Chapter 41 – BELLA
CHAPTER 41
BELLA
T he SUV hits a pothole, jolting me against Cole's shoulder. He doesn't flinch this time. Progress.
"Fifteen minutes out," Roman announces from the driver's seat, his deep voice carrying through the vehicle.
I press my forehead against the cool window glass, watching as dense forest gradually gives way to scattered houses. My body feels off-kilter, like I'm wearing someone else's skin—the early stages of heat making everything heightened and slightly disorienting. The suppressants have dulled the edge, but there's still an underlying current of awareness pulsing through me, especially when I'm surrounded by five compatible alphas in an enclosed space.
"You doing okay?" Cole asks quietly from my right, his low voice pitched just for me.
I turn to face him, finding him studying me with that intensity that makes my stomach flip. "Yeah. Everything just feels a bit intense."
He nods once, understanding without needing further explanation. That's been the most surprising thing about the Vanguard Pack—how quickly they've learned to read me, to understand what I need sometimes before I know myself.
"Diner first," Liam says from the front passenger seat, turning to glance back at me. "Get some food into you before the shopping. Heat burns calories like a motherfucker."
"Such a delicate way with words," Savva mutters, but I catch his amused expression.
"What? It's true," Liam defends himself. "Bella needs protein and carbs. Lots of them. And their breakfast platters could feed a small army."
The SUV takes a turn onto what seems to be the main road into Sweetwater, and I sit up straighter, taking in the town that will be our home, at least temporarily.
It's exactly how Roman described it. Picturesque, like something from a tourist postcard or a Hallmark movie. Main Street curves gently along the edge of a small lake, the water reflecting the overcast sky. The buildings are a charming mix of Victorian and early twentieth century architecture, with colorful awnings over shop windows and hanging flower baskets buzzing with honeybees. Despite the cloudy day, there's a cozy warmth to the place that makes me feel instantly welcomed.
"Wow," I breathe, pressing closer to the window. "It's beautiful."
"Wait till you see it on a clear day," Roman says, and I catch his smile in the rearview mirror. "The mountain reflection on the lake is something else."
I smile at him. "It's perfect as it is."
Roman guides the SUV through the main part of town, moving slowly as pedestrians cross the street unhurriedly. There's an easy pace to life here, none of the frenetic energy of Los Angeles. People actually stop to chat on the sidewalks. Window displays look thoughtfully curated rather than mass-produced. The few cars parked along the street are mostly older models, well-maintained but not flashy.
"There it is," Troy announces, pointing ahead. "Mabel's. Best breakfast on the West Coast."
The diner sits on a corner, its large windows offering views of both the street and the lake beyond. A faded red awning extends over the entrance, and a hand-painted sign is painted with "Mabel's" in whimsical yellow lettering. Several cars are parked out front, and I can see movement through the windows.
"Busy," Liam observes.
"Always is," Troy confirms. "Worth the wait."
Roman finds a parking spot about fifty feet down from the diner. Before he's even shut off the engine, Liam is scanning the street, his intense gaze sweeping over pedestrians and storefronts alike even though we're in a quaint village.
"I wasn't aware Sweetwater was known for its high crime rate," I say dryly.
Liam's mouth twitches. "Force of habit, little omega."
"Besides," Troy chimes in as we exit the vehicle, "we've got precious cargo now."
I roll my eyes at this, but secretly, I'm touched by their protectiveness. It's not the possessive, controlling behavior Braxley displayed. They want me safe because they care about me, not because I'm an asset or accessory. And if I wanted them to back off, they would.
Honestly, though?
I'm enjoying every minute of this.
The morning air hits me as I step out of the SUV, crisp and fresh. I breathe in deeply, letting it clear my head a little. The suppressants are working, but there's still an underlying warmth spreading through me, a subtle restlessness that makes everything slightly more vibrant, slightly more intense.
We form a natural configuration as we walk toward the diner—Roman and Liam leading the way, Savva and Troy flanking me, and Cole a solid presence at my back. To anyone watching, it must look like a military escort rather than a breakfast outing, and I have to stifle a laugh at the thought.
"What?" Cole asks, his voice close to my ear.
"Just thinking we look like we're on a mission rather than heading for pancakes."
His chuckle is rough and nervous. "Probably."
As we approach the diner, heads turn. It's subtle at first—a pause in conversation, a lingering glance—but unmistakable.
