11. Finn
Chapter Eleven
Finn
Ican’t wait any longer. I'd held out for a solid thirty-seven minutes. I check the time on my phone again, which, in my opinion, shows extremely impressive restraint.
"Stop pacing," Adrian says from the kitchen, without looking up from whatever perfectly organized, unnecessarily important thing he's doing.
"I'm not pacing," I shoot back and turn to pace in the other direction.
Lachlan, who’s sitting on the couch, doesn't even bother to open his eyes. "You are," he says.
I choose to ignore both of them. Because this is important.
"Okay, but you're not understanding the situation," I say, dragging a hand through my hair as I turn again. "You met her. Jonas met her. I haven't met her. This is a problem."
"It's not a problem," Adrian says calmly.
"It is a problem," I insist. "It's a huge problem."
Lachlan exhales slowly. "She's not a problem to solve."
I stop mid-step. "I didn't say she’s a problem. I said this is a problem."
"That doesn't make any more sense," Adrian mutters.
I point at him. "It makes perfect sense."
Lachlan opens his eyes and fixes me with a look that's steady, grounding, and entirely unhelpful for what I'm trying to accomplish. "She's overwhelmed. You don't go in loud."
I blink. "First of all," I say, offended, "I'm not loud."
Adrian snorts, and I choose to ignore that, too.
"Second of all," I continue, "I can absolutely be quiet. Actually, I can be very calm. Very chill."
Lachlan's expression doesn't change. "You don't do subtle."
I snap back, "I can do subtle."
Jonas walks in at that exact moment, still damp from his shower. "She's scared." He shakes excess water from his hair.
I turn on him. "Okay, see. This is what I'm saying." I throw my hands up. "You've both met her. You've both had meaningful interactions, and I've—" I gesture vaguely at myself. "—been left out of this entire situation. You're all getting your moments and I'm just…"
Jonas raises an eyebrow. "It's been less than four days."
"That's not the point."
"It's exactly the point."
I huff. "She sounds amazing."
Lachlan repeats, "She's overwhelmed."
Jonas adds, "She's interesting."
I light up. "See, interesting! That's good!"
Jonas says dryly, "That doesn't mean she'll find you interesting."
I ignore that, too. I've already made up my mind—which, to be fair, happened the second Lachlan told us she didn't bolt.
That alone had been enough to hook me. Then Jonas came back from his run, and told us what happened.
That she'd been crying before sunrise but still stayed and talked to him. Yeah, no. There is no universe where I’m not meeting her today.
I know I’m an Omega, and that most Omegas wouldn’t be happy about this development, but my guys are my scent matches.
And she’s a scent match, too. Plus, I need another Omega here.
The Alphas are, well…too Alpha, and Jonas is the best Beta in the world—but she already talked to him.
She felt something with him, even if she doesn’t know what it is yet.
If she’s a scent match, I really want her in this pack.
"You're both going to work," I say, pointing between Lachlan and Adrian. I then point at Jonas. "And you already had your moment this morning."
Jonas leans back against the counter. "I didn't have a moment."
I wave him off. "You had a beach sunrise emotional breakthrough moment. That counts."
Jonas opens his mouth, then closes it. "Okay, that's fair," he admits.
I nod, satisfied. "Which means," I continue, clapping my hands once, "it's now my turn."
"It doesn't work like that," Lachlan says.
"It absolutely does work like that," I reply.
Adrian looks up from the cutting board, a knife pausing mid-motion over a pile of vegetables. His movements have been precise, methodical—the kind of controlled efficiency that comes naturally to him. He sets the knife down carefully, his gaze sharp as it lands on me. "Don't overwhelm her."
I press a hand to my chest. "Me? Never." Three pairs of eyes lock onto me, and it takes everything in my power not to physically squirm. "Okay, I would never…intentionally," I amend.
Jonas sighs. "Go later, mid-morning. It's quieter."
I blink, then grin. "See? Support! I love this."
"That wasn't..." Jonas starts, but it's too late. I'm already moving out the door. By the time I reach the café, it's just past ten. Perfect. Not empty, not busy, but there’s just enough people where I won't be the only person in the shop. I push the door open, and the bell chimes.
And everything...shifts. I feel it immediately.
It isn't subtle. It isn't quiet. No, it's like walking into sunlight after being indoors for too long—long enough to forget what it feels to have the rays soak into your skin.
That kind of warmth. I stop just inside the doorway—and behind the counter, there she is.
