Page 22

Dean

I wake up one shirt poorer and significantly happier about it.

Lila James is a terrible thief. All guilty eyes and suspicious arm positioning when she lifted my shirt yesterday. But what she lacks in criminal finesse, she makes up for in motivation. An omega doesn't steal an alpha's clothes unless she wants his scent somewhere very specific.

Somewhere soft and private and hers.

I replay the evidence while I stretch against the sheets, working out the pleasant ache from yesterday's furniture hauling.

The way she stood in her kitchen doorway, arms tucked suspiciously behind her back, her scent spiking with that crisp green apple sweetness turning sharp with nerves.

How she kept shifting her weight like she was hiding treasure.

The careful way she avoided my eyes when I mentioned the missing shirt.

I could smell my own scent clinging to her when she moved, mixing with that green apple and white musk in ways that made my alpha instincts practically purr with satisfaction.

She wanted something that smelled like me. Wanted it enough to risk getting caught red-handed.

The knowledge sends warmth spreading through my chest, the kind of happiness that makes me want to grin like an idiot and maybe do something embarrassingly enthusiastic like bring her breakfast and flowers and offer to fix everything in her house whether it needs fixing or not.

I let myself replay the whole afternoon.

The way she'd looked testing furniture, focused and decisive once she found what she wanted.

How her scent had changed when I'd taken my shirt off, that crisp green apple turning deeper, warmer, the white musk underneath becoming more pronounced.

The flush across her cheeks, the way she'd gripped the truck door like she needed the support.

The subtle, unmistakable hint of slick in the air before she'd disappeared into the house.

My body responds to the memory before my brain can stop it, and I have to take a deep breath and think about equipment maintenance schedules until I'm calm enough to function like a rational adult.

Lila James affects me in ways I'm not entirely prepared for. Ways that bypass rational thought and go straight to something much more primal and possessive.

I check my phone: 9:47 AM. Later than I usually sleep, but I'd stayed up too late thinking about green apple and stolen shirts and what it might mean that an omega I barely know has made me feel more alive in a week than I have in years.

Coffee first. Then figure out if there's a way to see her today without seeming desperate.

I'm halfway to the kitchen when I hear voices from the living room. Levi's low murmur and someone else responding. When I round the corner, I find Levi on the couch with a cup of coffee, talking to our neighbor Mrs. Peterson through the open front door.

"—just need someone to help me move that dresser upstairs," she's saying. "My back isn't what it used to be."

"I can handle that," Levi says easily. "Give me twenty minutes to finish my coffee?"

"You're a lifesaver, honey. Thank you."

She waves goodbye, and Levi glances up at me with amusement. "Look who's finally awake. Rough night?"

"Good night," I correct, heading for the coffee pot. "Slept like the dead."

"Hmm." Levi marks his place in his book and studies me with that quiet way he has of seeing more than people expect. "You're in a good mood. Yesterday went well, I take it?"

"Yeah, it did." I pour coffee and lean against the counter, trying to keep the dopey grin off my face. "Helped her pick out some furniture. She's got good taste."

"I'm sure she does." There's something in Levi's tone that suggests he's not entirely talking about furniture. "And how was the famous furniture shopping experience? Very domestic?"

"It was..." I search for words that won't reveal exactly how domestic it felt. How right it seemed to help her test couches and negotiate with sales associates and load furniture into my truck like we'd been doing it for years. "It was nice. Really nice."

"Nice," Levi repeats with barely concealed amusement. "Right. Well, since you're in such a good mood, maybe you can help me figure something out."

"What kind of something?"

"I was thinking about getting some flowers for the house," Levi says, glancing up from his book. "Brighten the place up a little."

"Flowers are nice," I say, already half-distracted by thoughts of Lila.

Wait. Flowers. Should I bring Lila flowers? Maybe the ones she has need replacing. Do people replace flowers regularly? Would bringing flowers seem too... much?

"Earth to Dean," Levi says with amusement. "You're thinking very loudly over there."

