Page 42 of Nesting With My Three Alphas (Hollow Haven #1)

"This is Mr. Wilson's watercolor of the old mill," she was explaining to a cluster of neighbors gathered near the back wall. "Did you know that watercolor is actually harder than oil painting because you can't paint over mistakes? Mr. Wilson is basically a watercolor wizard."

Mr. Wilson turned bright red at this description, but he was beaming.

Micah had outdone himself with the outdoor feast, setting up a buffet system that flowed from the barn out into the yard.

Three different grills were running, manned by volunteers from town, while tables under the oak tree groaned under the weight of side dishes and desserts that people had brought to share.

String lights woven between the trees and around the barn created a magical atmosphere as the afternoon light began to fade.

And Kit moved through the space like she was born to this.

Encouraging nervous artists inside the gallery, welcoming visitors, facilitating conversations between potential buyers and creators, then flowing seamlessly outside to make sure everyone felt included in the celebration.

She'd found her element, and watching her in action was like seeing a plant finally get the right amount of sunlight.

"She's something else, isn't she?" Jonah's voice came from beside me as we watched Kit help Tom explain his technique to an interested collector.

"Yeah, she is." I didn't try to hide the pride in my voice. "Remember when she first got here? How she flinched if anyone looked at her too directly?"

"And now she's teaching half the town that creativity doesn't have age limits or designation requirements." Jonah's own pride was evident. "Charlie's been begging to join the next beginner's session."

"What did you tell her?"

"That Kit's the one to ask." Jonah smiled. "Though something tells me the answer's going to be yes."

The official opening was at two o'clock, but people had been trickling in since noon.

By the time Sheriff Rowe arrived with the mayor and what looked like half the town council, the barn was alive with animated discussions, while the yard buzzed with the kind of energy that came from a community celebrating its own.

Kids were running around the property while adults moved between the gallery and the outdoor party space, creating exactly the kind of inclusive celebration Kit had envisioned.

"Reed!" Mrs. Carrington waved me over to where she was examining one of Abigail's larger pottery pieces. "This young lady tells me she made this herself. Is that true?"

"Every bit of it," I confirmed. "Abigail's discovered she has a real gift."

"I'd like to buy it. For my front garden." Mrs. Carrington's announcement carried enough to reach Abigail, who turned bright red and looked like she might faint from shock.

"Really?" Abigail squeaked.

"Really. It's exactly what my roses need."

And that was when the real magic started happening. Mrs. Carrington's purchase opened the floodgates, and suddenly everyone wanted to know about commissioning pieces, buying existing work, or just learning more about the artists.

Jake sold two portrait commissions before three o'clock. Tom had people asking about painting lessons. Mr. Wilson couldn't keep up with requests for custom landscapes of people's properties.

"This is incredible," Kit whispered to me during a brief lull as we stood in the barn doorway looking out at the illuminated yard full of celebrating neighbors. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her scent practically sparkling with joy. "Look at them. Look how proud they are."

I looked. Really looked. At Mr. Wilson holding court near his watercolors in the barn, no longer the shy hardware store owner but explaining his technique with quiet confidence.

At Abigail beaming as she discussed glaze options with a potential customer out by the dessert table.

At Tom, who'd started the class claiming he had "no artistic bone in his body," now sketching quick samples for interested buyers while sitting under the glowing lights.

Even Jake, despite his teenage desire to appear unimpressed by adult approval, was glowing as people praised his portraits displayed along the barn's main wall.

"You did this," I said to Kit. "All of this confidence, all this courage. You taught them that."

"They already had it. I just gave them permission to show it."

Permission. Such a simple word for something so revolutionary. Permission to create, to take up space, to believe their work had value.

The same permission Kit was still learning to give herself.

"Kit!" Charlie's voice carried across the room. "The newspaper lady wants to interview you!"

Sure enough, a woman with a camera and a notebook was making her way toward us, her eyes bright with the scent of a good story.

"Ms. Lennox? I'm Sarah Bryant from the Valley Reporter. I'd love to speak with you about this wonderful program you've created."

Kit's scent spiked with sudden anxiety. "Oh, I don't know if I'm the right person to..."

"You're exactly the right person," I said firmly, my hand settling on her lower back in support. "You're the one who made this happen."

The interview lasted twenty minutes, with Kit gradually relaxing as she talked about the importance of creative expression for community mental health and the untapped artistic talent in small towns.

"What made you decide to start a beginner's class?" the reporter asked.

"Mrs. Parker, actually," Kit said with a smile toward the elderly omega who was part of the advanced group.

"She pointed out that a lot of people were interested in art but intimidated by jumping into an established class with experienced artists.

So we created a space where making mistakes was not just okay, but expected. "

"And the response has been incredible?"

"Beyond our wildest dreams. We started with six people and now we have a waiting list. All designations, all ages, all skill levels. Art really is a universal language."

