Chapter 1 #2
“We did, and you were right—it’s already looking a bit brittle. I’m going to have to switch to the preserved silver dollar eucalyptus for the wreaths.”
I run through the mental inventory list I’d made before closing up shop.
“We’re running low on the floral tape, too. And I’m almost out of the red velvet ribbon. That’s the big one. Every other customer wants that giant fluffy bow on their bouquet. If I don’t get a shipment in by Wednesday, I’m going to have to drive out to the distributor in Eugene.”
“Check the back room,” Norah suggests. “I think I hid a few spares of the good ribbon behind the extra vases. I was hoarding it for a special project I never got around to.”
“I’ll look tomorrow,” I promise. “It’s been busy, though. The Harvest Festival leftovers really kickstarted the wedding season for some reason. Everyone wants to get married in the valley now.”
“It’s the charm,” Norah says, pushing off the counter. “Or the insanity. You know, you’re doing a really good job, Amber. Keeping the place running while dealing with everything else. I appreciate it.”
The compliment catches me off guard. “Thanks. I like it. It’s… grounding. Being around things that grow, things that are beautiful. It helps.”
She squeezes my arm gently. “Get some sleep. If you can manage it after that display.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I’ll try. You too. And tell the guys I promise to knock next time.”
“Go,” she says, shooing me toward the hallway. “Before the raccoon comes back for more water.”
I leave her in the kitchen, heading back to my room. The cold fear from the nightmare has evaporated, replaced by the awkwardness of the encounter, but beneath that is a solid sense of reality.
This is my life now. Messy, weird, and occasionally horrifying, but real.
I slip back into bed, careful not to disturb Maisie. My daughter shifts, murmuring something about a dragon, and settles back into deep sleep.
I lie down, pulling the covers up to my chin. Outside, the snow continues to fall, covering the tracks on the deck, erasing the evidence of the night.
I close my eyes, listening to the soft rhythm of Maisie’s breathing, and let that drag me back to sleep.
Morning in a house full of Alphas, a pregnant Omega, a nine-year-old, and a large dog is not for the faint of heart. It is a symphony of clinking ceramic, heavy footsteps, and male voices that seem to rattle the windows.
Sunlight spills across the kitchen floor, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the chaos, and the air smells heavily of coffee, bacon, and my lemon-blueberry pancake batter.
I stand at the stove, flipping a cake with a practiced flick of my wrist, trying to ignore the commotion behind me.
Dorian is leaning against the refrigerator, phone pressed to his ear, looking like he hasn’t slept in a week. He’s in architect mode, his voice clipped and professional.
“No, Gary, the load-bearing wall stays. I don’t care if it opens up the space, we can’t compromise the structural integrity of the original frame. We’ll find another way to get the light in.” He pauses, listening, his brow furrowed. “Fine. Run the numbers again. Call me at noon.”
Across the island, Jude and Ryker have a set of blueprints unrolled between them. They’re arguing good-naturedly about some new carpentry job they’ve picked up on the edge of town.
“The trim work is going to kill us on this timeline,” Ryker mutters, tracing a line on the paper with a callused finger.
He looks rugged, even in a T-shirt and jeans, like he just walked out of a lumberjack calendar.
“If we want to get the porch done before the snow really sticks, we need to hire a sub-contractor for the detailing.”
Jude shakes his head, sipping his coffee. “No subs. We keep it in the pack. We just need to streamline the mitering process. I can cut, you can install. We’ll knock it out in half the time.”
I tune them out, focusing on the pancakes. I slide three onto a plate for Maisie, adding a pat of butter that melts instantly, and drizzle it with warm syrup.
“Here you go, bug,” I say, setting the plate down at the small table near the window.
Maisie is already seated, her red glasses slipping down her nose as she leans over a book. She looks up, her eyes lighting up.
“Thanks, Mom!”
“You’re welcome, baby,” I say automatically, pressing a kiss to the top of her curly head.
She takes a huge bite, chews enthusiastically, and launches into a story she’s been dying to tell since she woke up.
“So, at recess, me and Leo were playing tag, but then we got into this huge argument about the rules of the game because he said that if you touch the tree you’re safe, but I said that’s only for base, and the tree isn’t base, the bench is base,” she says, waving her fork for emphasis.
“And then Sarah said that trees are actually bases for gnomes, which doesn’t even make sense because gnomes aren’t real, but then Tyler jumped in and said that gnomes are definitely real because his grandpa has one in his garden, and it eats socks.
So then we had to stop the game to have a debate about whether or not ceramic gnomes eat socks, and I told them that ceramic can’t eat because it doesn’t have a stomach, and that’s basic biology. ”
I smile, turning back to the stove to start a batch for the guys. “Sounds like an intense recess.”
“It was! I almost missed the bell because I had to explain the digestive system to Tyler. He thinks food just disappears into a black hole in your tummy.” She shakes her head, curls bouncing. “Kids are so weird.”
I glance over at the living area. Norah is curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a thick knit blanket, with Rufus resting his heavy head on her lap.
She looks tired, her face a bit pale, but she’s smiling as she listens to Maisie’s rambling story. The dog thumps his tail against the cushions every time Maisie’s voice rises in excitement.
Maisie hops up from her chair, her half-eaten pancake in hand. She walks over to Norah, her steps careful.
“Here, Norah,” Maisie says, holding out the pancake. “You need to eat too. You’re growing a baby, and babies need pancakes to get strong.”
Norah’s face softens into something so tender it makes my chest ache. She takes the offering, ruffling Maisie’s hair. “Thank you, Maisie. You are absolutely right. This baby is going to be the strongest pancake-lover in Fox Hollow.”
