Page 1 of Nesting With My Three Alphas (Hollow Haven #1)

Kit

Nothing like the glass tower where Marcus had kept me like a caged bird.

The thought of my ex made my stomach clench, and I forced myself to breathe through it. That was over. Done. I was here now, in Hollow Haven, where no one knew my name or my mistakes. Where I could build something that was entirely mine.

This wasn't forever, I reminded myself as I grabbed my purse and the single box of essentials from the passenger seat. Just for now. Just until I remembered who I was without anyone else's scent clinging to my skin.

The October air bit at my cheeks as I stepped out, crisp with the promise of winter and heavy with the scent of woodsmoke from someone's chimney.

My omega senses picked up layers underneath: pine, damp earth, the lingering sweetness of fallen apples.

Somewhere in the distance, I caught the warm scent of fresh bread baking, probably from the bakery I'd passed on Main Street.

A dog barked playfully from a few houses down, and children's laughter carried on the breeze, mixing with the soft murmur of a radio playing classic rock.

Community sounds. Life sounds. So different from the sterile silence of Marcus's world.

And then something else hit me. Something that made my pulse quicken and my carefully constructed walls tremble.

Alpha.

I froze on the sidewalk, box clutched to my chest, as three distinct scent signatures washed over me like a tide.

They were close, too close, and my body responded before my brain could catch up.

My skin flushed warm, my breathing deepened, and that treacherous part of me that Marcus had spent two years trying to control stirred to life with a vengeance.

Heat bloomed low in my belly, and I had to bite back a whimper. Three weeks until my next cycle, if I didn't skip it again with the suppressants hidden in my purse. I hadn't decided yet whether I was brave enough to let my body remember what it felt like to want things.

No. I shook my head hard enough to make my brown curls dance. I wasn't here for alphas. I wasn't here for anyone but me.

"Kit?"

The voice was low, rough around the edges, and came from somewhere to my left. I turned and nearly dropped my box.

The man walking toward me from the duplex next door was exactly the kind of alpha Marcus would have sneered at: all weathered denim and work boots, with broad shoulders that spoke of manual labor rather than boardroom politics.

His dark hair was mussed like he'd been running his hands through it, and his blue eyes held a wariness that matched my own.

But it was his scent that made my knees wobble and my omega practically purr with want. Cedar and clean sweat, with an undertone of something protective and steady that made me want to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in until I drowned.

The thought terrified me. I slammed my walls back up so hard I could almost hear them clang into place.

"You must be the new tenant," he said, stopping a careful distance away that somehow felt both respectful and intimate. "I'm Jonah. Jonah Maddox."

His scent wrapped around me like a promise I wasn't ready to make, but my traitorous omega was already cataloging the way his voice rumbled low in his chest, the competent strength in his hands, the way he held himself like a man who knew how to protect what mattered.

"Kit," I managed, proud that my voice came out steady instead of breathless. "Kit Lennox."

"Welcome to the neighborhood." His gaze flicked to my box, then back to my face, and I caught something that looked almost like hunger before he shuttered it. "Need help with anything?"

The offer was simple, practical, but something in his tone made it feel like more. Like he was asking if I needed help with everything: the move, the fresh start, the careful walls I'd built around my heart. Like he wanted to be the answer to questions I wasn't brave enough to ask.

"I'm fine," I said quickly, the automatic response I'd learned to give Marcus whenever he'd offered help that came with strings attached.

Before Jonah could respond, a small whirlwind in rainbow leggings and a paint-splattered smock came tearing around the corner of his house.

"Dad! The blue's not working right and I think I need..." She paused when she spotted me. "Hi! Are you the new person? Dad said someone nice was moving in, and Micah said he was gonna make you cookies, and Reed said..."

"Charlie," Jonah interrupted gently, but his tone was fond. "Take a breath, buttercup."

The little girl, Charlie, grinned at me with paint smudged on her cheek and absolutely no fear in her bright green eyes. "I'm Charlie. That's my dad. We live next door, and we're painting my room today because I got to pick new colors and I picked sunset colors because sunsets are magic."