Roman pulls open the door, and a bell tinkles cheerfully. Warm air scented with coffee, maple syrup, and bacon envelops us, along with the low hum of conversation and clinking silverware. The diner is bustling, nearly every table occupied with locals enjoying their breakfast.
For a moment, everything seems to pause. Conversations falter mid-sentence, coffee cups hover halfway to mouths, a waitress freezes with a stack of plates in her hands. Then, as if someone has pressed play again, movement and sound resume, though with a noticeable undercurrent of curiosity.
An older woman with silver-streaked hair pulled into a neat bun approaches us, warm smile firmly in place despite the slight widening of her eyes at the sight of five enormous, intimidating alphas crowding her entrance.
"Welcome to Mabel's," she says, her voice strong and clear. "Table for six?"
"Yes, please," Roman replies. "Booth if you have one."
"For you boys? Always." She winks at him, then turns to me with friendly interest. "Haven't seen you around before, honey."
"I'm Bella," I offer, smiling back at her. "First time in Sweetwater."
"Well, you picked the right place for breakfast." She gathers menus and gestures for us to follow. "I'm Mabel, by the way. This place is my baby, forty years and counting."
She leads us through the diner to a corner booth, larger than the others and somewhat separated from the main seating area. As we make our way between the tables, I notice how people react to us. There are a few startled double-takes at Cole's scarred face, quickly masked but still obvious. A few elderly betas and omegas eye Liam's tattoos with clear wariness, particularly the one on the side of his head. But when they notice Troy, they relax visibly.
Guess he's popular here.
The booth Mabel leads us to is U-shaped, with red vinyl seating that's seen better days but looks clean and well-maintained. Cole immediately slides in first, positioning himself in the corner with his scarred right side facing the wall. He's smooth about it, but I know why he's sitting there.
I slide in next to him, making sure to settle close enough that our shoulders touch lightly. His quick glance tells me he understands the gesture, and the slight relaxation in his posture is reward enough.
The others arrange themselves around the table—Savva next to me, then Troy, with Roman and Liam taking the opposite side. It's a tight fit with five large alpha bodies, but somehow comfortable rather than cramped.
"Coffee all around?" Mabel asks, distributing menus.
"Please," Roman confirms with a nod, even though he just had a full mug at the pack house.
"And orange juice for the lady," Troy adds. When I look at him questioningly, he just shrugs. "Vitamin C. Good for what's coming."
I feel my cheeks warm at the casual reference to my approaching heat, but Mabel doesn't bat an eye.
"Got it. I'll give you folks a minute with the menus, but I highly recommend the blueberry pancakes." She winks at Troy. "Though I suspect someone's already sung their praises."
"Extensively," Savva confirms dryly.
Mabel chuckles and heads off to fetch our drinks, leaving us to examine the laminated menus. The offerings are classic American diner fare. Hearty breakfasts, sandwiches, and a selection of pies that, according to a handwritten note at the bottom, are "baked fresh daily by Mabel's sister Edna who thinks she's better than everyone."
"I like this place already," I say, amused by the personal touch.
"Wait till you taste the food," Troy says, eagerly scanning the menu though I suspect he already knows it by heart.
I study my own options, suddenly aware of just how hungry I am. The combination of early heat symptoms and the mountain drive has left me ravenous. I'm debating between the blueberry pancakes and a breakfast platter—knowing the alphas will insist I get both if they know I'm trying to decide between the two—when I notice a woman at a nearby table staring openly at us.
She's middle-aged, with dyed blonde hair and the weathered complexion of someone who spends time outdoors. When our eyes meet, she doesn't look away, but offers a small, assessing smile instead. There's something almost protective in her gaze as it moves from me to the alphas and back again.
"Don't worry about Diane," Mabel says, returning with a tray of drinks. "She's just the local welcoming committee."
I accept the large glass of orange juice she hands me. "Is that official or self-appointed?"
Mabel laughs. "Bit of both. Diane runs the flower shop and considers herself the town's social director. She's harmless, just curious about newcomers. Especially ones with such interesting... dynamics."
Her tone is gentle, not judgmental, but I still feel a flutter of uncertainty. Are we that obvious? What exactly does our "dynamic" look like to outsiders?
"We're just passing through," Roman says smoothly, accepting his coffee mug. "Showing Bella some of the sights."
"Mmhmm," Mabel hums, clearly not buying it but polite enough not to push. "Well, have you decided what you'd like to eat?"
