Page 9 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas (Hollow Haven #2)

Wes

D ays had passed since the owl rescue, and I’d been carrying Willa’s request for updates around like a stone in my pocket.

Let me know how she does. The words had been simple enough, but the way she’d said them, like she needed to know this one broken thing would be okay, had stayed with me through two routine wildlife calls and one sleepless night of telling myself I was overthinking a casual request.

Dr. Martinez had called this morning with good news.

The owl’s wing was healing ahead of schedule, and they were optimistic about a full recovery.

Professional protocol said I should file the update in my weekly report and move on to the next case.

But professional protocol didn’t account for the way someone could ask a question that sounded like it meant more than the words themselves.

I found myself standing outside Pine & Pages at two in the afternoon, holding a printed photo of the owl and telling myself this was just thorough follow-up.

The bookstore’s windows were warm with afternoon light, and I could see Willa behind the counter, helping a customer select something from the nature section.

Her dark hair was loose today, falling in waves past her shoulders, and she was wearing a soft blue cardigan that made her look approachable in a way that immediately put my alpha instincts on alert.

The customer left as I pushed through the door, and Willa looked up with a smile that faltered slightly when she recognized me. Not unfriendly, exactly, but careful. Like she was weighing whether my presence here was professional or something else entirely.

“Wes,” she said, and I caught the faint hitch in her breathing that suggested her suppressants weren’t quite as effective as they’d been the last time we’d spoke. “Is everything okay?”

“Good news, actually.” I held up the photo, keeping my distance from the counter. “Thought you’d want to know how she’s doing.”

Her eyes immediately locked onto the image, and I watched her expression shift from wariness to genuine joy. The change was like watching sunrise after a long night. Whatever walls she kept between herself and the world, they didn’t extend to injured animals making recoveries.

“She looks amazing,” Willa said softly, reaching for the photo before catching herself and pulling her hand back. “May I?”

I slid the print across the counter, careful not to let our fingers touch. Even so, I caught a fuller hit of her scent when she leaned forward. Jasmine, but warmer now, more complex. Like the suppressants were losing their grip.

“Dr. Martinez says her wing is healing ahead of schedule,” I said, watching her study the image with the kind of focused attention I’d learned to associate with people who understood the technical aspects of photography.

“Should be ready for release in four to five weeks instead of the original eight.”

“That’s wonderful.” She traced the edge of the photo with one finger, careful not to touch the surface. “She looks alert. Strong.”

“Getting stronger every day.” I hesitated, then added, “We’re planning her release back in the same area where we found her. Late November, probably. If you’d like to be there.”

The offer surprised me as much as it clearly surprised her.

Wildlife releases weren’t public events.

We kept them small and controlled to minimize stress on the animals.

But something about the way she’d asked for updates, the way she was looking at this photo like it mattered personally, made me want to include her in the ending of this story.

“You do that?” she asked. “Invite people to releases?”

“Not usually,” I admitted. “But you found her. Seems right that you should get to see her go home.”

Willa was quiet for a long moment, her fingers still tracing the photo’s edge. I could see her weighing something internal, some conflict I didn’t understand but could recognize in the tension around her eyes.

“I’d like that,” she said finally. “To see her fly again.”

“I’ll let you know when we set the date.” I pulled out my phone, then realized I was about to ask for her number and had no professional justification for needing it. “Unless you’d prefer I stop by here again?”

“Oh.” She blinked, clearly not having thought through the logistics. “I suppose… here’s my number. For the release notification.”

She rattled off the digits while I entered them into my contacts, her name appearing on my screen next to a string of numbers that somehow felt more significant than they should have. Willa Rowan. Even her last name sounded like something from a nature guide.

“Got it,” I said, pocketing the phone. “I’ll text you when we know more.”

“Thank you.” She looked down at the photo again, her expression softening. “For updating me. For including me. It means more than you probably know.”

There was something in her voice that made me want to ask what she meant, what deeper significance this rescue held for her.

But I’d learned to recognize the signs of someone who’d shared as much as they were ready to share.

Whatever story was behind her request for updates, whatever reason she needed to know this broken thing would heal, she wasn’t ready to tell it.

“She’s a fighter,” I said instead. “Just needed the right support to remember how to heal.”

Willa’s eyes met mine, and I caught a flash of something vulnerable and understanding before she looked away. “Some things just need time and the right environment.”

“And people who believe they can get better.”

The words hung between us, loaded with more meaning than either of us was ready to acknowledge. We were definitely talking about more than the owl.

She understands what it’s like to feel grounded, I realized, watching her carefully return the photo to the counter. That’s why this mattered to her.

The thought came with a surge of protective instinct that caught me off guard. Whatever had broken Willa’s wings, whatever had made her afraid to reach for the camera that clearly belonged in her hands, I found myself wanting to create the kind of safe space where she could remember how to fly.

