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"Honey," she says gently, "are you feeling okay? You seem a little..."

"I'm fine," I say quickly, but my voice comes out breathier than intended. "Just... it's warm out."

Sadie studies me for a moment with the kind of assessment that comes from years of omega experience. "When's the last time you had a proper heat?"

The question makes me freeze. "What?"

"A real heat. Not managed with suppressants or scheduled around work. A proper, biological heat where you actually got to nest and be taken care of."

The answer is never. In my adult life, I've never had an unmanaged heat. Everything was always scheduled, controlled, minimized.

"I..." I swallow hard. "I don't really do heats. I mean, I manage them. Medically."

Sadie's expression grows soft with something that might be sympathy. "Oh, sweetheart. No wonder you're feeling scattered. Your body's trying to catch up with what you actually need instead of what you've been telling it to need."

"Is it that obvious?" I ask, mortified.

"Only to another omega," Sadie says kindly. "And only because I've been there. Your scent's been cycling through interested-to-overwhelmed-to-wanting all morning. Classic pre-heat pattern for someone who's been suppressing for too long."

The clinical way she describes it helps somehow, making it feel less like personal failure and more like biology that just needs understanding.

"Will you be okay for the movie?" she asks.

"Yes, please," I say quickly. "I need the distraction."

"Understood." Sadie links her arm through mine with easy familiarity. "Then let's go judge Ryan Gosling's fashion choices and eat our weight in movie theater popcorn."

As we walk toward her little green hatchback, I try not to think about the nest waiting upstairs, surrounded by stolen shirts and the lingering evidence of dreams I can't quite forget.

The car smells like Sadie—honey soap and lilies, with a hint of eucalyptus. Safe omega scent that doesn't trigger the same biological chaos as alpha presence. I sink into the passenger seat and let myself relax for the first time in days.

"Thank you," I say as she starts the engine, meaning it for more than just the movie invitation.

"Thank you for letting me," Sadie says simply. "I've been wanting to get to know you better since you moved here."

The casual way she includes me in the category of people worth caring about makes something warm settle in my chest.

As we drive through Honeyridge Falls toward the highway, I catch glimpses of familiar places through the car windows. The fire station where Dean works. The bookstore where Julian spends his quiet afternoons. The lumberyard where Callum builds things that last.

The sight of these places—ordinary buildings that have become significant because of the people inside them—makes my chest tight with something I'm not ready to name.

Want.

Not just physical want, though that's definitely part of it. But the deeper want of belonging somewhere, of having people who notice when you're struggling and show up with coffee and flowers and patient understanding.

"Penny for your thoughts," Sadie says as we merge onto the highway.

"Just thinking about how different this is," I admit. "Life here, I mean. People here."

"Different how?"

"Better," I say simply. "More real. In LA, everything felt like performance. But here..."

"Here people bring you flowers because it's Tuesday," Sadie finishes with a smile. "And fix your porch because it needs fixing. And worry about you when you seem overwhelmed by good things instead of bad ones."

"Exactly." I settle deeper into the passenger seat, watching mountains and farmland roll past. "I never thought I wanted small-town life, but maybe I just never knew what it actually looked like."

The cinema is everything Sadie promised.

A small, slightly shabby building with red velvet seats and sticky floors that speak to decades of tradition.

The afternoon crowd is mostly other women our age, groups of friends who've decided that Tuesday afternoon Ryan Gosling in The Notebook is exactly what their week needs.

We load up on popcorn and drinks, finding seats in the middle section where we have a good view. As the lights dim and the opening credits roll, I let myself sink into the simple pleasure of watching something purely for entertainment.

"Oh my God," Sadie whispers during one of Noah's intense stares, "how does he make reading a letter look that attractive?"

"It's a gift," I whisper back, "like some people can sing, he can brood romantically."

We dissolve into quiet giggles that earn us gentle shushing from the row behind us, but I can't bring myself to care. When was the last time I laughed during a movie instead of analyzing its box office potential?

The movie is exactly what I need, predictable in the best way, with enough genuine charm to keep us engaged and enough ridiculous moments to keep us laughing. But even as I'm enjoying the entertainment, my body keeps reminding me of what I'm trying not to think about.

Every time the male lead does something particularly swoony, I feel an answering heat low in my belly. Dean's hands steadying me. Callum's quiet certainty. Julian's dark gaze holding mine.

By the time the credits roll, I'm uncomfortably aware of the slick that's been building between my thighs all afternoon. My underwear is damp, and I can feel my scent warming in ways that probably aren't appropriate for public spaces.

"Good choice," I tell Sadie as we're walking back to her car, hoping I sound more composed than I feel.

"I thought you could use some uncomplicated male attractiveness," she says with a grin. "Sometimes you need to remember that wanting someone doesn't have to be terrifying."

The observation hits closer to home than I'm comfortable with. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only because I know what it's like when you care about someone and you're terrified that wanting more might ruin everything you already have," Sadie says gently. "Sometimes the scariest thing isn't that they might not want you back—it's that they might, and then everything changes."

"What if I'm not ready to stop fighting it?"

"Then you're not ready," she says simply. "But honey, at some point you might want to ask yourself what you're actually fighting. Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're fighting something good instead of something dangerous."

The drive back to Honeyridge Falls gives me time to think about that. About what I'm actually afraid of, beyond the general terror of pack dynamics and all the ways relationships can go wrong.

I'm afraid of wanting something this much, I realize as we turn onto my street. I'm afraid of needing people who might decide I'm not worth the effort.

But as Sadie pulls into my driveway, I see evidence that maybe that fear isn't grounded in reality. The mailbox stands straight and solid where Julian fixed it. The porch beams look sturdy and new where Callum reinforced them. The door knob that works like new because Dean fixed it.

They haven't taken anything back. They're just... waiting. Letting me figure things out at my own pace while making sure I know they're interested.

"Thank you," I tell Sadie as I'm getting out of her car. "For today, for the distraction, for..." I gesture helplessly.

"For being a friend," she says warmly. "And Lila? Whatever you decide about those three, make sure it's what you actually want, not what you think you should want. You deserve to choose what makes you happy."

As she drives away, I stand in my front yard looking at the house that's become more home in just over a week than anywhere I lived in LA for years. The evening light hits the windows just right, making everything glow golden and welcoming.

Inside, the stolen shirts wait in my nest. Evidence of three alphas who want to be part of whatever I'm building, who've been patient while I figure out whether I'm brave enough to let them.

Maybe Sadie's right, I think as I walk up my front steps. Maybe the question isn't whether I'm ready to stop fighting this. Maybe the question is what I'm actually fighting for.

And as I unlock my front door and step into the space that smells like green apple and white musk and the faintest traces of cedar, bergamot, and toasted marshmallow, I think I might finally be ready to find out.