I watch them, the spatula paused in mid-air. It’s a beautiful moment. It really is. But there is a jagged little piece of my heart that twinges whenever I see Maisie interact with Norah’s pack.
I love Norah like a sister. I’m grateful every day that she took us in when I had nowhere else to go.
But seeing the way Jude looks at Norah, the way Ryker teases her, the way Dorian checks on her constantly… it highlights everything I failed to give Maisie.
My daughter looks at these men with adoration. She sees protectors and providers. She sees what love looks like.
And I am terrified that she will spend her life chasing that specific dynamic, that she will settle for any Alpha who looks at her twice, just to have a fraction of what Norah has.
I picked the wrong men. I let the abuse happen because I thought I needed a pack so badly I’d take a broken, toxic one. I don’t want that for her.
I want her to know she is whole on her own, that she doesn’t need a pack to validate her existence. But how do I teach her that when she’s surrounded by this fairy tale every morning?
I shake off the dark thought, flipping another pancake a little harder than necessary.
Jude and Ryker finish their coffee, the mugs clattering as they set them down in the sink. They walk over to the sofa, towering over Norah.
“Heading out,” Jude says, leaning down to press a kiss to Norah’s forehead. It’s gentle, though he pulls back quickly. “Behave yourself. No heavy lifting.”
“I’m pregnant, not an invalid,” Norah protests, but she’s smiling.
Ryker kisses her cheek, his hand resting on her shoulder for a moment. “Call if you need anything. We’ll have our phones on.”
Jude turns to Maisie, opening his arms wide. “Come here, Munchkin.”
Maisie abandons her seat and launches herself at him. He catches her easily, swinging her up in a hug that makes her giggle.
“Have a good day at school,” he tells her, squeezing her tight. “I’ll see you after school. We can work on that fort if you want.”
“Okay!” Maisie beams, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Uncle Jude?”
“Yeah?”
“I was thinking… I think I want to join the debate club.”
Jude pulls back slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah? You think you have enough to say about gnomes and biology to fill a whole club meeting?”
Maisie nods solemnly. “Mrs. Gable says I have a very persuasive argument style. And Leo says I never shut up, so I might as well get points for it.”
Jude laughs. “I think that’s a great idea. You’d be a force to be reckoned with.” He sets her down, ruffling her hair one last time. “Be good. Listen to your mom.”
“I always do!” Maisie calls out as the two men head for the door.
Dorian is already shrugging on his coat, looking weary but determined. He waves to the room. “I’m off. Mom’s having a physical today, checking on the MS progression. She says her legs are feeling stronger, so fingers crossed.”
“Give her my love,” Norah calls out.
“Will do.” Dorian opens the door, letting in a blast of cold air. “Later, everyone.”
The door clicks shut, and the house suddenly feels quiet, the echo of all that male energy fading away.
I start stacking dishes, scraping the leftover syrup off the plates. “Go rest, Norah. Seriously. I’ve got this. You heard the doctor, and you heard the Alphas. Couch time only.”
Norah sighs, leaning her head back against the cushions. “I know, I know. I’m going. I just want to finish this chapter.”
I load the dishwasher, listening to the hum of the machine as I start it up. I wipe down the counters, scrubbing away the sticky syrup, needing to impose some order on the morning.
“Maisie, shoes! We need to leave in ten minutes!”
“Coming!” Maisie yells from the bedroom.
I grab my coat and scarf, heading for the back door to start the car. It’s an older sedan, reliable but ugly, a gift from Jude when he first got me settled here.
I step out onto the porch, shivering as the cold bites at my nose. There’s a fresh dusting of snow on the windshield.
Maisie’s already standing by the car, her backpack looking enormous on her small frame. She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet, her breath puffing out in white clouds.
I’m just reaching for the door handle when the back door of the house opens again.
“Amber, wait!”
I turn to see Norah standing on the porch, wrapped in her coat, Rufus sitting obediently at her feet. She looks determined, her chin set in that stubborn way I’ve come to recognize.
“What are you doing?” I ask, walking back up the steps. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am resting. I’m resting my brain by changing my scenery,” she says, zipping her coat up to her chin. “Can I catch a ride with you? I need to go to the shop.”
I frown, crossing my arms over my chest to ward off the chill. “After last night? And the hospital visit? You really should stay off your feet. The doctor was clear about stress and physical exertion.”
“I’m not going to lift anything,” she promises, holding up her hands. “I swear. I just… I can’t sit in this house another minute. I’m going stir-crazy. I need to smell the flowers. I need to see the shop. I just want to sit in the office and drink tea and look at my inventory. Please, Amber.”
She looks at me with pleading eyes. I know the feeling. The walls of a safe house can start to feel like prison bars if you stay inside too long, especially when you’re used to working.
I look at Maisie, who is waiting patiently by the car, then back at Norah.
“Fine,” I relent, though I keep my tone stern. “But if you feel even a twinge, or if you get dizzy, you tell me immediately. And I’m driving you straight back home. No arguments.”
Norah’s face breaks into a grin. “Deal. I’ll be the perfect patient. Just a quiet little flower shop trip.”
“Get in the car before I change my mind,” I say, turning to usher Maisie inside.
Norah locks the door, Rufus trotting happily at her heels. As we pile into the car, the heat blasting full force, I feel a little of the tension in my shoulders unwind.
Norah is safer here with me than she is alone in that big house, worrying. And if I’m honest, having her company on the drive isn’t so bad.
At least she won’t ask me about the digestive system of ceramic gnomes.