Chapter 32 #2
I start washing everything methodically, working from least dirty to most dirty like my grandmother taught me.
The warm water feels good on my hands, soothing and comfortable.
The routine of cleaning is oddly meditative and satisfying, watching dirty things become clean again through simple repetitive effort.
I'm scrubbing a particularly stubborn mixing bowl—the big stainless steel one I used for the initial dough mixing—when I suddenly feel strong arms wrap around me from behind.
Warm, solid, unmistakably Alpha arms encircling my waist carefully and pulling me back gently but firmly against a broad chest.
I pause mid-scrub, soapy suds dripping from my hands back into the sink with soft splashing sounds. My heart does a little happy skip in my chest.
I look over my shoulder to see who's decided to join me in the kitchen, though the scent already told me—maple and honey with that underlying warmth that's distinctly, uniquely Grayson.
Grayson.
His honey-hazel eyes are warm and soft and affectionate, his dark hair slightly mussed and sticking up in places like he literally just rolled out of bed.
He's wearing a simple white t-shirt that hugs his shoulders and shows off his arms in a way that makes my mouth go slightly dry, paired with comfortable gray sweatpants.
Bed-rumpled Grayson is dangerously attractive. Should come with a warning label. 'Caution: May cause heart palpitations and loss of coherent thought.'
I beam at his arrival, genuine happiness and affection flooding through me like warm honey.
"Oh! You're finally awake! You were napping again! That's like the third nap today!"
He chuckles warmly, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating into my back where I'm pressed snugly against him.
"I have been doing that way too often lately. Sleeping at weird random hours, napping constantly, becoming absolutely terrible at maintaining any kind of normal schedule or routine."
"That's actually a really good thing," I say firmly, turning back to the dishes but staying comfortably in his embrace, enjoying the warmth of him against my back.
"Winter is when you can actually slow down properly and listen to what your body needs.
You should absolutely take advantage of that and get all the rest your body is clearly asking for.
You work so hard the rest of the year writing and editing and managing deadlines. "
His arms tighten slightly around me in response.
Affectionate. Protective. Content.
Like he's exactly where he wants to be.
"Have you been getting any actual writing done during all this rest?" I ask curiously, genuinely interested in his creative process. "Or have you just been sleeping,reading, and existing peacefully?"
He smirks—I can't see his face but I can absolutely hear it in his voice.
"A little bit of writing, actually. Been working on that idea you were talking about so enthusiastically the other day."
My heart does a little flip of excitement.
"The Knotty Christmas Wish story? You're actually writing it? Not just thinking about it but actually putting words on the page?"
"That's the one," he confirms warmly. "And weren't you also talking about another concept? Something about... The Omega's Nest Cafe?"
"Yes!" I turn off the tap immediately, excitement making me forget about dishes entirely.
I turn in his arms to face him properly, my wet soapy hands dripping water onto the floor between us but I don't even care.
"I've been thinking about it constantly, actually.
It would be so wonderful to have a whole connected string of books with different holiday tropes but also stories specifically for us Omegas, you know? "
He's listening intently, his full undivided attention on me in a way that makes me feel seen and valued and important.
His hands rest comfortably on my waist, thumbs rubbing small unconscious circles.
"Like stories about virgin Omegas who are nervous and scared about their first pack," I continue, the ideas flowing freely now that someone is actually listening and interested.
"Or second chance romance for Omegas who are newly divorced or widowed and think they'll never find love again.
Or Omegas running away from abuse situations and finding healing and safety.
Omegas who think they're fundamentally broken or damaged but discover they're actually perfect exactly as they are. "
My voice gets softer, more emotional, more personal.
"It would be really meaningful for Omegas to read stories where they're genuinely beloved and cherished and protected from real threats. Where their Alphas actually fight for them and defend them instead of just... letting bad things happen or being part of the problem."
Where they're valued.
Where they matter.
Where they're not just convenient or useful or decorative but actually loved.
I force brightness back into my tone deliberately, trying to lighten the mood that got heavier than intended.
"You guys would protect me from threats, right? I mean, I can totally fight too! I'm basically trained! I took two whole self-defense classes! I'm basically a certified badass warrior!"
Grayson's smirk widens into something more playful and teasing.
"One class," he corrects smoothly, his eyes twinkling with obvious amusement.
He leans in slightly and adds in a stage whisper like he's sharing a scandalous secret, "Nash already told me you completely slept through the entire second one.
Didn't even wake up when the instructor called your name three times increasingly loudly. "
I groan dramatically and loudly, my head falling forward against his chest in exaggerated defeat.
"He's such a snitch! He specifically promised he wouldn't tell anyone about that! That's betrayal! Pack betrayal! Violation of trust!"
In my defense, the instructor had a really soothing voice and the mat was really comfortable and I'd been up late the night before working on content. It wasn't my fault sleep was more appealing than learning to punch properly.
Grayson chuckles at my dramatic protest, but then his entire energy shifts dramatically. The playfulness evaporates. His hands move from my waist to cup my face gently but firmly, tilting my head up with careful deliberate pressure until my eyes lock directly onto his honey-hazel gaze.
The playfulness drains away completely, replaced by something intense and serious and deeply sincere that makes the air between us feel charged with electricity.
"What?" I ask quietly, suddenly nervous about the weight and gravity in his gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that? Did I do something wrong?"
"We would protect you," he says firmly, deliberately. Each word weighted with absolute certainty and promise. "Without question, hesitation, or doubt. Always. Every single time. No matter what the threat is or where it comes from."
