Chapter 9 Rowan #2
By lunchtime, I've managed to focus enough on work to temporarily forget my biological betrayal. Crystal is a patient teacher, and arranging flowers is surprisingly soothing—something about the methodical process of selecting blooms, trimming stems, balancing colors and textures.
"We're kidnapping Rowan for lunch!" Lala announces, bursting into the shop with Avianna and Billie in tow. She's carrying a picnic basket that smells heavenly. "Don't worry, we'll bring her back mostly intact."
Crystal waves us off without argument. "Take her. She's been staring at the same rose for five minutes."
"I was contemplating its aesthetic contribution to the arrangement," I protest weakly.
"You were zoning out," Crystal corrects. "Go. Eat. Come back when your brain comes back online."
The four of us settle on a picnic table in the town square, under a massive oak tree just beginning to leaf out. Lala unpacks the basket—sandwiches, salad, and what appear to be mini pies, all homemade.
Avianna wrinkles her nose at two of the packaged sandwiches. “If y’all love me, you put the tuna sandwiches back in the basket. The smell makes me wanna hurl.”
“You feeling nauseous babe?” Billie digs in her bag for a minute, then smiles triumphantly when she finds what she’s looking for.
“Here are some ginger chews, they always help me when I'm sick.”
Avianna blows a kiss to her, grabbing the sandwich bag of candies and popping one in her mouth.
Lala puts away the offensive sandwiches, only leaving out the ones that are not tuna, I presume.
"So," she says, passing out plates, "are we going to talk about the fact that you smell different Rowan, or should we pretend not to notice?"
I freeze, sandwich halfway to my mouth. "What?"
Avianna nudges Lala with her elbow. "Subtle, La. Real subtle."
"Life's too short for subtlety," Lala shrugs, completely unrepentant. "Besides, we're friends. Friends notice things."
"We are friends," Billie confirms, her gentle linen scent a calming presence beside me. "Which is why we're concerned."
Friends. The word hits me harder than I expected. It's only been a month, and somehow these women have already claimed me as one of their own.
"I don't smell different," I mumble, even though I know it's a lie.
"Honey," Lala says kindly, "you smell like an omega about to present for the first time. It's faint, but it's there. And living with those three alphas?" She fans herself dramatically. "That's playing with fire."
"I'm not—" I start to deny it automatically, then stop. What's the point? These women have nothing to gain by lying to me. "Okay, maybe something's happening. But I'm twenty-eight. That's way too old for a first presentation."
"Not necessarily," Avianna says, her former librarian instincts clearly kicking in. "There are documented cases of adults presenting as late as their mid-thirties. It's rare, but not unheard of. Often triggered by significant life changes or proximity to compatible potential mates."
"They're not potential mates," I say too quickly. "They're my roommates. Temporary roommates."
The three exchange glances.
"What?" I demand.
"Nothing," Billie says soothingly. "It's just..
. the three of them have always had a special bond.
The whole town's been waiting for years to see if they'd ever formalize it into a proper pack.
And now you show up, and suddenly Jasper's actually walking around town instead of hiding in his work shop. Sure he still looks like he wants to murder someone, but at least he’s emerged.
Theo's buying special kitten formula at the pet store for a cat he doesn’t own, and Wells was actually spotted smiling in public. "
"That was probably gas," Lala stage-whispers.
"My point is," Billie continues, "things are changing. And if you're experiencing physiological changes too, maybe it's all connected."
I take a bite of my sandwich to avoid responding, but my mind is racing. Could it be true? Am I finally presenting after all these years of medical uncertainty? And if so, why now? Is it really because of them?
"It's scary," I admit finally, my voice small. "I've spent my whole life being... in-between. Not really fitting anywhere. I don't know how to be an omega. I don't know if I really want to be."
Lala reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Being an omega isn't a death sentence, you know.
It's just one part of who you are. Look at Mayor Tillie—she runs this entire town with an iron fist. Or Elma at the salon—she has three alpha mates who worship the ground she walks on.
Being an omega means different things to different people. "
“Or me,” Avianna leans back against the grass, meeting my eyes as she pulls off her stylish sunglasses.
Her brown eyes meet mine as her lips curve into a half smile.
“I have something called Cyclical Estrus Syndrome, or CES.” She takes a deep breath, her smile going a little wobbly.
I reach forward and take her hand in mine, I can tell that whatever she’s about to tell me is hard for her.
“CES is a medical condition that causes me to have mini heats on a monthly basis-”
“Every month?” I try to keep the horror out of my voice, but the shock definitely sneaks through.
Avianna throws her head back and laughs, squeezing my hand in hers.
“Don’t worry, it’s really rare and totally genetic. And it’s mostly just annoying, I gotta spend more time with my knotted toys than your average omega. What I'm trying to say is that there is no one right way to be an omega.”
"And you have us," Lala adds. "Whatever happens, however this plays out, you're not alone."
"Exactly," Billie agrees. "We're your friends. We’ll even be your pack, if you need us to be."
