Page 40 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas (Hollow Haven #2)

Rhett

T he morning air in the barn was crisp enough to see my breath, but I was working up a sweat anyway.

Not from the physical labor of organizing Willa's photography equipment, but from the way her scent was starting to change.

Deeper, richer, with an undertone that made my alpha instincts sit up and take notice.

Her heat was coming. Soon.

I'd moved her camera cases out here temporarily while we figured out the best setup for her studio space, and now I was second-guessing the decision.

Everything she owned smelled like her, but faintly, like she'd been holding back from really claiming her belongings.

It made me want to fix that somehow. Make sure she knew she could scent whatever she wanted, mark her territory without fear.

The sound of footsteps on gravel made me look up from the lens case I'd been needlessly rearranging. Willa stood in the doorway of the barn, backlit by morning sun, wearing one of Wes's flannel shirts over her own clothes. The sight hit me like a physical blow.

"Morning," she said, but there was something tentative in her voice that made me study her face more carefully.

"You okay?" I asked, setting down the equipment and giving her my full attention.

"I think so," she said, stepping further into the barn. "Just feeling a little restless. Thought maybe I could help with something."

Restless. That was one of the early signs Elias had briefed us on. The omega instinct to organize and prepare, to make sure everything was perfect before the vulnerability of heat hit.

"Sure," I said, though honestly there wasn't much that needed doing. I'd been looking for busywork to keep my hands occupied while my brain processed the reality of what was coming. "Want to help me figure out the best way to arrange your gear?"

She nodded and moved to stand beside me, close enough that her scent wrapped around me like a physical thing. It was stronger today, more complex. Still fundamentally Willa, but with new layers that made my alpha hindbrain start paying very close attention.

"This is my main camera body," she said, lifting an expensive-looking digital SLR from its foam padding. "And these are the lenses I use most often."

As she talked me through her equipment, explaining the differences between portrait lenses and landscape lenses, macro capabilities and telephoto reach, I found myself studying her hands.

The way she touched each piece with the kind of reverence reserved for things that mattered.

Tools of a trade she'd been forced to abandon but was finally ready to reclaim.

"You miss it," I said, not quite a question.

"Every day," she admitted. "Even when I convinced myself I didn't, I missed it. The way light changes everything. How you can capture a moment and make it permanent."

"You know everything he ever said was wrong, right?" I asked, and she looked up at me with something like surprise.

"Was he though? I mean, how many people actually make a living with photography? It's not exactly practical."

"You know what's not practical?" I said, setting down the lens I'd been holding and turning to face her fully. "Crushing someone's passion because you're too insecure to let them shine at something you can't control."

The words came out harder than I'd intended, but I couldn't seem to soften them. The idea that anyone had convinced this incredible woman that her gifts weren't worth pursuing made me furious in a way that felt protective and possessive and entirely beyond reason.

"Rhett," she said softly, and there was something in her voice that made me realize I was probably projecting more intensity than the situation called for.

"Sorry," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "I just hate that he made you doubt yourself."

"He made me doubt a lot of things," she said quietly. "But being here, with you and Wes and Elias, I'm starting to remember who I was before. Who I still am."

The hopeful uncertainty in her voice made my chest tight. She was rebuilding herself piece by piece, and somehow we'd gotten to be part of that process. It was humbling and terrifying and the most important responsibility I'd ever been given.

"You want to see something?" I asked impulsively.

She nodded, so I led her to the far corner of the barn where I’d already moved some of my personal things a few days before. Stuff that didn't really belong in the house but that I couldn't bring myself to throw away. I dug through a cardboard box until I found what I was looking for.

"What is it?" Willa asked, watching me unwrap something from an old shop rag.

"The handle from my coffee mug," I said, holding up the curved piece of ceramic. "From that first day at Pine & Pages."

She stared at it for a long moment, then looked up at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "You kept it?"

"Yeah. I saw Hollis taking out the trash in the evening and found myself digging through the garbage to find it." I felt heat climb up my neck, suddenly aware of how strange this probably seemed. "I don't know why. Just felt like I should."

That wasn't entirely true. I knew exactly why I'd kept it.

Even then, when I'd been convinced she was just another omega passing through town, something about her had gotten under my skin.

The way she'd looked at me after the mug broke, like she was afraid I'd blame her for it.

Like she'd expected anger instead of the concern that had actually hit me. And yet, there was a fascination, like she couldn’t bring herself to look away.

I'd kept the handle because even then, some part of me had known she was going to matter.

"Rhett," she said again, but this time my name sounded different. Softer. Warmer.

"I know it's weird," I started, but she cut me off by stepping closer.

"It's not weird," she said, reaching out to touch the ceramic piece in my palm. "It's sweet. I can't believe you kept it."

Her fingers brushed mine as she examined the broken handle, and the contact sent electricity up my arm. She was close enough now that I could see the pulse point at her throat, could smell the way her scent was deepening and changing.

"I kept thinking about you," I admitted, because apparently my mouth had decided to operate independently of my brain. "That whole first week, I kept thinking about the way you looked when it broke. Like you expected me to yell at you."

