Chapter 21
Lark
By the time my last meeting ends, my eyes ache. Seven straight hours of screens, spreadsheets, subscription projections, and vendor negotiations have left my brain feeling slow and overworked. I close the laptop and lean back in the chair, rolling my shoulders until they pop.
Across the room, Graham looks just as stiff. He’s been working quietly beside me most of the day, occasionally glancing up when a colleague says something funny, but mostly absorbed in his own research.
When I stand, he looks up. “Stretch break?” he asks.
“Mandatory,” I say. “If I sit in this chair another minute my spine will fuse to it.”
He laughs softly and pushes his own chair back then follows me out the door. I climb the two flights of stairs to my space. The nest room is a mess, littered with the outrageous number of pillows and blankets Saint and Silas hauled in last night.
“Would you help me finish this?”
He follows my gaze. The sheets and comforter we bought are folded neatly at the foot of the mattress, freshly washed.
Silas.
The pillows are stacked in uneven towers around the room, waiting for placement.
When he hesitates at the threshold, something ticks in my brain. I’ve only known him for a short time, but Graham is an all-in alpha. The fact that he's stopped at the door instead of rushing in with armfuls of pillows tells me he's being careful with me.
“Is something wrong?”
He blinks. “Are—” He clears his throat. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to come in.”
That throws me. Didn’t I just invite him in? And then it hits me. “Ah, the nest thing.”
He nods.
“Yeah, I’m not the normal omega.”
A puzzled look crosses his face. “What do you mean? You seem normal to me.”
That makes me chuckle. Actually, a lot Graham does and says makes me chuckle. He’s just so sweet and liable to say whatever pops in his brain.
"I'm just not as instinct-driven as most omegas. The nesting, the hiding, the hunkering down. I understand it. I just don't feel the pull as strongly.”
He takes a cautious step into the room. My omega likes that. In the interest of honesty, I do, too.
“So you don’t nest when you’re feeling stressed?”
“Not usually. Otherwise, I’d pretty much always be in my nest. Running a start-up is not easy work.”
He takes another step. Both my omega and I perk up.
“Do you think that might be why your heats have been so difficult and long?”
“Explain,” I say.
He shrugs, “I’ve read studies about how unsatisfied omegas can lead to all kinds of body issues. Normally it’s anxiety related. Hair loss, lack of sleep, ulcers—that kind of stuff. But it seems logical that it could impact your heats.”
“So nesting more might solve my heat issues?”
He shrugs again. “Maybe. Of course, now you are with your scent-sensitive alphas, so that might be enough to fix the problem.”
I toss that idea around in my brain for a few seconds before he speaks again.
“Nesting more might regulate your heat spikes.”
“So giving in to my omega may calm the worst of her rages?”
He nods. “Based on what I’ve read on the subject, that would be my conclusion. Plus, you’ll want to add our scents in here.”
The corners of my mouth lift. “Well then you better step all the way in, giant. I need to have your chocolate and hazelnut scent everywhere.”
His face pinks and his warm, hazelnut scent fills the air. I suck in as much as I can. I don’t even try to hide the pleasure it brings me to have the smell of him touching every surface in my nest.
We make the bed together, working easily side by side. Graham unfolds the sheets while I tuck the corners tight, smoothing the fabric. The comforter goes down next, thick and soft beneath our hands.
I sit cross-legged in the middle of it while Graham starts handing me pillows. “Placement is your department,” he says.
“Correct,” I reply, studying the first one critically before settling it into place. Nests are an art form. In the office, I’m Boss Bitch Lark. In the nest, I’m also Boss Bitch, just with soft things instead of spreadsheets.
He hands me another pillow. Then another. We fall into a comfortable rhythm, passing them over, me arranging them carefully around the edges of the nest.
“Can I ask you something?” he says after a moment.
“Sure.”
“Did you ever do a scent-matching program?”
I glance up. “No.”
He pauses, pillow still in his hands. “Really?”
I take the pillow from him and slide it into place. “Really.”
His expression shifts, disappointment flickering across his face.
“You never hoped to find us?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head. “It’s not that.” I reach for the next pillow he offers. “I just thought the odds were so slim. I didn’t want to spend years hoping for something that might never happen.”
He nods slowly. “That’s actually why I stopped.”
“You tried it?”
“For a while.”
I adjust another.
