29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
I spend a restless night alone in my dorm bed, even though exhaustion weighs heavy on every limb. The sheets feel too cold, the pillow too flat, the room too quiet. No matter how many times I turn or rearrange the blankets, sleep keeps slipping away from me.
I keep waking every twenty or thirty minutes, reaching blindly for my phone only to see another stretch of darkness has passed.
Each time I close my eyes again I miss the coziness of the pack house.
I miss the layered scent of cedar and amber and pine and rain that wrapped around me like a living thing.
I miss the solid press of Jamie’s chest under my cheek and the unwavering certainty that I was safe.
By the time morning light finally creeps around the edges of the blinds I’m still half-asleep and groggy, my head fuzzy and my body reluctant to move. I’m just pulling the covers higher when a firm knock sounds at the door.
I blink, pushing myself up on one elbow. The knock comes again, insistent. Sophie is already stirring in her bed across the room, mumbling something sleepy as she sits up.
I rub my eyes and pad barefoot across the floor, wearing Jamie’s oversized t-shirt that falls down to my knees. When I crack the door open, the RA stands there holding a large, beautifully wrapped basket tied with a simple cream ribbon.
“This was just dropped off for you,” she says with a small smile. “From Pack Whitmore.”
The RA grins as she hands over the large, beautifully wrapped basket. My heart stutters in my chest.
A simple cream card is tucked into the ribbon that reads “For Elodie – Pack Whitmore” in neat handwriting. My stomach does a low flip at the sight of their pack name together with mine like that.
Sophie’s already bouncing on her toes behind me, eyes wide with excitement the second she spots the basket. “Oh my god, open it, open it!”
We drag the surprisingly heavy thing inside and set it in the middle of the floor. Sophie drops down cross-legged beside me, practically vibrating. “Together,” she insists, already tugging at the ribbon.
We peel back layers of tissue and crisp wrapping paper one by one, the ribbon pooling on the floor. Sophie leans in so close her shoulder brushes mine, both of us holding our breath as we examine the contents.
The first thing I pull out is a big box of cozy snacks clearly meant for our room — rich dark chocolate bars, little tins of herbal tea, and delicate packets of fancy cookies dusted with powdered sugar.
Sophie makes a happy noise and immediately claims one of the teas.
Next comes a neat stack of protein bars in flavors I actually like, followed by a delicate keychain for my backpack. Suspended in clear resin is a real section of blue morpho wing, shimmering electric blue and black. I turn it deliberately in the light, stunned at how perfect it is.
Then my fingers brush something heavier.
I lift out a sleek fountain pen, and my breath catches.
The body is made of a shimmering mother of pearl, catching every bit of light and throwing it back in muted rainbows, an extra fine gold nib perfect for writing tiny labels.
It’s exactly the kind of pen I have lingered over in shop windows for years, well out of my budget but still in my heart.
Sophie squeals. “Elodie, that is gorgeous.”
I turn the pen in my hands, throat suddenly tight. I have no idea how they knew. I’ve never mentioned it to any of them. Yet here it is, resting in my palm like they had reached inside my head and pulled out the one thing I would’ve never bought for myself.
Then Sophie spots the small velvet box tucked deeper in the basket and lets out a sharp little gasp, tucked against a selection of inks for the pen. Her fingers freeze mid-reach.
“Elodie,” she whispers, voice suddenly reverent. “Look at the brand on the lid.”
I lean in closer. The discreet silver stamp on the box is unmistakable — the same luxury diamond house I have only ever seen in magazine spreads and on the necks of people who move in entirely different circles. My stomach does a slow, dizzy flip.
Sophie picks it up like it might break if she breathes on it wrong. She opens the box carefully, hinges whispering, and we both go completely still.
Inside, resting on deep midnight velvet, lies a delicate necklace.
The diamonds are cut into a perfect butterfly shape, four outer stones forming the wings, each one flashing with icy fire, while smaller pave diamonds trace the body and antennae in breathtaking detail.