We place our orders—blueberry pancakes for me and Troy, the lumberjack special for Roman and Liam, veggie omelet for Savva, and steak for Cole. Mabel jots everything down with practiced efficiency, then tucks her pencil behind her ear.
"Coming right up. Holler if you need anything before then."
As she moves away, I take a sip of my orange juice, noting it's freshly squeezed. Everything about Mabel's feels authentic, from the slightly wobbly tables to the hand-written specials board. After months in Braxley's world of carefully curated Instagram aesthetics and overpriced, underwhelming food chosen more for its photogenic qualities than taste, this place is refreshingly real.
"You look happy," Cole observes quietly.
I glance up to find him watching me, his one blue eye intent. "I am," I admit. "This place feels... genuine."
He nods, understanding without needing elaboration.
"Have you been to Sweetwater before?" I ask. "I mean, besides when you needed a safe place."
"Few times," he answers, lifting his coffee mug carefully with his left hand. His right remains under the table, as if he's conscious of drawing attention to his scarred arm. "Mostly supply runs."
The others are engaged in their own conversation—something about the best local fishing spots that Troy is enthusiastically detailing to a skeptical Savva—giving Cole and me a small bubble of privacy despite being at the same table.
"You like it here?" I ask.
He considers this, his gaze moving past me to the large windows that frame the lake view. "It's peaceful. People mind their business, for the most part."
For Cole, I'm learning, that's high praise.
"And the pack?" I press gently. "Do they come here often?"
"When we can." His voice drops lower. "After hard jobs. When we need to... decompress."
I read between the lines easily enough. When missions go wrong. When they're injured. When they need to remember what normal life looks like. My heart aches at the thought of these five alphas, battered and exhausted, finding refuge in this unassuming mountain town.
Maybe it could be mine, too.
Before I can respond, Mabel arrives with the first round of food. Enormous plates loaded with golden pancakes, crispy hash browns, and perfectly cooked eggs. The conversation shifts naturally to appreciation of the feast before us, and for several minutes, there's little talk beyond requests to pass the syrup or butter.
I cut into my stack of pancakes, releasing a cloud of steam and the rich scent of blueberries. The first bite confirms Troy's enthusiastic endorsement—they're impossibly light and fluffy, studded with plump berries that burst with tart sweetness against the buttery backdrop.
"You were right," I mumble around a mouthful. "These are amazing."
Troy beams triumphantly. "Told you. Miraculous, right?"
Even Savva, normally so reserved about everyday pleasures, nods in appreciation as he samples his omelet. "The cheese is excellent. Locally sourced, I'd wager."
"From Casey's dairy farm just outside town," confirms a new voice.
I look up to find the woman from the nearby table—Diane, Mabel had called her—standing beside our booth. Up close, she's warmer somehow, with laugh lines around her eyes and a friendly, open expression.
"Best cheddar in the county," she continues, seeming completely unfazed by the sudden tension that has rippled through the alphas at her approach. "And the goat cheese is divine, though that comes from Watson's on the north side."
Roman's posture has shifted subtly, his shoulders straightening as he positions himself between the stranger and me, despite the table between us. "Thanks for the information."
His tone is polite but distant, clearly intended to end the interaction. Diane, however, seems undeterred.
"I'm Diane Ward," she introduces herself, extending a hand toward me rather than any of the alphas. "I run Wildflower Arrangements down the street."
Something in her direct approach to me, bypassing the protective alphas, makes me like her immediately. I reach out to shake her hand. "Bella Emerson. These are my…" The hesitation is slight but unmistakable. What exactly are they to me? They're not friends. Not quite mates, but heading rapidly in that direction.
"Say no more." She gives me a knowing smile that's no less assessing than her eyes. "Well, Bella, if you need anything while you're in town—directions, recommendations, or just some female company—stop by the shop. I'm there most days."
"Thank you," I say, genuinely touched by the offer. "That's very kind."
Diane nods, then directs her attention to the alphas with a more businesslike demeanor. "Sweetwater's a peaceful place. We like to keep it that way."
It's not quite a threat, but definitely a warning. My eyes widen slightly at her boldness—five enormous alphas who radiate lethal capability, and she's essentially telling them to behave themselves.
To my surprise, Roman nods respectfully. "Understood. We're just here to enjoy Mabel's pancakes and show Bella around. We won't bring any trouble here."