He looks even deeper into my eyes, holding my gaze with an intensity that makes everything else in the world fade away until it's just us.
"No one gets to touch what's ours, Reverie. No one gets to hurt you or threaten you or make you feel unsafe or scared ever again. That's not a hypothetical or empty words. That's a promise. A vow. An absolute guarantee."
He means it.
I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. This isn't just pack politeness or temporary protection during a contract. This is real.
But how can it be real when the contract ends in five weeks?
I smile, warmth spreading through my chest like sunrise breaking through clouds. But reality creeps in inevitably, cruelly, tempering the beautiful moment with harsh truth I can't ignore.
"But it's already been a week," I point out softly, trying desperately to keep the sadness and fear out of my voice and failing miserably. "Only five weeks left before the contract is officially done. Before I have to pack up and leave and find somewhere else to go."
Before this all ends and I have to go back to being alone in that tiny apartment.
I lose this feeling of belonging and safety and being wanted.
Before everything goes back to how it was when I was invisible and unwanted and just existing instead of living.
Five weeks isn't enough time. It'll never be enough time with them.
Grayson leans in closer, eliminating the space between us inch by careful inch. His thumbs stroke my cheeks gently, tenderly, like I'm something precious that might break.
"What if we want to keep it permanent?"
My brain completely stutters to an absolute halt. All thoughts scatter like startled birds.
"Wait. What? What do you mean by that? Permanent how?"
He leans in even closer until his lips are barely, barely brushing mine—not quite kissing but close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, can smell the maple-honey scent that's distinctly his mixing with my own vanilla-caramel, can see every fleck of color in his eyes.
"What if we're not voiding the contract when it ends," he whispers against my lips, his voice rough with emotion.
"What if we've come to the unanimous conclusion—all three of us together—that we want you permanent.
Not temporary. Not a trial period that expires.
Permanent pack bond. Official. Legal. Forever. "
I'm completely speechless.
My mind is simultaneously racing a million miles an hour and completely blank. Words have entirely abandoned me.
Permanent? They want me permanently? This isn't just about finishing the contract anymore? They actually want to keep me? Want me to stay? Want me as their Omega forever?
His eyes soften dramatically, becoming tender and vulnerable in a way I so rarely see from him.
"I haven't felt this much peace with my pack mates in years, Reverie. Actual genuine peace. Not just absence of conflict or temporary calm between inevitable storms but real contentment and harmony and feeling settled in my soul."
He continues quietly, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "I'm resting right now—really truly resting for the first time in longer than I can remember—because it's the first time I've felt relaxed enough and safe enough to let my guard down completely without fear.
It's the first time in months that Theo is sleeping past four in the morning instead of having those terrible PTSD episodes that wake him up in a panic thinking he's still deployed in a war zone.
It's the first time Nash hasn't needed to compulsively fix something or work on a complicated project just to distract himself from his thoughts and traumatic memories. "
His voice drops even lower, more intimate, more raw and exposed.
"We're at peace. All three of us. Genuinely, deeply, fundamentally at peace for the first time in years. And the one person who suddenly caused this fundamental change—the catalyst for everything feeling right and settled and good—is standing directly in front of me right now."
I stare at him in absolute disbelief, my heart pounding so hard and fast I'm surprised it doesn't bruise my ribs from the inside. Tears prick sharply at the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall and ruin this perfect moment.
Me? I did that? I helped them find peace and healing?
I'm the reason they're resting and recovering and feeling safe enough to let their guards down?
How is that even possible? I'm just... me.
Just regular unremarkable Reverie who can't even stay awake through a self-defense class.
Who burns toast half the time. Who trips over nothing.
How could I possibly be important enough to change anything for anyone, let alone three incredible Alphas?
But he's looking at me like I hung the moon.
Like I'm the most important person in his world. As though I truly do matter. Like I'm enough exactly as I am.
He whispers, barely audible, his lips still brushing mine with each word.
"So what if we make things official? What if we ask you to stay permanently with us? What would you say to that?"
"Seriously?" The word comes out small and uncertain and slightly choked with overwhelming emotion. "You're being serious right now? This isn't a joke or a hypothetical scenario or wishful thinking on my part?"
He nods slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving mine for even a second.
"Completely serious. We've talked about it extensively and thoroughly. All three of us. Multiple long conversations over the past few days while you've been sleeping or creating content or reading. We're in complete agreement. Unanimous decision. No doubts."
They talked about me. About keeping me. About wanting me permanently. They all agreed. All three of them want this. Want me?
Then he adds with a slight smile that doesn't quite reach his suddenly desperate eyes, "And I'm so desperate to kiss you right now that I'll probably actually die if I don't. So if you could give me explicit verbal permission that would be great because I'm hanging by a thread here."
I giggle despite the overwhelming emotional intensity of the moment, despite the tears threatening to fall, despite feeling like my heart might burst with too much feeling.
"You can kiss—"
He closes the remaining microscopic distance before I finish the sentence, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that's long and deep and absolutely perfect and everything I've ever wanted but never thought I'd have.
His hands move from my face to tangle in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss even further. My soapy wet hands come up to grip his shirt desperately, not caring at all that I'm probably leaving wet handprints and soap stains on the white fabric.
The kiss tastes like maple honey with a pinch of promise, possibility, and permanent belonging.
To think I didn't need a mistletoe to get the sweetest kiss from my shirtless cowboy.