It’s small enough to wear every day, subtle enough to look almost modest, and yet impossibly luxurious.
The stones catch the morning light slanting through our window and throw tiny, dancing rainbows across the floor, across my hands, across Sophie’s wide eyed face.
I can’t speak. My throat has closed up completely. The necklace is so beautiful it feels almost unreal, like something that should belong in a glass case rather than in my dorm room on a random Monday morning.
Next we reach a group of more personalized packages. I pick up the first one, crisp white paper printed with tiny black insect silhouettes.
The moment the paper falls away I smile. It’s a beautiful leather bound notebook paired with a matching pen set and a thick custom entomology reference book that looks brand new and expensive. Tucked inside the front cover is a small handwritten note in neat, precise handwriting.
For when your thoughts need a solid place to land.
— Adrian
I run my thumb over the smooth leather, heat blooming in my chest.
Sophie leans closer, grinning. “Oh, that one is so him.”
The next package is wrapped in shiny gold star paper that sparkles under the light.
I tear it open and immediately laugh through sudden tears.
Inside is a fun pastel blue Polaroid camera, along with an entire pack of glittery butterfly stickers.
A handwritten note is taped to the box in a messy scrawl.
I didn’t know what color to pick, so I chose the one that matches your eyes. Decorate it however you like, but I thought you might like the stickers.
— Jamie
I press the note to my heart, the simple words making my eyes sting all over again.
I reach for another package, this one wrapped in deep forest green paper patterned with subtle pine needles. The paper falls away and my breath catches hard.
A soft oversized hoodie in my favorite earthy green.
A sturdy insulated thermos with a built-in temperature gauge.
And a lightweight night-fieldwork jacket with multiple perfectly sized pockets for specimen jars, a headlamp already clipped to the collar, and reinforced cuffs exactly where I always snag them on branches.
Tucked into the jacket pocket is a small folded note in bold, slightly messy handwriting.
For the nights you refuse to come inside. Stay warm.
— Chase
I stare at the gifts in my lap, throat tightening so suddenly I can’t speak.
Each piece is so specifically tailored to my habits…
the way I crouch in the grass for hours, the way my hands always get cold before dawn, the exact way I organize my tools when I am out in the field.
They have been paying attention. All of them.
At the very bottom of the basket is a small bag of premium cat treats. I blink at them, stunned. I have no idea how they even knew about Noodle.
Only one gift remains, tucked carefully in the far corner of the basket and wrapped more deliberately than the rest. The paper is a rich, deep sepia brown with faint gold botanical illustrations printed across it, like an antique map of some forgotten garden.
I assume it must be from Alex. My fingers tremble a little as I lift it out and start unwrapping.
The paper falls away to reveal an ornate antique butterfly field guide with a gold embossed cover and hand colored plates. For a brief second I wonder if it’s actually from Adrian, because it feels so perfectly academic and thoughtful… exactly the type of meaningful thing he would choose.
Then I open the cover.
A note is tucked inside, the handwriting neat and even.
Elodie,
I bought this the day I first scented you in the gardens next to the Natural Sciences building. You were crouched in the grass studying a leaf, completely lost in your work, and I knew right then you were ours. I have been waiting to give it to you ever since.
— Alex
The realization crashes over me all at once.
Alex chose and bought this gift for me before we had even officially met. Long before any of this. My breath catches sharply and I sit back on my heels, completely speechless.
I turn the heavy book over in my hands with delicate fingers, almost afraid it might crumble under my touch. The leather is patina’d and well worn with age, the gold embossing still vibrant against the deep burgundy cover. I open it slowly to the title page and my eyes widen.
The edition date reads 1897. One hundred and twenty-nine years old. My breath catches again as I notice a faded but elegant author’s signature in dark ink just below the printed title, dated in the same year.
This is not simply an old book. It’s a genuine first edition, signed by the author himself.
The understanding hits me deep in my bones, stealing what little breath I have left.
Of all the gifts, this one feels the most personal, the most wildly extravagant.