Diane's expression softens slightly. "Glad to hear it." She looks back to me. "The omega shop on Lakeside Drive is excellent, if that's on your itinerary. Beth and Maggie have owned it for over a decade—they'll treat you right." This last bit is directed at me, with a significant look that seems loaded with meaning.
With that, she offers a final smile and returns to her table, where she immediately begins speaking with another woman, their heads bent close together. I have little doubt we're the topic of conversation.
"Well, that was interesting," I mumble awkwardly, slicing into another piece of pancake.
"She was just checking if you were okay," Cole says quietly.
"Making sure you weren't with us against your will," Liam elaborates, keeping his voice low. "People in small towns look out for each other. Particularly omegas."
I blink, fork halfway to my mouth. "Oh. But I'm a stranger."
"Doesn't matter," Roman says. "You're an omega with five alphas. That's going to raise eyebrows anywhere—especially in tight-knit communities like this. And we don't look especially friendly."
"Speak for yourself," Troy says playfully.
I consider this as I continue eating, noting how the initial curiosity from other diners has shifted subtly after Diane's visit to our table. There are still glances, but they feel less suspicious now, more welcoming. As if Diane's approval has changed our status from potentially dangerous outsiders to borderline acceptable visitors.
Guess it helps that Troy seems popular here.
"Does this happen often?" I ask, curious about their previous visits to Sweetwater.
Troy snorts softly. "Us getting the third degree from protective locals? Pretty much every time."
"Usually with more posturing from local alphas," Savva adds, cutting his omelet into perfect squares. "Having you with us changes the dynamic."
"How so?"
"Five lone alphas read as potential trouble," Roman explains. "Military bearing, combat training—it shows, even when we try to downplay it."
"But with an omega..." Cole starts, then seems to reconsider his words.
"With an omega, they assume we have something to protect," Liam finishes for him. "Makes us seem less like mercenaries and more like a pack."
"Which we are," Troy points out, drizzling more syrup over his remaining pancakes. "A pack, I mean."
A pack.
My pack, potentially, if I choose it.
We finish our breakfast amid lighter conversation, with all the alphas offering me bites of their food to make sure I've tried everything. From the corner of my eye, I notice an elderly couple watching our table with curious smiles. The beta woman whispers something to her alpha husband, who nods approvingly. Somehow, despite the intimidating appearance of my alphas, this simple act of sharing food has made us look less threatening to the locals, more like what we're becoming.
A family.
As we prepare to leave, I notice several patrons watching us with open curiosity now. A young woman with a toddler on her hip gives me an encouraging smile. An older man raises his coffee mug in a small salute. The initial wariness seems to have transformed into tentative welcome, and I wonder how much of that is due to my presence.
Outside, the day has brightened, patches of blue sky visible between the clouds. The air feels warmer now, and I inhale deeply, enjoying the clean scent of the surrounding wilderness.
"Where to next?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"Omega shop," Roman says, checking his watch. "Should be open by now."
"Soft Spot," I remember from our earlier conversations.
"Yep," Troy confirms. "The owners are a mated omega pair who've been together thirty years. Moved here from Seattle to open the shop."
"You seem to know a lot about them," I observe.
Troy grins at me. "I make it my business to know everything about everyone. And their honey peanut butter cookies kick ass."
"Of course it's about food," Liam groans, cuffing Troy lightly on the back of the head.
We begin walking down Main Street toward Soft Spot, falling back into our instinctive formation with Roman and Liam leading, and me protected in the middle. The town is fully awake now, with shopkeepers opening their doors and more pedestrians on the sidewalks. A few nod or smile as we pass, that initial small-town friendliness warming as they note my presence among the alphas.
As we turn onto Lakeside Drive, the view opens up dramatically. The street runs parallel to the water, with small jetties extending into the lake and a narrow beach of smooth stones rather than sand. Across the water, mountains rise majestically, their lower slopes covered in dense forest that gives way to exposed rock near the peaks. Even with today's cloud cover, it's breathtaking.
"Wow," I murmur, slowing to take in the view. "Beautiful."
"Just wait until sunset," Savva says beside me, his voice softening as he follows my gaze. "The mountains turn gold and purple."
It can't possibly be more beautiful than this. Can it?
"There's the shop," Troy points out, drawing my attention to a charming storefront about halfway down the block.
