24. Caleb
Caleb
S aturday morning, five AM. Festival day.
I’ve been up since four, but instead of coordinating installations like yesterday, I’m standing in Sadie’s shop watching her obsess over last-minute details that probably don’t need obsessing over.
“The welcome arch needs more white roses,” she mutters, examining a bucket of blooms that arrived with this morning’s delivery. “I specifically asked for extra white roses because they photograph better in morning light, and there are only enough here for half of what I planned.”
Reid and Levi arrived twenty minutes ago with coffee and concerned expressions.
All three of us can smell that her condition has deteriorated significantly overnight.
Her scent carries those unmistakable pre-heat notes now—honeysuckle turning richer, vanilla warming with desperate undertones that make every alpha instinct I have snap to attention.
“The arch looked perfect yesterday,” Levi says gently, though his voice carries strain from fighting his body’s response to her scent. “Everyone who saw it was amazed.”
“But the photographers will be here in two hours,” she insists, hands trembling slightly as she sorts through stems. “The tourism board specifically mentioned wanting shots of the welcome display, and if the white roses aren’t fresh enough, if they don’t have that perfect just-opened look?—”
“Sadie.” I move closer, close enough to steady her if she sways again like she did ten minutes ago. “The installation is beautiful. You’re not thinking clearly right now.”
Her pupils are dilated, her skin flushed, and she keeps shifting like she can’t get comfortable. Every movement sends fresh waves of her scent through the small space, making all three of us struggle to maintain composure.
“I’m thinking perfectly clearly,” she snaps, then immediately looks stricken. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just need everything to be perfect.”
“It is perfect,” Reid assures her, though his bergamot scent has taken on that edge that signals barely restrained control. “Everything you’ve worked for is already in place. The hard work is done.”
But she’s not listening, too focused on arranging and rearranging the fresh blooms with obsessive precision. Her biology is hijacking her rational mind, turning normal perfectionism into something frantic and scattered.
“The vendor booths need final touches too,” she continues, checking her list for the fifth time. “And I want to add some of these morning-fresh dahlias to the main street displays. People will be taking photos all day, and yesterday’s flowers might look tired in the afternoon light.”
I exchange glances with Reid and Levi. She’s creating busywork to avoid dealing with what’s happening to her body but fighting it is only making her condition worse.
“We’ll help,” I say simply. “Whatever you need.”
The morning passes with us trailing behind her as she makes tiny adjustments to displays that were already perfect.
Adding fresh blooms here, adjusting a ribbon there, repositioning centerpieces that didn’t need repositioning.
But it’s not really about the flowers anymore—it’s about having something to control when her biology is spiraling beyond her management.
By eight o’clock, when the festival officially opens and families start arriving, her condition is obvious to anyone with functioning senses.
Other alphas give her more space, recognizing someone else’s developing claim.
The mated packs in town nod knowingly when they see us flanking her protectively.
“Beautiful work,” Tessa says during her morning rounds, clipboard in hand and looking slightly frazzled from managing the tourism board all day. “How’s our star florist holding up?”
I glance toward Sadie, currently obsessing over a vendor booth centerpiece that’s been perfect for twelve hours, and choose honesty.
“She’s been pushing herself hard all week. Might need to wrap up early tonight.”
Tessa follows my gaze and understanding floods her expression.
“Oh. Oh. Poor thing.” She glances around to make sure no one’s listening, then lowers her voice.
“The important people have seen everything they need to see anyway. State tourism confirmed campaign inclusion, the magazine got their shots, and every vendor is booked solid through the holidays.” She touches my arm with gentle understanding.
“Take care of her, Caleb. She’s done more than enough. ”
But my attention stays divided between festival management and watching her condition deteriorate. Every time I check on her, she looks more flushed, more desperate, more like an omega fighting the inevitable onset of heat.
Around noon, while securing the welcome arch, I notice a group of visiting alphas clustered near the vendor booths.
Tourists from Billings, judging by their license plates.
They’re not doing anything obviously threatening, but they keep glancing toward Sadie with expressions that make my blood run cold.
They can smell her condition.
I abandon the arch work and cross the festival grounds with purposeful strides. Reid and Levi converge from different directions—we’ve developed this seamless coordination, reading each other’s intentions without needing words.
“Gentlemen,” I address the visitors with the firm politeness I’ve learned works best in these situations. “Enjoying the festival?”
“Oh, absolutely,” one responds, though his gaze keeps drifting toward Sadie. “Beautiful town. Beautiful... attractions.”
The way he says it makes my vision narrow.
“Our florist has created something really special,” Reid adds smoothly, moving to block their sight line to Sadie. “She’s been working with our pack all week to coordinate these installations.”
The emphasis on ‘our pack’ and ‘our florist’ is subtle but unmistakable. Pack language. Territorial markers that any alpha will recognize and respect.
“Lucky guys,” the tourist says, but he’s already backing down, reading the situation correctly. “Well, we should get going. Long drive back to Billings.”
They leave. I watch until their car disappears down Main Street before allowing my shoulders to relax.
“That’s going to keep happening,” Levi observes quietly. “Word’s getting around.”
“She’s not available,” I correct firmly. “She’s ours. Has been for weeks, even if she’s just now admitting it.”
Reid nods in agreement. “We just need to get through the next few hours. Once the festival winds down, we can get her somewhere safe.”
The afternoon brings validation of everything Sadie has worked toward.
Tourism board representatives confirm inclusion in the state marketing campaign.
The magazine photographer captures perfect shots that will showcase Honeyridge Falls to thousands of potential visitors.
Local vendors report more business inquiries today than in the previous six months combined.
Her professional dreams are becoming reality.
