Page 22 of Let It Snow (Eden’s Omegaverse #7)

But going there just like this, sitting down and eating with them? It’s so far outside my comfort zone, uhh… the idea alone makes me shiver.

The last time I ate a shared meal was with the Ferros: Anzo and his nephews. The ritual was grim and unpleasant, with Rocco’s eyes often on me, leaving me tense and miserable.

Until breakfast, I spend my time watching the fish, studying the way it glides inside its glass prison, surrounded on all sides by clear walls.

Its long, flowing fins drift behind it like silk veils.

I smile at its calmness. I wonder if it feels lonely or if it misses swimming among others of its kind.

Does it want to have a mate?

I’m lonely too… but maybe that’s something I could change? A fleeting thought sparks, mixed with a rising ache to see him…

The moment I whisper his name in my head, I’m flooded with the same feeling I had when he kissed me. Sweet, intoxicating. Oh Fate… I have to remind myself why I keep denying myself seeing him, why I don’t reach for more.

I’m scared of what’s hiding inside me.

Or maybe I shouldn’t be?

The temptation seems to slowly overpower all my sensible doubts and fears.

By nine, the Nolans’ usual breakfast time, I make my move.

The moment I step timidly into the dining room, every eye turns to me, and I almost faint.

Worst of all, there’s another Nolan son sitting on a chair: Bay.

I recognize him immediately. He’s a singer and YouTuber, known in some circles, and I’ve seen his face before.

That recognition only makes me more self-conscious.

And of course, Snow is already at the table, which does not escape my attention. Even from the stairs, I can catch his fresh, heathery scent…

Thankfully, the Nolans seem to sense my nervous state. They quickly look back down at their plates, giving me a break from the attention.

Bay is chatting with Jordan about an upcoming concert, but when I sit across from him, he pauses long enough to greet me in a neutral tone.

He’s wearing a thick hoodie, his hair pulled back into a ponytail like Snow’s. The family resemblance between them is striking; both have sharp, masculine features. The only real difference is color: Bay’s hair is a deep dark red, while Snow’s is platinum.

Snow gives me a small nod when he sees me, but I don’t answer. I drop into the chair beside Lake’s.

Lake comes over from the kitchen with Jordan. For a moment, his hand lifts as if to reach for me, but then he lets it fall, maybe understanding that it should always be me who chooses to initiate touch.

I stare at my plate, keeping my head down. Jordan and Bay continue talking. Bay complains about his manager messing up ticket sales and overselling a concert hall.

Lake glances at me and quietly asks, "You okay, Summer?"

I give the smallest nod. What could possibly be different with me, other than that I’ve been binging articles, stuffing myself with food, fixing my nest, and impaling myself on a dildo every few hours? Not exactly the kind of updates I’d share with anyone.

I lean closer to my plate. Jordan has served me two pieces of toast with scrambled eggs, some bacon, and a tomato salad.

With my head down, I notice something odd. Out of everyone in the room, the only presence I truly feel is Snow’s. Strange.

A ball of energy on my sight’s periphery.

I seem to know exactly where he is, as if my awareness is tethered to him. The others fade in and out unless I look directly at them, but Snow feels solid, anchored in my reality, almost physically tangible.

Then something peculiar happens.

I lift a slice of tomato to my mouth, still staring blankly at the toast in front of me. Out of nowhere, something flickers across the soft part of the bread. For a moment, I think I’m imagining it. But no. Two tiny glowing dots appear, followed by a curved line beneath them.

A glowing ‘smiley face’ burns briefly across the toast!

My face floods with heat. I stare at the little smile until it fades away, leaving only ordinary bread behind.

I hesitate to lift my head, but of course I know it’s him, Snow.

Did anyone else see it? Probably not. Everyone is caught up in their own conversations. Aiden and Bay are talking now about Bay’s latest video that got an unusually high number of views. He plays three different instruments in it, edited together into one polished song.

Snow is focused on his plate, at least outwardly, though I know he’s somehow watching me, gauging my reaction to the light smiley. Lake and Jordan are busy making an online order for kitchen supplies.

I sneak discreet glances at Snow, his perfect profile pulling my gaze again and again.

What was that glowing smiley about?

Was it flirting? A way of cheering me up, just a joke to lighten the mood?