Soft Spot occupies what appears to be a converted Victorian house, painted a cheerful buttercup yellow with white trim. Window boxes overflow with colorful flowers and a carved wooden sign in the shape of the Greek omega symbol hangs above the entrance. It's painted with the shop's name in flowing script following the arched shape.
As we walk up to the porch, I notice small details that make the place even more inviting. Wind chimes hanging from the eaves, a collection of painted stones arranged artfully along the walkway, cushioned rocking chairs on the veranda where customers can sit and enjoy the lake view.
"It's perfect," I breathe, already feeling comfortable before we've even stepped inside.
"Thought you'd like it," Roman says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a rare half-smile.
A bell chimes softly as Liam opens the door, and we step into a space that instantly feels like a sanctuary for omegas. Subtle lavender and vanilla scents fill the air, mingling with the fresh, clean scent of new fabric. Soft classical music plays from hidden speakers.
The shop is arranged into distinct sections, each dedicated to different aspects of omega care. To the left, shelves and displays hold nesting materials—rich fabrics in every texture imaginable, from silk and velvet to fleece and plush faux fur. To the right, a wall of specialized care products for heats and post-heat recovery. Straight ahead, a counter serves as both checkout area and tea bar, with glass jars of loose-leaf blends lining the wall behind it.
Behind the counter stands a woman in her sixties, with short salt-and-pepper hair and bright, intelligent eyes behind fashionable glasses. She looks up as we enter, and her welcoming smile doesn't falter even as she registers the five alphas accompanying me.
"Good morning," she greets us warmly. "Welcome to Soft Spot."
"Morning," Roman responds, his voice pitched to be less intimidating than usual. "We left a message last night about supplies for a first heat?"
I blink up at him in surprise. He called them? That's… thoughtful.
"Of course," the woman—either Beth or Maggie, I assume—says, coming around the counter. "You must be the Vanguard Pack. And this," she turns to me with genuine warmth, "must be Bella."
I'm momentarily startled that she knows my name, before realizing that of course Roman would have mentioned it when making arrangements. "Yes, that's me."
"I'm Beth," she confirms, offering her hand. "My mate Maggie is in the back. She'll be out in a few minutes."
I shake her hand, immediately comforted by the contact with another omega. There's something uniquely calming about omega energy, especially from someone older and more experienced. "Your shop is beautiful."
"Thank you," she beams. "We've put our hearts into it for well over a decade now. It's our little contribution to making omega life better, especially in rural areas where specialists can be hard to find."
Beth turns to the alphas, assessing them with a professional eye rather than the suspicion we encountered elsewhere. "First heat with new alphas?"
"Yes," Roman confirms. "Bella's been on suppressants for years. We haven't been together long."
Together.
I kind of like the way that word sounds. And I appreciate his discretion in not revealing we're scent matches, which would surely raise more questions than we're ready to answer right now.
"I see," Beth says, nodding. "Well, you've come to the right place. First thing—have you eaten a proper meal this morning?"
"Mabel's," Troy answers with enthusiasm.
Beth laughs. "Perfect. Mabel's breakfasts are legendary for a reason. Now, Bella, would you prefer to look around with me while your alphas wait, or would you like them to join us?"
The question is asked without judgment, acknowledging that some omegas prefer privacy when selecting heat supplies while others might want their alphas involved in the process. I consider for a moment before glancing at Cole, whose stiff posture betrays his discomfort in the omega-centered space.
"Maybe just one or two of them?" I suggest, not wanting to overwhelm the shop with alpha presence, but also not wanting to leave Cole feeling excluded after everything he's said about how people treat him.
Beth nods approvingly. "Excellent compromise. Who would you like to accompany you?"
I instinctively turn to Cole and Savva—Cole because I want him to feel included despite his discomfort, and Savva as the one who appreciates the finer things in life.
"Cole and Savva, if that's alright?"
Cole looks surprised but moves closer to my side, while Savva nods in acceptance. "Of course," he says, his lips curving into a pleased smile.
"The rest of you," Beth addresses Troy, Roman, and Liam with gentle authority that brooks no argument despite her omega status, "can enjoy some tea and cookies by the window. Maggie will be out shortly with a fresh batch."
"Fuck yeah," Troy whispers under his breath at the mention of cookies. Even Roman looks amused rather than offended at being dismissed so firmly. They move toward a cozy seating area near the front windows, with Liam and Troy immediately gravitating to the glass case full of baked goods like fish on a hook.