But watching her try to manage success while fighting biology is almost painful. She struggles to focus on conversations, sways slightly when standing still too long, constantly seeks physical contact—touching our arms, leaning against counters, unconsciously gravitating toward us for comfort.
By three o’clock, the festival is in full swing and the whole town has turned out. Families with kids running between vendor booths. Elderly couples sharing funnel cakes on park benches. Teenagers taking selfies in front of the decorated Main Street.
That’s when I spot all three of my favorite people clustered around Lila’s coordination station.
Dean’s helping her organize vendor schedules while Callum handles a minor supply issue with his usual quiet efficiency.
Julian stands slightly apart, observing with that careful attention he brings to everything.
Their pack dynamics are seamless—each one contributing their strengths while keeping Lila at the center of their protective attention.
It’s exactly what I want to build with Sadie and the others.
“How’s your girl holding up?” Dean asks when I approach, nodding toward where Sadie’s explaining centerpiece arrangements to a group of out-of-town visitors.
“Struggling,” I admit honestly. “Heat’s coming whether she’s ready or not.”
“Pre-heat’s tough,” Lila observes gently, her hand resting on her rounded belly.
Looking toward Sadie, who’s currently swaying slightly while gesturing at a vendor display. She needs to stop fighting and let us catch her.
By five o’clock, the official festival activities start winding down, but the community atmosphere continues.
Someone’s set up a small stage near the gazebo where local musicians take turns performing.
Food trucks line the park perimeter, filling the air with the scents of funnel cakes, barbecue, and caramel apples.
That’s when I realize I haven’t seen Sadie eat anything all day.
I find her sitting on the steps of the hardware store, looking simultaneously triumphant and exhausted. Her scent is so rich with approaching heat that I have to stop several feet away to maintain my composure.
“When did you last eat?” I ask, settling beside her but leaving enough space that my proximity doesn’t overwhelm her further.
“I...” She looks confused for a moment. “Coffee this morning? I think Reid brought pastries.”
“That was eight hours ago.” I stand and extend my hand. “Come on. Let’s get some food in you before you pass out.”
She accepts my help standing, and the brief contact sends a visible shiver through her entire body. Her scent spikes with arousal so intense that I have to bite back a groan.
“Sorry,” she whispers, embarrassment flushing her cheeks darker. “I can’t seem to control anything right now.”
“Nothing to control,” I assure her, voice rough with restraint. “Your body knows what it needs.”
We make our way to the food trucks, her hand tucked into the crook of my arm for stability. Every step brings her closer to my side, and by the time we reach the barbecue truck, she’s practically leaning against me.
“Two pulled pork sandwiches,” I order, keeping one arm around her waist to steady her. “And whatever sides look good.”
The vendor—Tommy Clanton’s cousin from Pine Valley—takes one look at Sadie and grins knowingly. “On the house for our festival organizer. Y’all did something special here today.”
We find a quiet spot at one of the picnic tables set up near the gazebo. Sadie picks at her sandwich despite obviously being hungry, her attention scattered between the food and the lingering festival activities around us.
“This worked out better than I ever dreamed,” she says, gesturing at the scene around us. “Look at everyone. The whole community came together.”
“You brought them together,” I correct. “This was your vision.”
“Our vision,” she says firmly. “I couldn’t have done any of this without all of you.”
Before I can respond, Reid and Levi approach from different directions, drawn by the same instincts that brought me to check on her. They settle at our table with easy familiarity, creating a protective circle around her without making it obvious.
“How are you feeling?” Levi asks gently, though the answer is written across her flushed features.
“Like I accomplished something incredible and like I’m about to fall apart,” she admits with devastating honesty. “The tourism board wants to feature us in their official Montana travel guide. Mountain Living is running a six-page spread. Everything worked out better than I ever imagined.”
“You should be proud,” Reid says firmly. “You earned every bit of this success.”
“We earned this,” she corrects, looking between the three of us with dilated pupils and trust that makes my chest tight. “I couldn’t have done any of this without my pack.”
The casual way she says ‘my pack’ makes something settle in my chest that I didn’t realize was missing. She’s not fighting it anymore, not pretending we’re just helpful friends.
As evening approaches, the festival takes on a more intimate atmosphere.
Families start heading home with tired children, but couples and groups of friends linger to enjoy the music and the warm evening air.
String lights that someone strung between the trees earlier start twinkling as the sun sets behind the mountains.
“Ready to head home?” Levi asks gently when Sadie starts swaying in her seat.
She nods, then tries to stand and immediately sways. I catch her elbow to steady her, and the contact makes her gasp softly.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, and watch her pupils dilate further at the promise in my voice.
The walk to her apartment takes longer than usual as she stops frequently, needing to lean against buildings or lamp posts, overwhelmed by sensations that her omega biology is amplifying beyond manageable levels.
We form a protective escort, ensuring no other alphas approach while she’s in this vulnerable state.
By the time we reach her building, she’s trembling with need, her scent so rich and inviting that I’m fighting every instinct not to sweep her into my arms and carry her upstairs.
“I can’t fight this anymore,” she whispers as we reach her door. “I’ve been trying all day, all week, but I can’t...”
“You don’t have to fight anymore,” I tell her, my voice carrying the steady authority that’s been building all day. “We’re here. We’ve got you.”
She looks between the three of us, something shifting in her expression. Surrender, maybe. Or recognition that what’s happening between us is bigger than biology, more permanent than heat.
“I need you,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper. “All of you.”
The admission hangs in the evening air like a promise.
Festival successful beyond all expectations, her professional dreams secured, and the woman we love finally ready to accept what we’ve been offering.
Time to transition from public celebration to private.