Kaia. Her name settles into place as easily as each of my packmate’s names had. My breath catches, not because it's overwhelming, but because it feels right—like I found something I didn't know I was looking for.
She looks up, and our eyes meet. Oh, she's not what I expected.
She isn't soft, or shy, or anything like the Omegas I grew up around.
Her posture is like steel—a sharp edge to the way she holds herself, and control in every movement, like she's used to being the one in charge of her own space.
And her scent…sea salt and wildflowers. An unusual smell for an Omega, but I love it.
But it's her that catches me. Really catches me.
She's pale—the kind of pale that suggests she's spent her life indoors, away from sun and freedom.
Her hair is long and blonde, falling past her shoulders in waves that look natural, uncontrolled.
It's a stark contrast to everything else about her—that rigid posture, that careful control.
Her eyes are a sharp blue, the color of the ocean, and they're tracking everything around her with the precision of someone who's learned to read a room before entering it.
Her features are sharp too—high cheekbones, a defined jawline, a mouth that's pressed into a thin line of concentration.
She's beautiful in a way that feels dangerous, like she's been honed into something precise and lethal.
There's a fragility to her frame that contradicts the steel in her spine.
The way she moves suggests strength underneath—the kind of strength that comes from discipline, from control, from years of being told to hold herself together.
Her hands are elegant, long-fingered, and they're gripping the edge of the counter like it's the only thing keeping her tethered.
I tilt my head and study her openly. Up close, I can see her tension more clearly—the way it sits on her shoulders, the way her eyes track everything around her, always assessing.
But she's not afraid of me. I know because the sharp edge of fear is missing from her scent.
But there's uncertainty. And something else, something that pulls me in immediately.
I grin before I can stop it. This is going to be fun.
I cross the space toward the counter without hesitation or subtlety. "Hi!" I say brightly, putting my hands on the counter.
Her entire body stills. She doesn’t flinch or pull back, she just goes...still, like she's recalibrating. Interesting. "Hi," she says, the word laced with caution. "What can I get you?"
"I don't know," I say honestly. "What do you recommend?"
Her brows pull together slightly, like she wasn't expecting that answer. Good.
"I..." She pauses. "Most people get something cold this time of day. Iced coffee?"
I cut in cheerfully, "I don't want coffee. I want something fun." I can see that throws her. I lean in slightly. "Surprise me."
Her lips press together, thinking, evaluating. "Okay," she says slowly.
I beam. "Yes! I know I’ll love it."
She turns and moves behind the counter with the same controlled precision, but something's different now.
I watch her the entire time, and don't pretend otherwise.
I don't hide the way my attention locks onto her—because why would I?
She's...I don't have the right word for it yet. “Interesting” doesn't do her justice.
She comes back a minute later, setting a drink in front of me—something bright and citrusy, layered with red, orange, and ice.
I lean down and inspect the drink like it's the most important thing I've ever been handed.
"This is beautiful." Her mouth twitches, and there's almost a smile.
I straighten, lift the cup, and take a sip.
It's sweet, sharp, and surprising. I light up immediately. "Oh, that's so good. Really good!"
She blinks at me, like she isn't sure what to do with my level of enthusiasm. I only grin wider. "Okay, I'm coming back for this. You've set a high bar now."
"I..." She stops, clearly not used to that response. "Okay." I lean against the counter slightly, not rushing off since there aren't any customers behind me. I didn't just come for a good drink.
I came for her.
"You're new," I say.
She nods. "A few days."
"Yeah, we noticed."
Her eyes sharpen. "We?"
Oops. Too fast. But I don't backtrack or try to soften it. "I'm Finn."
Her fingers press into the counter. "...Kaia."
"I know," I say automatically. Oops. "Okay, I admit this sounds pretty bad."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Yeah, a little."
I laugh. "Sorry, my Alpha and Beta mentioned you.
Not in a creepy way. Just in a ‘hey, there's someone new and important’ way.
" Important. The word lands, and I watch it happen—her fingers loosen against the counter, her shoulders dropping just slightly, like she's releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding.
Her guarded expression flickers, just for a second, before she catches herself. Good. That's the word I meant.
She doesn't respond right away, but I don't push or fill the silence. I just stand there, sipping my drink, because unlike what my Alphas think, I can do subtle.
I just choose not to most of the time.
But right now? Right now, it’s not about me. It's about her. And the fact that, from the second I walked in, I've known one thing with absolute certainty: I'm not leaving this place the same as I walked in.