"Just thinking about my day," I say, refocusing on my coffee.

Levi sets down his book and studies me with that quiet way he has of reading people. "So," he says with a small smile. "Still planning to just 'be yourself' and hope she figures out how you feel?"

The gentle teasing hits closer to home than I'm comfortable with. "That's worked so far."

"Has it?" Levi raises an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're still in the same place we talked about a few days ago. Helpful neighbor who brings coffee and moves furniture."

He's not wrong, which is irritating. "Maybe I like being helpful."

"Dean." I can see him gearing up for one of his gentle but pointed observations. "Yesterday when you got back from furniture shopping, you were grinning like an idiot and you smelled like someone who'd had a very good day. What happened?"

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. "She stole my shirt."

Levi blinks. "She what?"

"Took it when I wasn't looking. Hid it behind her back when I mentioned it was missing." The memory makes something warm settle in my chest. "She wanted my scent, Levi."

"And that's not 'I appreciate my helpful neighbor' behavior," Levi says with growing amusement. "That's 'I want this alpha's scent in my space' behavior. At some point, being yourself has to include actually telling her how you feel."

The words hit me square in the chest, forcing me to acknowledge what I've been dancing around for days.

I do want more than friendship. I want to cook for her regularly, want to help her with projects around the house, want to be the person she calls when she needs something.

I want to know what makes her laugh, what she thinks about when she's alone, what she looks like first thing in the morning.

I want to know if she's sleeping with my shirt, if my scent helps her feel safe in that big house.

I want her to keep stealing my clothes.

"You're right," I say, the admission coming easier than I expected. "I should probably stop dancing around it."

"Good." Levi picks up his book again with satisfaction. "Now go text her before you overthink yourself out of it."

I'm already reaching for my phone when Levi heads off to help Mrs. Peterson, leaving me alone with my coffee and my thoughts.

I stare at the blank message screen for longer than I should, drafting and deleting texts like I'm negotiating international treaties instead of just trying to say hello to a woman I like.

Hey, did I leave my shirt there? lol no big deal

Delete.

Morning Hope the new chair is comfy.

Delete. Too casual. Doesn't give her an opening to invite me over.

Morning, sunshine. Want some company today? I can swing by to help Callum with the porch if you're around.

That's better. Acknowledges that Callum will be there, no pressure, just offering to help. And the "sunshine" feels right, casual but affectionate.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself.

Her response comes back faster than I expected:

That would be great. If you're not working.

The quick reply makes something warm settle in my chest. She wants me there. Wants my help, my company, my presence in her space while she works on making it more like home.

Day off today. I'll bring coffee. Anything else you need?

I watch the three dots appear and disappear, then appear again. Whatever she's typing is taking some thought.

Just you.

The simple words hit me like a physical blow. Just you. Not just my help with the porch, not just the coffee or the extra pair of hands. Me. Specifically me.

I stare at the phone for a long moment, rereading the message and feeling something shift into place in my chest. Something possessive and protective and entirely too intense for a week-old acquaintance.

Something that feels an awful lot like the beginning of a bond.

I type back quickly: On my way in an hour.

Then I head for the shower, already planning my day around the promise in those two words. Just you.

The hot water does nothing to ease the anticipation building under my skin. If anything, it makes it worse, gives me time to think about seeing her again, about working alongside Callum in her space, about what it means that she specifically wants me there.

About what it means that she's sleeping with my shirt.

Because that's what she's doing, I'm certain of it now. The way her scent spiked when she hid it behind her back, the guilty flush across her cheeks, she didn't just take it as a trophy. She took it because she wanted my scent in her space, wanted something that smelled like me close to her skin.

The thought makes my hands shake slightly as I reach for the shampoo.

I've never had an omega want my scent before.

Never had someone steal my clothes because they needed that particular comfort.

It's possessive and intimate in ways I'm not sure I'm ready for, but my alpha instincts don't care about my readiness.

They care about the fact that Lila James chose my scent, chose to surround herself with the evidence of my presence.

Chose me, at least in this small way.