"Now then," Beth says, turning back to us. "Let's start with the basics. Nesting materials first, then comfort items, then practical necessities. Follow me."
She leads us toward the left side of the shop, where the nesting materials are displayed. The shelves and bins are organized by texture and weight rather than color, acknowledging that our nesting preferences are typically tactile first, visual second.
"Some omegas prefer lightweight silks and satins, others heavier velvets and chenille," Beth explains, running her hand over a display of various fabrics. "Some want everything soft, others like a mix of textures. The important thing is what feels right to you, Bella."
I approach the display hesitantly, overwhelmed by the variety.
"It's okay," Beth says gently, noting my uncertainty. "Take your time. Touch everything. Trust your instincts."
I reach out to touch a bolt of deep blue velvet, sighing at the luxurious feel against my fingertips. Next, a lightweight cotton in soft green, then a plush faux fur in creamy white.
"What's calling to you?" Beth asks after I've examined several options.
"The velvet," I admit. "And that chenille." I point to a thick, ridged fabric in a warm amber color. "And maybe... that?" The last is a silky faux fur in a soft gray that reminds me of early morning mist.
"Excellent choices," Beth approves. "Very cozy. How much were you thinking of getting?"
I glance uncertainly at Savva and Cole, realizing I have no idea what a proper nest requires in terms of materials. Being with Braxley had suppressed so many of my natural omega instincts that I feel woefully unprepared.
"We'll take enough for a comprehensive nest," Savva answers smoothly. "Multiple yards of each preferred fabric, plus complementary options."
Beth nods, making notes on a small pad she's pulled from her pocket. "And will you be incorporating alpha clothing into the nest? Many omegas find their alpha's scent incredibly comforting during heat."
I feel my cheeks warm at the question, but the clinical way Beth phrases it makes it easier to answer honestly. "Yes. I will be."
Beth's smile is knowing but kind. "Of course you will. It's natural to want your alphas close during heat, especially a scent-matched pack."
Cole freezes beside me.
So do I, my hand stilling on a bolt of soft flannel. "How did you?—"
"Honey, I've been scent-matched to my Maggie for thirty years," Beth says, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. "I know that look. Five alphas, one omega, all watching each other like you've found something precious? It's written all over you."
"Perceptive," Savva muses.
Cole shifts beside me, tense.
"It's recent," I explain softly. "We're still... figuring things out."
"The best journeys often have uncertain beginnings," Beth says with a sage nod. "Now, let's get you properly equipped for yours."
She begins pulling bolts of fabric based on what I've indicated I like, adding complementary textures I hadn't even considered. Savva follows along, occasionally suggesting a particular shade or material with his impeccable taste. I notice he gravitates toward the higher quality items without even checking the price tags.
"What about this?" Savva suggests, holding up a bolt of soft, thick woven wool yarn in a deep forest green. "Wool has excellent temperature regulation properties."
Beth nods approvingly. "Heat fluctuations are especially rough during a first full cycle."
As they discuss the merits of various fabrics—as if they're talking about the weather and not an impending orgy to get me through my heat—I glance at Cole, who stands slightly apart like he isn't sure what to do with himself.
"Cole," I say, turning to him, "what do you think of this one?" I hold up a thick, plush material in a blue shade that reminds me of his eyes.
He looks startled I'm asking his opinion. "It's... nice?"
"I want to know if you think it's soft enough," I say, extending the fabric toward him.
Cole hesitates, then reaches out with his left hand. He runs his fingers over the fabric, a look of slight surprise crossing his face. "It's softer than it looks."
"That's ultraplush microfiber," Beth explains, watching our interaction with interest. "One of our most popular options. It's incredibly durable too."
Cole gives a stiff nod. "Good choice."
It's small, but I count it as a victory that he's engaged at all rather than just standing guard.
"We should get that one," I decide, adding it to the growing pile.
A door at the back of the shop opens, and a woman emerges carrying a tray of cookies and tea. She's shorter and stockier than Beth, rosy-cheeked with curly gray hair sticking up in every direction and a warm smile that lights up her entire face.
"I thought I heard voices!" she exclaims, setting the tray down on a nearby table. "You must be our special visitors. I'm Maggie."
"Bella," I reply, moving to greet her. "And this is Cole and Savva."
Maggie's eyes take in Cole's scars without the slightest change in her friendly expression. "Welcome to Soft Spot, gentlemen. Beth taking good care of you?"
