Chapter 25 #2
He opens the auditorium door and gestures for me to go in ahead of him. He slides his hand to the small of my back and guides me to our seats.
The room is already half full. Students, faculty, and a scattering of professionals fill the rows of seats. We settle into two near the middle. As the lights dim and the speaker begins, Graham’s hand finds mine again almost immediately.
The lecture is fascinating. Dr. St. James speaks with the kind of confidence that comes from years of studying the same topic from every possible angle.
She walks through research on omega-driven purchasing trends, how scent influences spending behavior, the ways omegas quietly shape entire markets without most alphas ever realizing it.
My brain starts firing almost immediately.
Ideas pile on top of each other. Seasonal box variations.
Heat-cycle specific boxes. Regional scent preference trends.
Marketing language shifts. I barely notice the passage of time until the lecture ends and the moderator opens the floor for questions.
Before I can second-guess myself, my hand goes up.
Dr. St. James nods in my direction. I stand, my mind already turning over what I’m going to say.
Beside me, Graham is watching. His eyes are bright, focused on me with an intensity that sends a thrill straight down my spine.
Like he’s genuinely excited that I’m about to ask a question.
Like my brain turning on is just as interesting to him as anything physical between us.
It might be the most attractive thing anyone has ever done for me.
I make a mental note to tell Cammie that Graham Wiley took me to a lecture for our first date and it was the most romantic night of my life.
She'll never believe me.
Graham stays seated while the crowd begins to thin, so I do, too. Eventually he stands and gives my hand a gentle tug. “Come on,” he says.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m introducing you to Emille,” he says mildly.
Before I can protest, he’s guiding me down the aisle toward the small cluster of people gathering near the podium.
Dr. St. James is speaking with a pair of graduate students, signing a book one of them hands her.
When she looks up, Graham waits politely for the conversation to end before stepping forward.
“Dr. St. James,” he says. “I’m Graham Wiley, from the Pharmaceutical Sciences department.”
Recognition flickers across her face. “Ah, yes. We chatted last spring at the grant writing seminar.”
Graham nods, slightly sheepish. “That’s right.”
Then he turns toward me. “This is Lark,” he says. “She runs OmegaBox.”
Her eyebrows lift immediately. “OmegaBox?” she repeats. “The subscription service?”
I blink in surprise. “You’ve heard of it?”
“Of course.” She studies me with sudden interest. “You’re the founder?”
I nod, trying not to look as excited as I suddenly feel. “Yes.”
Her expression shifts into something thoughtful.
“That’s an extremely clever model,” she says.
“Omega-centered product ecosystems are still vastly underdeveloped in the market. Subscription models have enormous potential. I’ve been keeping an eye on how your company harnesses omega influencers to garner interest.”
For the next few minutes we talk about purchasing behavior, product cycles, and how betas are flocking to omega markets as omega-driven social media grows. It isn’t a long conversation, there’s a line forming behind us, but the energy of it leaves my head buzzing.
Finally she shakes my hand. “I would love to speak to you further,” she says warmly. “Can I set up a meeting? Perhaps we can grab coffee and you can tell me more about your company?”
“I would love that,” I tell her. And I genuinely mean it.
When we step away from the stage, I glance at Graham. He's wearing a satisfied smile and trying not to look too pleased with himself. He's failing.
"You planned that," I say.
"I may have emailed her assistant in advance to let her know you'd be attending."
I stop walking.
He keeps going, pulling me gently along. "I thought you might enjoy it."
“This was really nice, Graham. Thank you.”
He shrugs.
“It wasn’t what I was expecting, but I loved it.”
We leave the building together and step out into the cool evening air.
The campus has quietened, only the sound of a group of students giggling near a bench remains.
After a moment Graham slips his arm around my shoulders, pulling me gently against his side.
It feels natural, easy. As though we’ve been walking this way for years instead of a handful of days.
“So,” he says. “Worth stealing the first date?”
I laugh softly. “Yes. Totally worth it.”
We walk a little farther along the path, the conversation drifting easily between us.
We talk about the lecture first. About the consumer data Dr. St. James mentioned.
About the idea of regional scent profiles.
About tailoring OmegaBox shipments to seasonal patterns beyond warm blankets in winter and lighter ones in summer.
Eventually the topic shifts. Apparently, Graham reads everything. Scientific journals, historical texts, economics books, obscure biology articles that I’m fairly certain no normal person has ever voluntarily opened.
“You realize most people have hobbies,” I say.
“This is my hobby. I like understanding how things work.”
I nudge his side with my shoulder. “You also like assigning reading material to unsuspecting omegas. Now I have to buy her book.”
“That too.”
After a few minutes of quiet walking, I glance up at him. “Thank you,” I say.
“For what?”
“For tonight.”
He looks pleased. “It was just a lecture.”
“Yes,” I say patiently. “A lecture you picked because you thought it would help me.”
He shrugs lightly. “I thought it would be a good way for us to connect.”
We walk a few more steps before he adds quietly, “You’ve built something incredible, Lark. It’s impressive.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest tighten slightly. Something warm settles low in my chest.
We turn a corner and a small café comes into view, its windows glowing softly against the dark sidewalk. Graham nudges the door open and gestures me inside.
“Warm and sweet,” he says. “Like you.”
I look up at him. He's already looking at the menu board, completely unbothered, like he didn't just say something that knocked the air out of me. Graham Wiley drops compliments like they're facts. It might be the most disarming thing about him.
A few minutes later we’re sitting at a small table with two steaming brown sugar lattes between us. The smell alone makes me smile.
We talk for a while longer. About new ideas for OmegaBox. About my love for spicy Mexican and sweet coffee. About nothing important and yet so important. The conversation drifts easily from one topic to another, comfortable and unforced.
One thought settles quietly in the back of my mind. Graham makes me feel seen. Not just as an omega, or as a scent match.
As Lark.
I stare down at my cup, watching the swirl of foam settle along the rim. Why didn’t I see it earlier?
It’s not just that Graham is thoughtful. It's that he's thoughtful about the right things. The specific things. A drone photo of a house I pointed to from my window. A lecture that was a little for him but mostly for me. Brown sugar lattes because he remembered.
He pays attention and then he acts on it. Every time. The realization pulls tight across my ribs. I love him. He’s been saying it every night, just before he drifts off. I’m not even sure that he knows I hear it. But I do. And I feel it too.
I look up at him. His face brightens over the rim of his paper cup.
“Graham,” I say.
He lowers the cup immediately. All focused attention. On me. “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
The words come out softer than I expect. Graham goes completely still. For half a second, he just looks at me as though he didn’t hear me right.
“You love me?” he asks quietly.
I’m a little breathless now that I’ve said it. “I do.”
His chocolate scent goes warm and melty. My omega kicks, sharp and sudden.
Mine.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. “I was wondering when you would say it.”
“You knew?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I had a feeling.”
I chuckle. “You have a lot of feelings for a scientist.”
He smiles. “I do. And I have another one.”
I raise my brow. “What’s that?”
He stands, hand out to help me up. “I have a feeling that I’m going to embarrass both of us soon if we stay here another second. I need to get you somewhere private so I can show you just how much I love you, too.”
Heat hits me low and fast, sharp enough that I forget what I was going to say. My thighs press together instinctively, slick already gathering.
Graham’s gaze drops, then snaps back to mine. “Beautiful,” he groans, pulling me from my chair. “We are not going to make it home if you keep doing that.”
I bite my lower lip and look up through my lashes. “You have an office near here, don’t you, professor?”
He blinks once. Twice. Then a smile spreads across his handsome face. “Oh, yeah. You need to see my office.”