimes. But we knew what we were getting into when we moved here."
"Still, it can't be easy being constantly judged by people who don't actually know you."
There's empathy in her voice that surprises me. Belle seems to understand something about the isolation that comes with being different, with not fitting into expected social categories.
As we finish examining the basement and head back to the main floor, I realize that I've been in the library for nearly two hours and haven't once felt the usual social exhaustion that comes with extended interaction with strangers.
Belle's questions and observations are engaging rather than draining, her enthusiasm is infectious rather than overwhelming.
I find myself wanting to keep talking to her, to learn more about her perspective on community and architecture and life in general. Which is both surprising and problematic, given that she's a client , and completely unavailable for the kind of relationship I'm supposedly looking for.
"I think I have enough information to start developing preliminary designs," I tell her as we return to the circulation desk, though part of me wants to extend the meeting indefinitely.
"Would it be possible to schedule a follow-up meeting next week?
I'd like to present some initial concepts and get your feedback before moving forward. "
"That would be perfect," Belle agrees, pulling out a scheduling calendar. "Does Tuesday afternoon work for you? Around two o'clock?"
"Tuesday at two it is," I confirm, making a note in my own calendar while thinking that Tuesday suddenly can't arrive fast enough.
“Thank you for such a thorough consultation. Most architects want to see the space and leave. You actually listened to what we need."
The way she talks to me, with genuine warmth and appreciation, does something to my chest that I don't want to analyze too closely.
"Thank you for being so comprehensive about your needs and vision," I reply. "The best architecture comes from understanding how people actually use spaces."
As I gather my equipment and prepare to leave, I find myself reluctant to end this conversation. Belle Hartwell is intelligent, passionate, and beautiful in a way that grows more compelling the longer you look at her.
If only she were an omega.
The thought hits me again as I shake her hand goodbye, noting how her touch lingers just a moment longer than professional courtesy requires. There's something between us, an attraction, a compatibility that feels rare and valuable.
But attraction without biological compatibility is just frustration with extra steps.
"I'll see you Tuesday," Belle says, walking me to the main entrance. "I'm excited to see what you come up with."
"I think you'll be pleased," I reply, though I'm already thinking less about architectural designs and more about having another excuse to spend time with Belle Hartwell.
As I drive away from the library, my mind is racing with more than just space planning and structural requirements. Belle has sparked something in me that goes beyond simple appreciation of intelligence and beauty.
There's something addictive about her enthusiasm, her curiosity, her genuine care for others. It makes me want to know more about her thoughts and opinions.
Which is exactly the kind of thinking that leads to complications I can't afford.
Marcus, Theo, and I have a plan. We've been searching for our omega for years, investing time and energy and hope in finding the person who can complete our pack bond. Getting distracted by an unavailable beta, no matter how compelling, would be a betrayal of that commitment.
But as I pull into our driveway and see the lights on in our too-large, too-empty house, I can't stop thinking about Belle's question: Don't you get lonely?
The answer is yes. More than I want to admit, more than I let myself acknowledge most of the time.
And spending two hours with Belle Hartwell has only made that loneliness feel more acute.
Tuesday's meeting suddenly feels like both a professional obligation and a personal temptation. Because while I know Belle can't be what I need, I'm starting to suspect she might be exactly what I want.
And that's a complication I'm not sure how to handle.