I stay silent for the rest of the meal, only listening.

From their conversations I learn that Lake works part-time as a music teacher at a local inclusive preschool, purely because he wants to, not because he needs to.

Aiden composes music on commission for various companies, and occasionally Lake helps him.

It seems Snow is doing something similar, composing and teaching.

As they’re all musicians, a normal day in the Nolans’ house usually means Aiden and Snow working in their music studios while Lake after returning from preschool, tends to the garden and the two greenhouses.

Jordan takes care of the house chores and cooking. I learn he’s a relative of Aiden’s dad, who ran into some bad luck with his old job and had to leave earlier than planned, without enough savings to retire comfortably. That’s why he chose to work here with family.

Life in the Nolan residence seems slow and peaceful. Nothing much appears to happen; they just get along easily.

But the calmness of this breakfast has the opposite effect on me. It makes me strangely eager. I want more, to expand a bit, maybe even pay a visit to the basement. I just can’t stay in my room anymore, stuck like a fish in an aquarium. It’s not enough. I’m aching to see him, to interact with him.

To make sure if he’s… my True.

And to start something with him.

The only problem is that I have no experience initiating things, so how can I do that without doing something cringy? I want it to happen naturally, as if it just unfolds on its own.

Tonight feels like my chance.

The Nolans always play together as a family at least once a week, and sure enough, it’s Sunday. They’re setting up for one of their jam sessions, this loose, improvised thing where everyone just picks up an instrument, catches a tune drifting through the air, and shapes it into music.

Aiden strums an old acoustic guitar with his thumb, Lake’s fingers flutter across a small keyboard, testing chords.

Bay sits straight-backed with a cello between his knees, bow gliding smoothly.

Snow draws low, yearning notes from his harmonica.

Even Jordan joins in, balancing a little ukulele on his knee.

Am I the only one in this house who can’t play a single note?

I watch from the balcony for a while, half-hidden. They don’t talk much. The alphas sip light beer from long-neck bottles, Lake and Jordan share a little sweet wine, but nobody’s overdoing it.

Down by the grill, Jordan keeps an eye on the sizzling meat, flipping pieces of pork shoulder and brushing them with sauce, the scent of smoke and fat curling upward.

The air smells like pepper and char, and every so often, someone laughs softly or taps a foot in time.

Finally, I force myself to move.

My heart’s thudding, but I go down the ladder and step into their circle.

Lake notices me first. He stands, smiles, and gestures to a rattan lounge beside him. "Come sit," he says. "Can you play?" he asks.

I shake my head, embarrassed. He just shrugs and offers me a glass of wine.

"Then just chill out," and he grins.

I take it, grateful. Snow’s eyes find me, glowing a bit, but he says nothing.

They slip back into the music almost immediately. The sound rises and folds over itself, like waves breaking and retreating.

And then something happens. At first, I don’t know if Snow does it for me or if it’s just a natural part of their jam sessions, but as the music flows, colors begin to move through the air.

Thin ribbons of light and tiny glowing dots rise and fall as if following the melody itself, swirling, brightening when the rhythm comes alive, and melting into darker waves when it turns more melancholic.

No one seems particularly surprised by the spectacle, so I come to the conclusion that it must be something Snow sometimes does for everyone’s enjoyment, and tonight, maybe also for mine.

It’s almost dreamlike, the way they fit together, perfectly in tune, trading riffs without a word.

The energy between them is constant and alive, like some invisible current running from one to another.

Notes hang in the air, glowing with rainbow colors and pulsing softly, bending and weaving, and the melody reshapes itself moment by moment.

This aching need builds in me to belong, to be part of it. I really wish I could. Maybe I should ask someone to teach me how to play?

After about half an hour, they pause to eat, the grill still crackling in the background.

Conversation drifts lightly over the table. At one point Lake mentions a text from his purple alpha son, Storm, saying he suspects he’s found his TM.

The topic stirs something in me. Immediately, I glance at Snow and catch him glancing at me too.

Are we?

Shouldn’t it be obvious by now? We’ve touched. The First Touch.

The Pull should be at its peak after a few days apart.

What exactly is the Pull?

How does it work? I need more details.

While they talk, I slip out my phone and scroll through an article about it.

It’s complicated and may vary in cases of alpha-beta or omega-beta pairings.