"She's been very helpful," Savva says smoothly.
"Excellent! I've brought some refreshments—my lavender cookies and our special calming tea blend. Perfect for pre-heat jitters." She turns to Cole directly, tilting her head as she studies him. "You look like a man who appreciates craftsmanship."
Cole blinks, clearly not expecting to be addressed so directly. "Ma'am?"
"I know an artist when I see one," Maggie says with a wink.
Cole's expression softens slightly at her praise. He doesn't seem to know what to say, so he doesn't speak at all. Fortunately, Maggie is already moving, setting the tray down on a counter.
"Now, Beth is wonderful," she continues, "but she'll talk fabric until you're cross-eyed if we let her."
"I heard that," Beth calls from where she's measuring out lengths of velvet.
"You were meant to, love," Maggie returns cheerfully. She turns back to Cole and me. "Come, sit for a moment. Shopping for heat supplies can be overwhelming to say the least."
She leads us to a small seating area near the fabric section, gesturing for us to make ourselves comfortable on plush armchairs arranged around a low table. The cookies are arranged on a handmade ceramic plate, golden-brown and smelling like wildflowers.
I admittedly wasn't sure about lavender when she first mentioned that was the ingredient, but I should've trusted the process.
They smell delicious.
"Be a dear and tell those other alphas the cookies are ready," Maggie says to Savva. "Beth and I made plenty."
Savva inclines his head in acknowledgment and moves toward the front of the shop where Roman, Liam, and Troy are waiting. Cole hesitates, then sits in the chair nearest to me, his posture still stiff as always but more relaxed than before.
"So," Maggie says, pouring tea into delicate cups. "First heat with a new pack? That's quite an adventure."
I accept the tea gratefully, inhaling the soothing herbal scent. "It's a little terrifying," I admit.
"All the best things usually are," Maggie says with a wink. She turns to Cole, offering him tea with the same casual ease she showed me. "Sugar? Honey?"
"Black is fine," Cole murmurs, accepting the cup. I notice he uses his left hand rather than his scarred right. "Thanks."
"A man of simple tastes," Maggie says with an approving nod.
Cole's head tilts slightly, clearly at a loss for words again.
Maggie just laughs. "Now, tell me, how are you holding up in all this? Alpha partners often get overlooked in heat preparations, but your comfort matters, too."
Cole looks genuinely startled by the question, blinking at her. "I'm... fine."
The exchange makes me giggle, but I stifle it, biting my lip.
"Mmhmm," Maggie hums skeptically to him, pushing the cookie plate toward him. "Try one. They're good for anxious energy."
To my surprise, Cole actually takes a cookie, turning it over in his hand before taking a cautious bite. He blinks in surprise.
"Well?" Maggie prompts.
"Very good," he says hoarsely.
I've already finished my first cookie, and I'm having to fight the urge to lick my fingers in mixed company. "Those might be the best cookies I've ever had," I say, and I'm not exaggerating to be nice.
Maggie beams, looking from me to Cole.
"You're lucky alphas," she says warmly. "You have a real sweetheart here."
"We know," Cole says quietly.
The butterflies start up in my chest all over again.
Beth joins us, carrying swatches of the fabrics we've selected. "I've pulled these options for the primary nesting materials," she explains, spreading them on the table. "Now we should discuss scent integration. Some omegas prefer neutral base scents, while others want their nest to carry specific fragrances."
"I hadn't thought about that," I admit, looking at the array of fabric samples.
"It's a personal choice," Beth assures me. "There's no right or wrong answer. We have sprays that can enhance the natural calming properties of alpha scents, or neutralizers if you find certain elements a bit too much."
"The enhancers," Cole says unexpectedly. When we all look at him, he adds, "They're better for anxiety. During heat."
Beth smiles at him approvingly. "Exactly right. Many omegas find that amplified alpha scents—especially scent-matched alpha scents—help soothe the more uncomfortable symptoms."
"You seem knowledgeable about this," I say to Cole, touched that he's thought about what might help me.
He looks slightly embarrassed. "Did some research. After we found out."
My heart swells enough that it feels physically warm in my chest. "That's so sweet," I find myself saying.
He mutters something unintelligible under his breath. Pretty sure it's "don't worry about it."
"Are the other alphas this invested?" Maggie asks me, grinning.