"Most alphas would have," she said quietly.

"Most alphas are idiots."

That surprised a laugh out of her, and the sound hit me like sunshine. When had I started measuring my days by whether or not I could make her smile?

"Can I ask you something?" she said, still standing close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

"Anything."

"That night you found me, when I was having the heat flare. You said you'd been thinking about me since that first day. Did you mean it?"

The vulnerability in the question made my chest ache. Like she still couldn't quite believe that anyone would think about her without being prompted or obligated.

"I meant it," I said. "Every word."

She looked up at me then, and something in her expression shifted. The tentative uncertainty was still there, but underneath it was something bolder. Something that made my alpha instincts sharpen to a fine point.

"I'd been thinking about you too," she said softly.

"All of you, but you especially. The way you take care of things. The way you fixed the heating system at the bookshop because I was cold, and you worked on it for so much longer to make sure it wouldn’t break again.

The way you make me feel safe even when you're grumpy. "

"I'm not grumpy," I protested automatically, which made her smile.

"You're absolutely grumpy," she said. "But it's endearing. Like you're determined to take care of everyone whether they want you to or not."

"Maybe I am," I admitted. "Especially you."

The words hung between us, loaded with meaning and possibility. Her scent was getting stronger, more complex, and I could feel my body responding despite my best efforts to stay in control. Heat was coming, but this moment felt separate from biology. This felt like a choice.

"Rhett," she said, and there was something in her voice that made me look at her more carefully.

"Yeah?"

"I think I need..." she started, then trailed off, color climbing up her neck.

"What do you need?" I asked gently, stepping closer without really thinking about it. My hands came to her waist as I gently pulled her closer.

"I need to know that this is real," she said in a rush. "That it's not just heat making me feel this way. That you want me even when biology isn't demanding it."

The honesty in her confession made my heart clench. Of course she'd need that reassurance. Of course she'd worry that our interest was purely instinctual rather than personal.

"Willa," I said carefully, "I've wanted you since the day I walked into Pine & Pages and you looked at me like I was a puzzle worth solving. Heat has nothing to do with it."

"Really?"

"Really." I reached up to cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "You think I keep broken coffee mug handles as a hobby?"

That earned me another laugh, and I realized I was addicted to the sound. To the way her whole face changed when she was happy.

"Kiss me," she said suddenly, and the words hit me like a lightning strike.

"You sure?" I asked, even though every instinct I possessed was screaming at me to do exactly that.

"I'm sure," she said firmly. "I want to know what it feels like when I'm choosing it. When I'm not afraid or overwhelmed or trying to prove something. I always want to know what it feels like to kiss you because I want to."

So I kissed her.

Gentle at first, just a soft press of lips that tasted like the coffee she'd had with breakfast and something uniquely her. But when she made a soft sound and pressed closer, when her hands fisted in my shirt like she was trying to anchor herself, gentle wasn't enough anymore.

I deepened the kiss, one hand tangling in her hair while the other settled at the small of her back. She melted against me like she'd been waiting for this, like she'd been holding herself back until now and finally felt safe enough to let go.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Her lips were swollen and her eyes were dark, and she looked like every fantasy I'd ever had about what it might be like to be wanted by someone like her.

"Was that what you needed to know?" I asked, voice rougher than I'd intended.

"That was exactly it," she said, and the certainty in her voice made something settle in my chest.

"Good," I said, pressing my forehead against hers. "Because there's a lot more where that came from."

"I'm counting on it," she said, and the promise in her voice made my alpha instincts purr with satisfaction.

We spent the rest of the morning in the barn, ostensibly organizing her photography equipment even though we’d already done it ten times over, but really just learning how to be close to each other without the weight of uncertainty between us.

She showed me how to properly clean camera lenses.

I explained the difference between metric and standard socket wrenches.

It was domestic and comfortable and charged with the kind of anticipation that made every casual touch feel significant.

When she handed me tools, her fingers would linger on mine.

When I needed to reach around her for something, I'd let my body press against hers just long enough to feel her intake of breath.

By lunch time, her scent had deepened even further, and I could see the first real signs of heat approaching in the way she moved. More fluid, more aware of her body in space. The restless energy that meant her omega instincts were starting to take over.

"I should probably find Elias," she said as we headed back toward the house. "I think I need to talk to him about timing."

"Want me to come with you?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. Some conversations needed to happen privately first.

"Not yet," she said, but she squeezed my hand as she said it. "But soon. I want all of you involved when it's time."

"We'll be here," I promised. "Whatever you need, whenever you need it."

She smiled at that, bright and genuine and full of anticipation rather than fear. It was a beautiful thing to see, and I knew I'd do whatever it took to make sure she never had to be afraid of her own biology again.

As I watched her walk into the house to find Elias, the broken coffee mug handle still warm in my pocket, I realized that sometimes the most important moments started with the smallest broken things.

And sometimes, if you were careful enough and patient enough, you could build something beautiful from the pieces.