Chapter 8 Xavier
XAVIER
"Ican't believe I fucking agreed to this. I’m leaving to go stay with three alphas who didn’t bother to pick me up and fight like kids," she mutters, shoving the last of her clothes back into her suitcase.
"But if anything like what happened in the kitchen happens again, I'm changing my mind. You got it, Emma?"
I watch Emma nod quickly from where she's hovering in the doorway.
"I'm a wedding planner, not a fucking miracle worker." Savannah zips her suitcase with more force than necessary, already probably dreading what she has committed herself to.
When I bend down to grab Savannah's suitcase from Emma's guest room floor, the weight catches me off guard.
Either she's planning to stay longer than three months, or she's one of those people who packs like they're moving to another planet.
The moment my hands close around the fabric handle, her scent hits me - intoxicating vanilla bourbon clinging to everything she touches.
My own cool mint scent sharpens in response, and I grit my teeth against the unwanted reaction coursing through me.
"You don't have to carry it," Savannah says from the doorway, laptop bag over her shoulder and portfolio pressed against her chest.
"I know you can. Doesn't mean I'm going to watch you struggle with it." I heft the suitcase, testing its weight.
"Struggle? It's a suitcase, not a piano." She raises an eyebrow at me.
"Heavy suitcase." I give her a pointed look.
"Are you calling me an overpacker?" Savannah tilts her head, a smile tugging at her lips.
"I'm calling you thorough," I say, and she laughs.
God, her laugh. Like warm honey and sunshine, the sound that used to make me forget whatever I was stressed about. Still does, apparently.
"Thorough is a nice way of saying I brought too many shoes." Savannah follows me toward the door.
"How many shoes does three months require?" I ask as we head outside.
"More than you'd think. Fewer than I brought." She shrugs, completely unapologetic.
I grin despite myself as we head toward my BMW. This feels familiar in ways that should worry me but don't. The easy back-and-forth, the comfortable teasing, the way she makes conversation feel effortless instead of like work.
"Emma mentioned you might need help getting around town," I say as I load her suitcase into the trunk.
"Emma worries too much." Savannah adjusts her laptop bag strap.
"Can't blame her for that." I close the trunk with a solid thud.
My alpha instincts recognize her like coming home after a long trip, and I have to grip the steering wheel to keep from doing something stupid.
Like reaching over to touch her face. Or telling her how much I've missed that scent.
"So," she says as I start the engine, settling back into the leather seat, "what's changed in Pine Hollow since I left?"
Everything. Nothing. You left and took something with you that we never figured out how to replace.
"Quite a bit, actually. Want the tour?" I pull out of Emma's driveway.
"Lead the way, Dr. Blackwell.” Savannah buckles her seatbelt, eyes already scanning the familiar streets.
The way she says my name makes something warm unfurl in my chest. Not mocking, not distant, just... familiar. Like she's testing how it feels to say it again after eight years of silence.
I drive us through downtown first, past the changes that have accumulated slowly enough that most locals don't notice them. "Peterson's Hardware became a coffee shop," I point out as we pass the corner building with its new glass front and modern signage.
"A coffee shop? In Pine Hollow?" Savannah leans forward slightly, peering through the windshield.
"Two coffee shops, actually. Plus a yoga studio and something called a 'wellness center' that I'm pretty sure sells overpriced smoothies." I gesture toward the strip of new businesses.
"Gentrification comes for everyone eventually." She sits back with a slight frown.
"Not gentrification exactly. More like... evolution. People started moving here from Denver for the small-town charm but wanted city amenities." I slow down as we approach the main intersection.
"And you? Do you like the changes?" Savannah turns in her seat to face me.
I consider this as we pass the new yoga studio, its windows full of women in expensive athletic wear doing impossible things with their bodies. "Some of them. The coffee's better. The medical supply deliveries are more reliable. There's actually decent internet now."
"But?" She waits, watching my expression.
“Sometimes it feels like Pine Hollow is trying to be something it's not instead of just being itself." I tap my fingers against the steering wheel.