Something tight in my chest loosens at their words. Friends. Pack. Belonging. Things I've been seeking out without even realizing it.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it more than they could know.
We finish lunch, the conversation drifting to lighter topics— how much the older residents in town are worried about who the owners of the lake resort sold to, festival preparations, town gossip, a friendly debate about whether the new shipment of books at Avianna's store should be displayed alphabetically or by genre.
As we're packing up to return to work, Billie pulls me aside, her expression serious.
"I know we were just teasing earlier, but I want you to know—if you're worried about what's happening with your body, I can go with you to see Dr. Martinez. She's an omega specialist in the next town over. Very professional."
I shake my head. "I appreciate it, but I'm fine. Really."
"Well, the offer stands." She surprises me with a tight hug, her beta scent wrapping around me like a security blanket.
"We're here for you, Rowan. All of us."
I hug her back, overcome with gratitude for these women who have welcomed me so completely into their lives. A few weeks ago, I was alone, my world falling apart. Now I have friends, a job, even a kitten. Maybe things are finally looking up.
"Thank you," I whisper. "I don't know what I would have done without all of you."
"Probably died of boredom," Lala says cheerfully, joining our hug and dragging Avianna in too. "Or been annoyed to death by the town."
"Lala!" Avianna scolds, but she's laughing too.
We part ways, promising to meet up again soon to work on festival decorations. As I walk back to the flower shop, I feel lighter than I have in days, despite the lingering uncertainty about my body's changes.
That evening, Theo insists on a group dinner to "celebrate Gerald's recovery." It's the first time all four of us have sat down together since my heat spike episode, and the tension is palpable beneath the casual conversation.
Jasper barely speaks, his shoulders rigid, his eyes darting to me and away whenever I move.
Wells is overly polite, passing dishes with careful precision to avoid our fingers touching.
Only Theo seems determined to act normal, keeping up a stream of chatter about his day at the clinic, the festival preparations, Gerald's latest developments.
"He tried to climb my pant leg today," Theo says, gesturing with his fork. "Barely bigger than my hand, but convinced he's a tiger."
"Sounds like someone else I know," Jasper mutters, shooting me a look.
I raise an eyebrow. "Are you calling me small but fierce? I'll take it."
"I meant stubborn and oblivious to reality," he counters.
"Jasper," Theo warns.
"What? We're all dancing around it, but we know what's happening." Jasper sets down his fork with a clatter. "She's presenting. And it's becoming a problem."
The table falls silent. My face burns with embarrassment and anger.
"She's sitting right here," I say coldly. "And my biology is none of your business."
"It is when it affects all of us," Jasper insists. "When it changes the dynamics of our home."
"Our temporary housing arrangement," I correct. "Which has an end date, remember? Three months. That was the deal."
"A deal we made assuming certain... conditions," Wells interjects carefully. "It might be prudent to discuss contingency plans if those conditions change."
"Nothing is changing," I say, standing up so abruptly my chair screeches against the floor.
"I've been managing my own body for twenty-eight years. I think I can handle another two
months without your help."
I storm upstairs, fury and humiliation burning in my chest. How dare they discuss me like I'm some problem to be solved? Like my body is some inconvenience they need to manage?
In my room, I pace, too agitated to sit still. Gerald watches from his bed, his tiny head following my movements with curious eyes.
"It's not happening," I tell him firmly. "I've gone this long without presenting. I can control it."
Gerald blinks at me, unconvinced.
"I can," I insist. "Mind over matter. I just need to be more careful with the blockers. Maybe double up on them. Avoid getting too close to any of them. I can handle this."
My phone buzzes from where I left it on the nightstand. I check the screen—a voicemail notification from a number I recognize despite having deleted it from my contacts.
Pops.
My finger hovers over the delete button, but something stops me. With a sigh, I press play and hold the phone to my ear.
"Bunny, it's me." His voice is tired, worn thin with worry.
"We've been trying to reach you for weeks.
Your mom is—we're all worried sick. Please call us back.
There are things you need to know about your condition.
Things that might be important now that you're on your own.
James contacted us again. He says—" A long pause.
"Just call us, Rowan. Please. We love you. "
The message ends. I stare at the phone, a knot of different emotions tangled in my chest. Anger. Longing. Fear.
What things do I need to know? What could James possibly have to tell them that matters now, after this long?
I place the phone face-down on the nightstand without calling back. Whatever secrets they're keeping, whatever my biological father wants to share about my "condition," it can wait. I've managed this long on my own.
I can handle two more months in this house.
I have to.
Gerald mews softly from his bed, a tiny sound of concern.
"I'm okay," I tell him, not quite believing it myself. "We're okay. And if things get too weird here, we'll just... leave. Start over somewhere else. We're good at that, right?"
But as I settle into bed, my traitorous body still thrumming with awareness of the three alphas downstairs, I wonder if running away is still an option.
Or if this time, my biology has finally caught up with me.