“Actually,” I said, then stopped myself. I’d been about to mention the town council meeting, the development threat, the two years of research I’d compiled that might not matter if corporate money talked louder than environmental science. But that wasn’t her problem.

“What?” Willa asked, and there was something encouraging in her voice. Like she genuinely wanted to know what I’d been about to say.

I found myself looking at her really looking at me, with the kind of attention that suggested she understood what it meant to care deeply about something most people didn’t notice.

The way she’d studied that owl photo, the careful respect in her voice when she’d asked about the release, told me she might actually understand why this mattered.

“There’s a town council meeting tomorrow night,” I said, surprising myself with the admission. “About a proposed development that would impact the watershed where we found her. Where we’ll release her.”

Willa’s expression shifted, becoming more focused. “What kind of development?”

“Luxury spa resort. Corporate investors want to build on three hundred acres of protected woodland.” The words came easier once I started, like a dam breaking.

“Two years of environmental impact studies. Documented proof that development would contaminate the aquifer, destroy critical habitat, disrupt migration patterns that have existed for centuries.”

“And you’re worried they won’t listen to the science.”

It wasn’t a question. She understood exactly what I was facing.

“Economic projections tend to be more persuasive than wildlife surveys,” I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Especially when the economic projections come with campaign contributions.”

Willa was quiet for a moment, her fingers still resting on the owl photo. “This place means something to you. Beyond just the work.”

“Grew up here,” I admitted. “Learned to identify bird calls before I could ride a bike. My father used to take me hiking in those woods every weekend, taught me that everything in an ecosystem depends on everything else. You damage one piece, the whole system suffers.”

I’d never told anyone that or about my father and why I chose this work.

“And now someone wants to pave over your childhood for a spa resort,” Willa said softly.

The understanding in her voice caught me off guard. She didn’t try to offer solutions or tell me everything would work out fine. She just acknowledged that this was personal, that fighting for something you loved was hard but necessary.

“The owl we rescued,” I continued, not sure why I was sharing this but unable to stop. “Her territory includes the nesting sites they want to clear. If the development goes through, she’ll come back to find her home gone.”

“Like being released into a world that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Exactly.” I met her eyes, seeing something there that made my chest tight. “Sorry. I don’t usually dump environmental politics on people during owl updates.”

“Don’t apologize,” Willa said firmly. “Some things are worth fighting for, even when the fight feels impossible.”

There was conviction in her voice that told me she knew something about impossible fights. Whatever battles she’d faced, whatever had brought her to Hollow, she understood what it felt like to care about something everyone else wanted to ignore.

“Well,” I said, stepping back toward the door before I could share any more vulnerabilities. “I should let you get back to work.”

“Wes?” She called after me as I reached for the door handle. “Thank you. Really. For caring enough to follow up. You should… you should text me so I have your number,” she said uneasily.

I turned back to find her watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Grateful, but also curious. Like she was trying to figure out what kind of person made special trips to deliver good news about animals to strangers.

The kind who can’t stop thinking about the way you asked for updates , I thought. The kind who’s probably going to drive past this bookstore more often than is professionally necessary.

“I will. Take care of yourself, Willa,” I said instead.

Walking back to my truck, I found myself thinking about timing and healing, the way some connections developed slowly, like trust built between wild animals and the people trying to help them.

Maybe that’s all this was—professional interest in someone who clearly understood wildlife rehabilitation from an emotional perspective.

But as I pulled away from the curb, already planning tomorrow’s patrol route to include Main Street, I had to admit I was lying to myself.

This wasn’t just about shared concern for an injured owl.

This was about the way she’d looked at that photo like it represented hope she’d been afraid to feel.

This was about wanting to be the kind of person she felt safe reaching out to when she needed to know that broken things could heal.

I pulled my phone out of my jacket and fired off a quick message to her before I could talk myself out of it, Hey this is Wes. This is my number if you ever need me for anything.

I rolled my eyes at how lame it sounded and then sent it anyway.

My phone buzzed with a text message as I reached the first stoplight.

Thank you again for the update. It made my whole day brighter.

I stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back.

Mine too. I’ll be in touch about the release.

Her response came quickly.

Looking forward to it.

Four simple words that shouldn’t have made my chest feel warm, but did. I pocketed the phone and headed home, already looking forward to having a reason to text her in a few weeks. Already hoping she might reach out before then if she needed anything else.

Already acknowledging that whatever this was between us, it had moved well beyond professional interest in wildlife conservation.

But that was a problem for future Wes to solve. For now, it was enough to know that somewhere in Hollow Haven, an omega was smiling at a photo of a healing owl and maybe, just maybe, thinking that broken things really could find their way back to where they belonged.