"This could be a model for other communities," the reporter said, scribbling notes. "Have you considered expanding the program?"

"I... haven't really thought about it," Kit admitted. "We were just focused on supporting our local community."

"Well, you should think about it. This kind of grassroots arts education is exactly what rural communities need."

After the reporter left, Kit stood in the barn doorway looking out at the celebration in full swing, looking slightly stunned.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I think... I think I might have just accidentally started something bigger than I intended."

"Good bigger or scary bigger?"

"Both?" Kit laughed, the sound a little shaky. "She's right, though. There are probably people in other small towns who could benefit from something like this. Who've been told their creativity doesn't matter or that art is just a hobby."

"So what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking... maybe I should look into developing a curriculum that other communities could adapt.

Maybe training other teachers, or creating online resources.

.." Kit's excitement was building again, the anxiety transforming into possibility.

"There's no reason this should be limited to Hollow Haven. "

"Kit Lennox, arts educator," I said with a grin. "I like the sound of that."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I'm still figuring out how to teach twelve people at once without losing my mind."

But I could see the wheels turning, the way her mind was already working through logistics and possibilities. Kit had found her calling, and it was beautiful to watch.

The show and celebration continued until well past sunset, with soft lighting creating a magical atmosphere as people flowed between the barn gallery and the yard party.

By the time we started cleaning up, every artist had sold at least one piece, several had commissions lined up, and Tom was already asking about starting an intermediate class.

"I can't believe this actually worked," Abigail said as we wrapped her remaining pottery pieces. "I was so nervous this morning I almost called in sick to my own art show."

"But you didn't," Kit pointed out. "You were brave, and look what happened."

"We all were brave," Jake added, carefully packing his portfolio with hands that shook slightly from residual adrenaline. "Thanks to you."

"Thanks to all of us," Kit corrected. "This was a community effort."

After the artists left with their families and their new commissions, it was just our pack and a property full of evidence that something special had happened.

Empty plates scattered under the glowing lights, wine glasses on the barn windowsills, business cards tucked into people's pockets, and the lingering scent of joy and accomplishment.

"Well," Micah said, surveying the controlled chaos, "I'd call that a success."

"The biggest," Charlie agreed, flopping dramatically onto the couch. "Did you see how many people wanted to buy Mr. Wilson's paintings? He's gonna be able to afford the really fancy art supplies now!"

"Which means even better paintings," Kit said happily. "The cycle continues."

I watched my omega move through the space, collecting forgotten items and making sure the borrowed tables got back to their owners, her whole being radiating satisfaction.

This was Kit in her element. Nurturing creativity, building community, making space for people to flourish regardless of their designation or background.

"So," I said as we finished cleaning up, "ready to plan the next one?"

Kit looked up from the stack of business cards she was organizing, her smile bright enough to power the whole town.

"Already am," she said. "Tom's right. We need an intermediate class. And maybe we should think about adding other art forms. Photography, fiber arts, creative writing..."

"Before you know it, you'll be running an arts festival," Micah observed.

"Don't tempt me," Kit said, but her eyes were sparkling with possibility.

Later that night, after Charlie was in bed and the property was quiet, the four of us sat on the back porch looking out at the barn, still lit by string lights but now empty of visitors.

Kit was curled up in her favorite chair, brainstorming ideas for curriculum development, while Jonah and Micah discussed logistics.

"Look at this," I said, showing Kit my phone screen filled with social media posts from the evening. "Mrs. Carrington posted about Abigail's pottery, dozens of people sharing photos and talking about commissioning work."

"That's beautiful," Kit said softly, her voice warm with satisfaction.

"You started something today," Jonah said quietly. "Something that's going to keep growing."

Kit looked around at all of us, her gaze lit with that same kind of spark, the one that made even the string lights feel dim.

"We started something," she corrected. "The house, the community, this family. It's all connected. I couldn't have done any of this without you."

"Maybe," I said, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "But you're the one who had the vision to see what was possible."

"And the courage to make it happen," Micah added.

"And the wisdom to make it inclusive," Jonah finished.

Charlie's voice drifted down from upstairs: "Are you guys having another feelings talk without me?"

"Go to sleep, buttercup!" Jonah called back.

"I'm trying, but you're being loud with your emotions!"

We all laughed, the sound echoing through our house. Our gallery, our community center, our home.

"She's not wrong," Kit said, setting aside her sketchpad. "We are being pretty loud with our emotions."

"Good emotions, though," I said.

"The best emotions," she agreed.

And sitting there on our porch, looking out at the illuminated barn surrounded by the evidence of dreams made manifest and community bonds strengthened, I couldn't have agreed more.

Our omega had found her calling, our pack had found its place in the world, and our property had become exactly what it was meant to be.

Home.