“It started to feel—” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I spent too much time obsessing over it. Waiting for a match notification that never came.” He shrugs.
“That sounds miserable.”
“It wasn’t great,” he admits. Then his expression brightens slightly. “But it’s also what pushed my research in a new direction. I found a genetics scientist to partner with and the rest is…” He shrugs as though partnering with a genetics researcher is no big deal.
Ultimate Graham.
“We’re making progress.”
That gets my attention. “Oh?”
He shifts his weight, suddenly animated. “There’s a theory by Goldblum,” he says, “that the compatibility markers we detect through scent might actually originate in DNA markers detectable through saliva.”
I blink. “So the scent cards could be obsolete?”
“Exactly.” His eyes light up. “If the markers are genetic, they can be sequenced, cataloged, and stored in a database.”
“A database of matches.”
He nods, excitement creeping into his voice. “Which means we wouldn’t be limited to local registries anymore. Omegas in Kentucky could match with alphas in Norway. People who would never meet could still find each other.”
I lean back on my hands, studying him. “That would change the whole system.”
“I know.”
He runs a hand through his curls, clearly trying not to look too pleased with himself. “It would mean more people actually finding their mates instead of just hoping they live in the same state.”
“So you’re building a global registry?”
He glances at me. “That’s the easy part. I’m trying to find the specific DNA sequence. We found it for alphas but it’s not in the same place for omegas which is weird.”
“So are you saying omegas may not have it?”
He sighs. “As a scientist, I’m supposed to say that we can’t be certain the DNA markers are there for omegas. But I have a feeling. Finn, that’s my research partner, does too.”
Of course, the man who’s literally covered a fourth of his body in tattoos that represent his brain and heart would have a feeling.
“When you find it, you’ll change the lives of alphas and omegas everywhere. You’ll be a hero.”
The tips of his ears turn pink. He looks at the nest like it’s suddenly very interesting.
“They’ll talk about you in high school science classes for the remainder of time.”
His ears are fully red now. He looks like he's considering whether the nest is deep enough to hide in. I file this away. Graham Wiley, holder of dozens of patents, can be completely undone by a sincere compliment.
I reach for the next pillow he offers. Our fingers brush. I hold my hand against his for a second longer than necessary. He doesn’t pull away.
The scent in the room has been changing for a while now, but now it’s heavy. Chocolate and hazelnut layered into the pillows, the sheets, the air. My own salty caramel deepened and warmer than usual. We smell like each other already.
I place the pillow beside the others and look up at him. He’s watching me.
“You know,” I say softly, “it’s very attractive when someone talks about their passion project.”
He laughs under his breath. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to a scientist.”
“Why?”
“Because I can talk about this for hours.”
“I could listen for hours.”
I reach up and slide my fingers lightly into the curls at the back of his neck. His breath catches. “You’re brilliant,” I tell him.
His mouth opens like he’s about to protest.
“And kind,” I continue, brushing my thumb along the line of his jaw. “And ridiculously handsome.”
He shakes his head, clearly overwhelmed.
“I bet all the omegas and betas on campus have crushes on you.”
“I’m not sure the data supports that.”
I tug gently on his collar. “Come here.”
He lets me pull him down into the nest. We land together in the middle of the pillows, the blankets shifting softly around us. For a moment we simply lie there, close enough that I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Graham’s warning about keeping my omega happy rings through my brain. I mentally check in with her. She’s humming softly.
“Graham,” I say quietly.
“Yes?”
I meet his eyes. “I want this.”
His brow furrows slightly.
“With you,” I continue. “While I’m in charge and my omega’s in the backseat.”
My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. "This is all me."
I watch his face. I know he's going to say something about my omega, something careful and Graham-ish. So I get there first. "She agrees. But I'm the one making this decision."
He exhales slowly. “Are you sure?”
“I’m very sure.”
He doesn’t pull away when I lean in.
At first the kiss is soft, almost tentative. His mouth moves against mine carefully, like he’s still giving me the chance to stop. My fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer instead.
The hesitation melts a little. His hand comes up to my cheek, warm and steady, his thumb brushing lightly along my jaw as the kiss deepens.
It isn’t frantic the way it was in the car last night.
There’s no urgency pushing us forward. Just warmth.
Curiosity. The slow discovery of something that already feels familiar.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to look at me. This close, his eyes are very green.
There’s a different kind of tension in his eyes now. He’s nervous.