Chapter 1 #2
As I enter the exam room I wonder if his dark, tousled wavy hair is as soft as it looks. His sweet apple scent overwhelms me—my mouth waters, tingles race through my body, and my heart beats wildly in my chest.
Until Bean begins his sneezing fits again, breaking the spell and covering me in cat snot.
“I’ve got like, a minute before the next patient,” Ivan says, his brow furrowing when he looks at Bean. “Is everything okay?”
“He’s sneezing a lot,” I murmur. “And I’m kind of worried. Piper and Blair say it could just be dust, but I wanted your opinion.”
“How often?” he asks, taking Bean from me. The cat burrows into Ivan’s broad chest, purring happily.
“It’s little sneezing fits, but Blair said it just started today.”
Ivan gently strokes the top of the kitten’s head. “Is he breathing weird at all?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Is he playing still?”
“We were just playing now,” I say. “But what could it be? Why is he sneezing so much? Is he okay? Could he get worse?” The panic in my chest builds the more I ask questions.
If Ivan is annoyed by my frantic rapid-fire questions, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he appears amused.
“I’m going to take his temperature to give you peace of mind,” he says gently. “But honestly, Maeve? As long as he’s playing, eating, drinking, and using the litter box normally, I wouldn’t be too worried. Granted, I’m not a vet, but—”
“But you’re a vet tech and smart as hell,” I say. “And I trust your judgement.”
“Let’s keep an eye on it,” Ivan says, his smile widening. “It could be a little irritation, or worst case, a cold.”
“What about asthma? What about a lung infection?”
Ivan still isn’t irritated with me. Instead, his eyes are fond, his mouth slightly upturned.
That expression is enough to make me want to build a nest, burrow in it, and only think about that look on his face for the rest of my life.
Hell, sneezy Bean can come too.
“You would likely see some very strange breathing,” Ivan says as he takes the cat’s temperature in its ear. “Again, as long as he’s playing, eating, drinking, and using the litter box like normal, I don’t see any cause for concern. I can always ask our doctors, too.”
“Doctors?” I repeat. “As in, plural?”
He nods. “We have another one starting tomorrow. I trained under him, and he’s the best veterinarian I’ve ever met. You’ll like him a lot.”
Not the way I like you, my inner Omega purrs. Not the way I want you.
“Temperature is normal, by the way,” Ivan says, relieving Bean from his exam. “You can isolate him, just to be sure, and keep him away from the other cats for now.”
As he hands Bean back to me, Ivan’s apple scent wafts over me again.
I wonder if I affect him the same way.
My own scent is earthy and chamomile—similar to my brother’s, but more delicate and sweeter.
Luckily for me, cats respond to chamomile positively, and even the grumpiest cat can turn into a furball of love when they spend time in my lap.
Piper’s Omega scent is catmint, so she beats me in the cat whisperer category, but I come pretty damn close.
“Thank you so much,” I tell Ivan, wanting to find any reason to linger around him. “I know you’re busy, so I appreciate it.”
“Nah,” he shakes his head, a subtle blush staining his tan cheeks. “I’ll always make time for you.”
Now, it’s my turn to flush, until Bean sneezes all over me again.
“Ugh,” I mutter. “Cat goo.”
“I have a humidifier in my apartment,” Ivan offers. “I don’t mind running by and grabbing it for you later. You could set it up in the playroom; that should help.”
“Really?” I ask excitedly.
He nods. “Yeah. It’ll make up for me forgetting to buy you coffee this morning.”
If I smile any harder my face is going to ache.
Ivan is the sweetest Alpha I’ve ever met, and I can’t stop grinning even as Bean continues to sneeze all over me.
We have a tradeoff. I used to bring Ivan coffee all the time from our coffee maker in the office, but now he insists on bringing me a latte every morning.
With hazelnut milk, thank you very much.
He takes his coffee black, but after only picking up my order one time from the café I found Bean at, he remembered exactly how I like it.
After the tenth time of telling him he doesn’t need to do it, I stopped arguing and have just accepted that my lattes will be hand delivered to me every morning we’re both in the building. He’s made the effort to check our schedules for the week.
Even though he forgot my coffee today and I relied on a cup of instant from our office, the day is not doomed.
I’ll have another reason to see him soon.
“You’re the best, Ivan,” I say, and mean it with my entire heart.
Bean secured in my hands, I hurry back to the rescue, a goofy smile on my face.
Piper is still at the front desk filling out paperwork. She looks up at me expectantly.
“Feel better?” she asks.
I nod. “He’s bringing us a humidifier.”
Piper frowns. “Huh. I’m surprised we didn’t add that to our wish list.”
“Yeah, well, Ivan’s smart like that.” Bean squirms in my hands as Piper looks up at me.
“I mean this with love, Maeve, but panicking over the cats isn’t going to help you or them in the long run,” she says gently.
The familiar pricks of shame begin in my chest. “I know,” I murmur. “I don’t mean to.”
“I know you don’t, and I’m sorry if I came off as judging you earlier. As crazy as this may sound, I’ve noticed that the happier you are, the happier the cats can be,” she adds. “Even if little Bean is sick, the stronger we are for him, the better.”
Piper’s not wrong.
“I’ll try to do that,” I mumble.
“Isolating him is a good precaution,” Piper confirms. “We’ve had the cats catch colds before, and it’s not pleasant.”
But that doesn’t quiet the worries in my head, or the aching, agonizing feeling that maybe I’ll never be understood.
Perhaps there’s a reason I haven’t scent matched with Ivan.
Despite his sweetness, kindness, and patience, maybe he’s just not the right one for me.
Maybe I’ll never be fully seen, especially if all people receive from me are my constant worries and erratic questions.
The thought is devastating.
Even Bean stops squirming in my arms as I bring him to the room behind the play area into a private kennel. I place him inside, and he happily goes to the short scratching post that’s in there.
Maybe chamomile just doesn’t go well with apples and caramel.
Who knows.
I enter the playroom with a heavy weight in my chest.
“It could be a million things,” I say to Coral, the sweet ginger girl that’s loafing on a plush cat bed in the corner. I join her on the floor, humming to myself while I pet her. She leans her cheek into my touch, and I rub at her face while she closes her eyes in bliss.
From his little isolation corner, I hear Bean sneeze again, and I sigh in defeat.