Savannah nods, brown eyes tracking the familiar buildings mixed with unfamiliar storefronts. "I get that. Change can be good, but not when it erases what made a place special in the first place."
"Exactly." I glance over at her, surprised by how easily she understands.
We pass the elementary school with its bright new playground equipment.
Then the library, its white paint gleaming in the afternoon sun, the parking lot busier than I remember.
Murphy's Diner sits on the corner, familiar red brick and chrome, though someone clearly splurged on that flashy new neon sign.
"It's still pretty," Savannah says finally, her gaze following the tree-lined streets. "Different, but pretty. More people, but still small enough that everyone knows everyone."
"Pretty much. Although we've got enough new residents that I don't automatically know everyone's medical history anymore." I turn onto Maple Street.
"Is that good or bad?" She traces a pattern on the window with her finger.
"Depends on the day. Professional boundaries are easier when you're not treating people you went to high school with." I chuckle softly.
"But the gossip network is less efficient." Savannah grins at me.
"I actually have to ask people about their lives instead of having the information delivered through the church ladies' intelligence network." I pull into my driveway and put the car in park.
She laughs again, the sound filling the car like music. "I missed that. The way information travels here. In Denver, you can live next to someone for years and never know their name. Here, you sneeze wrong and half the town knows about it by dinnertime."
"Do you miss it? The gossip network?"
"Sometimes. It was annoying when I lived here, but there's something comforting about being part of a community that pays attention to you," she confesses.
I sense regret in her voice. Maybe leaving wasn't everything she expected it to be.
I get that, because sometimes I feel the same way about staying, as if maybe I'm missing something.
Griff built this place with his own hands, designed it to accommodate three alphas who needed space and connection in equal measure. It's beautiful work, all clean lines and natural materials that blend into the surrounding landscape.
"Holy shit," Savannah says with her eyes widening as she takes in the sprawling structure before us.
"Language," I say automatically, then catch myself with a grimace. "Sorry. Occupational hazard."
"No, seriously. Holy shit is appropriate here. This is a mansion." She leans forward in her seat, pressing her palms against the windshield.
"It's not." I say, feeling defensive despite myself.
"Xavier, this is fucking big. Huge. How many square feet?" She turns to face me, eyebrows raised in disbelief.
"Four thousand, maybe? Griffin would know exactly." I run a hand through my hair, suddenly self-conscious about our living situation.
"For just the three of you?" Her voice carries a note of amazement mixed with something that might be judgment.
"It's a pack house. We needed space for…activities.” I clear my throat, avoiding her penetrating gaze.
"What kind of pack activities require that much room?" She tilts her head, genuine curiosity replacing the incredulity.
Good question. So far, our pack activities consist of arguing about household responsibilities and avoiding meaningful conversations about our feelings. Apparently, we need a lot of space for that.
"Griffin likes to work on projects in the basement. Logan needs room for his gym equipment. I have a home office for patient files and consultations." I tick off the reasons on my fingers.
"And the rest of it?" She gestures toward the house with a sweep of her hand.
"The rest is just... space. Room to breathe without stepping on each other." I shrug, feeling the inadequacy of the explanation.
She studies the house with the same attention she used to give wedding venues, her head moving slowly as she catalogs details and possibilities. "It's beautiful. Really beautiful. Griff designed this?"
"Designed and built. Took him two years, but he did most of the work himself." Pride creeps into my voice despite my earlier defensiveness.
"Impressive." The admiration in her tone sends warmth spreading through my chest.
Griffin's work deserves appreciation, even if our pack dynamics don't always deserve praise.
I come to a stop, and park my car. Then, I step out and grab her luggage from the trunk and lead her up the front walkway, past the landscaping that Liam created as soon as we moved in.
Native plants mixed with carefully chosen flowers that bloom in rotation, creating year-round color without requiring much maintenance.
"The guest room is upstairs," I explain as we enter the foyer, gesturing toward the staircase. "Private bathroom, decent closet space, windows that actually open for fresh air."
"Luxury accommodations." Her lips curve into a small smile as she takes in the spacious entryway.
"We try to be good hosts." I shoulder her suitcase, starting up the stairs.