The rest of them join us as if on queue, Troy immediately going for a lavender cookie while Liam and Roman take seats near Cole and me, forming a protective semicircle. Savva settles back into his seat, crossing his legs elegantly. Beth and Maggie exchange a knowing look, clearly recognizing the pack formation is instinctive and hardwired into these alphas.
"Now, while you enjoy your tea, let's discuss the more practical aspects," Beth says, pulling a notepad from her pocket. "A proper nest needs comfort materials, scent integration items, hydration, nutrition, and personal comfort objects."
"Personal comfort objects?" Roman asks.
"Items that provide psychological comfort," Beth clarifies. "Books, music, soft toys, photographs—anything that helps the omega feel secure and grounded during the more intense phases."
"She has Cole's duck," Troy offers helpfully. When Beth looks bewildered, he chuckles and adds, "It's a wooden figurine he carved for her. Not a rubber one. Uh… or a real one."
Cole shoots him an irritated look.
"I do keep it with me," I admit, trying not to laugh. It's actually in my pocket right now.
"Hand-crafted items from pack members make excellent comfort objects," Maggie approves. "The care that goes into making them carries its own energy."
"Speaking of care," Beth continues, "let's discuss the alpha rotation schedule for the duration of the heat. First heats typically last between three to five days, with intensity fluctuating throughout."
"We've discussed some basic arrangements," Roman says, his deep voice calm and measured. "But we're open to guidance."
The matter-of-fact way they're discussing what will essentially be an intensely intimate experience should be embarrassing, but instead, I find it strangely reassuring. This is being treated as something natural and important, not scandalous or shameful.
"The most important thing," Maggie says, "is communication. Establish clear signals for when Bella needs a different alpha, more space, food, water, or rest. Heat can make verbal communication difficult at times."
"Hand signals," Cole suggests. "Simple ones."
Beth nods enthusiastically. "Excellent idea. Many of our customers develop a basic system—one finger for water, two for food, that sort of thing."
"A middle finger?" Troy asks curiously.
Maggie rolls her eyes and swats his beefy arm playfully. "Oh, stop it."
"Or color codes," Savva adds, ignoring Troy's antics as usual. "Green for continue, yellow for slow down, red for stop."
"That's what Troy uses at all-you-can-eat buffets," Liam quips, earning a laugh from everyone, including Cole, whose quiet huff of amusement might be easily missed if I weren't paying such close attention to him.
"Ha ha. Very funny," Troy says, reaching for another cookie. "But seriously, that system works for a lot of shit."
As the conversation continues and we go back to exploring the rest of the store's offerings, I notice how Beth and Maggie seamlessly include Cole in their questions and explanations, treating his input with the same respect they show the others despite his reticence. Each time they direct a question or comment to him specifically, he responds a little more readily, his answers growing slightly longer.
When we finish gathering the rest of the nesting supplies and start stuffing everything into bags at the cash register, I find myself almost reluctant to go even though returning to the pack house means building my nest. This shop has become a second sanctuary of mine in just a few hours.
"Come back anytime," Beth says, clearly reading my expression. "We're always here if you need anything at all."
"We will," I promise, giving both women a hug. They're not just emotionally warm, they're physically warm, too. Beth squeezes me so hard, my back cracks.
Outside, the day has warmed up, too, the last of the morning clouds burning away to reveal a brilliant sky. The lake sparkles in the sunlight, the rolling mountains reflected in its still blue surface like a mirror.
This beats the skyline any day.
"Successful trip?" Roman asks as we walk back toward the SUV, each alpha carrying bags except for Cole, who took the heaviest boxes himself before anyone could stop him.
"Very," I confirm, feeling more prepared and confident than I have since discovering my approaching heat. "Beth and Maggie are amazing."
"They liked you," Cole says, falling into step beside me.
"They liked you too," I point out. "Maggie practically adopted you."
Cole's mouth twitches at the corner. He doesn't argue.
"So, lunch at the lakeside cafe?" Troy asks. "Or do we head straight back to start setting up your nest?"
I laugh at his enthusiasm, feeling light and happy despite the intensity of what I know is coming. Especially after plenty of warning from Beth and Maggie. "Let's head back," I say. "I want to start putting everything together."
Maybe I should be nervous, but I'm not. All I can feel right now is excitement. For the first time, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be—surrounded by people who see me, value me, and want the best for me.
And they're not just people.
They're my scent-matched pack.