Something in my chest cracked open at her easy acceptance, her bright chatter that filled the air between us like sunshine. When was the last time someone had spoken to me without calculation, without weighing their words for maximum impact?

"Sunset colors sound perfect," I said, and meant it. "What kind of blue isn't working right?"

"It's supposed to be ocean blue, but it looks more like sad blue." Charlie's nose scrunched in concentration. "Micah says there's a difference, but I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong."

"Sometimes paint changes color when it dries," I offered, the words coming easier than they had in months. "Or maybe the light in your room is different than the light on the color sample."

Charlie's eyes went wide. "You know about paint?"

I used to know about a lot of things. The thought came with a sharp pang of loss for the woman I'd been before Marcus convinced me that creativity was a waste of time, that art was a luxury I couldn't afford.

"A little," I said carefully.

"Dad, can Kit come see? Can she help figure out the blue?" Charlie bounced on her toes with excitement.

"You could," Jonah said quietly, and those two words hit me harder than they should have. His eyes met mine, and I saw understanding there. Recognition of the careful distance I was keeping, the way I held myself like I might need to run. "But no pressure. Rain check?"

There was something about the way he said it, like he meant it, like the offer would still be there tomorrow or next week or whenever I was ready, that made my chest tight with unfamiliar emotion.

"Rain check," I agreed, my voice softer than I intended.

Charlie tugged on Jonah's hand, already moving on with the resilience of childhood. "Come on, Dad. The painting's gonna dry weird if we don't finish soon."

"Go ahead, buttercup. I'll be right there." Jonah waited until Charlie had disappeared around the corner, then looked back at me. "If you need anything, and I mean anything, we're right next door. Charlie's usually in bed by eight, so it's quiet after that."

"Thank you." The words came out smaller than I intended, weighted with more gratitude than a simple neighborly offer deserved. "I appreciate it."

He nodded and started to turn away, then paused. "Kit?"

"Yeah?"

"Welcome home," he said, like he meant it, like this place could actually be home instead of just another temporary stop.

The way he said it made something crack open in my chest, something I'd been keeping locked down since the day I'd walked out of Marcus's apartment with nothing but two suitcases, a single cardboard box, and a broken heart.

I watched him walk away, taking in the easy confidence in his stride.

He moved like a man comfortable in his own skin.

Everything Marcus wasn't.

I shook that thought away and fumbled for my keys, suddenly desperate to get inside and away from the lingering scent of cedar and the promise of things I couldn't let myself want.

The duplex was small but clean, with hardwood floors that creaked pleasantly under my feet and windows that let in golden afternoon light. There was basic furniture and appliances, enough to get me on my feet, which was exactly what I'd wanted. A blank slate. A place to start over.

I set my box on the kitchen counter and pulled out the few things I'd need for tonight: toiletries, a change of clothes, the emergency stash of chocolate I always kept close.

As I unpacked, my fingers brushed against something I'd almost forgotten: a small tin of watercolor pencils, carefully wrapped in tissue paper.

My one indulgence, the single creative thing I'd allowed myself to keep.

I stared at the tin for a long moment, remembering the weight of a brush in my hand, the way colors could blend and flow and create something beautiful from nothing.

Marcus had called it a waste of time, a distraction from "real" goals.

But sitting in this empty duplex with afternoon light streaming through bare windows, I could almost imagine unwrapping those pencils.

Almost imagine creating something again.

Another life. Another version of me.

I set the tin on the counter without opening it and continued unpacking. The suitcases could wait until tomorrow. I was too wiped out by the journey to worry about facing the depressingly few things I'd salvaged from my old life.

But as I moved through the space, my omega senses kept cataloging details that had nothing to do with the duplex itself.

The way sound carried through the thin walls, I could hear Charlie's laughter from next door, muffled but warm.

The draft under the front door that would need weatherstripping before winter really hit.

The corner of the living room that got the best light, where the afternoon sun would be perfect for. ..

For what? I caught myself before the thought could finish. I wasn't building a nest here. I was building a life, yes, but not that kind of life. Not the kind that required soft things and safe spaces and alphas who smelled like home.