Alex had bought this rare piece of entomology history the very day after he first scented me in the gardens — long before we had ever spoken, before he knew my name, before any of this.
He’d held onto it for weeks, waiting. Waiting for me.
Tears blur my vision as I gently close the cover and press the heavy book against my chest like the treasure it is.
Sophie is staring at me with her mouth actually hanging open.
“Elodie,” she whispers, voice hushed with awe.
“He bought that for you the day he scented you? Before he even knew your name?” She lets out a disbelieving laugh and shakes her head.
“That is the most romantic, unhinged, insanely thoughtful thing I have ever heard in my life. Alex Whitmore is out here buying antique entomology books like it’s normal.
I’m actually so incredibly jealous of you right now. ”
I let out a watery laugh, Sophie’s right. It’s completely insane. And somehow that only makes it even more special.
I sit back on my heels among the sea of torn wrapping paper and open gifts, the heavy antique book still clutched against my chest like it might disappear if I let go. My heart is racing so hard I can feel it in my throat, a frantic, unsteady beat that refuses to ease.
The full weight of the care package finally washes over me all at once.
They did this. All of them. Every single item was chosen with such deliberate care… it all fits my life so perfectly it feels like they’ve been watching me for weeks.
They have put this much thought into me. Into us. Into something I still have not fully agreed to.
Awareness crashes through me like cold water, shocking and overwhelming. This is getting serious. Really serious. They’re not just flirting or being kind. They’re building something. For… me?
A wave of panic rises in my chest, tight and breathless. I’m not ready for this. I don’t know how to be ready for this.
I need to tell my parents. Before any of this goes any further. Before I let myself fall any deeper.
I look over at Sophie, still wide eyed and beaming beside the pile of gifts, and my voice comes out small and shaky.
“I think… I need to call my parents.”
I grab my phone with shaky fingers and pull up the video call app. Sophie stays right beside me on the floor, cross-legged among the ripped paper and open gifts, offering silent moral support with a hand on my knee.
I hit the call button before I can talk myself out of it.
Mom and Dad answer after two rings. Mom’s face lights up first. “Hi sweetheart! This is a nice surprise, but it’s still very early for you. Is everything OK?”
I swallow hard and try to keep my voice level.
“Hi Mom, Dad. I… I have something important to tell you. There’s this pack — the Whitmore pack.
I wasn’t interested at first. I told them I didn’t want anything like that, that I came here to focus on my studies.
But the more I’ve gotten to know them… I’ve decided to let them court me.
To see if I might want to mate with them someday.
” I pause, then add quickly, “I’m still focusing on my studies one hundred percent.
The pack knows that too. They’ve been really respectful about it. ”
Dad leans closer to the screen immediately, brow furrowed. “A pack? Elodie, this is so unlike you. I thought we sent you to university to focus on your studies, not to—”
Sophie pops into the frame beside me before he can finish, holding up Alex’s ornate antique entomology book like Exhibit A. “Hi Mr. and Mrs. Maddison! You can’t really blame her though — look at this!”
She angles the book toward the camera so the gold embossing and hand colored plates catch the light perfectly. “It’s a signed 1897 first edition. Alex bought it for her the day he first scented her, before they’d even spoken. He’s been holding onto it for weeks, waiting for the right moment.”
The line goes quiet for a beat.
Dad’s eyes widen behind his glasses. The scientist in him visibly takes over as he studies the book on the screen.
He rubs a hand over his face and lets out a long breath.
“Well… that is a genuine first edition. Signed?” His shoulders slowly relax, the tension draining out of him.
“I suppose I can understand how something like that might… distract a person.”
Mom leans in closer, eyes sparkling with sudden curiosity. “OK, now you have to tell us everything. Who are these boys? What are they like? I want names, details, the whole story!”
Sophie grins and squeezes my knee under the frame while I let out a shaky laugh, the knot in my chest finally loosening. Between Mom’s excited questions and Dad’s reluctant scientific approval, I feel like I might actually be able to explain what is happening without falling apart.