Page 46 of Nesting With My Three Alphas (Hollow Haven #1)

Kit laughed, the sound carrying the mixture of amusement and overwhelm that meant she was simultaneously touched and slightly panicked by the attention. "Should I be worried?"

"You should be prepared to feel very loved," I said honestly. "Which I know makes you nervous, but try to remember that you deserve it."

Her scent shifted, picking up notes of the emotional complexity that anniversaries brought up for her. Gratitude mixed with disbelief that this life was actually hers, joy tempered by the lingering fear that good things were temporary.

That we might change our minds about wanting her.

"Micah," she said quietly, "can I ask you something?"

"Always."

"Do you ever think about what would have happened if I hadn't come here? If I'd chosen a different town, or if I'd stayed in Chicago, or if I'd just... kept running?"

The question caught me off guard with its sudden vulnerability. "Why are you thinking about that?"

"Because when I first drove away from Chicago, I thought my life was over.

I thought I'd destroyed everything good about myself and that the best I could hope for was to hide somewhere and try not to cause any more damage.

" She picked at the edge of her sandwich, not quite meeting my eyes.

"And now I have this incredible life with people who love me and work that matters and a future that looks bright instead of terrifying. "

"And that scares you," I said, understanding the real question underneath her words.

"It scares me that it might not last. That I might wake up and discover this was all too good to be true."

I came around the counter and pulled her into my arms, breathing in the familiar comfort of her scent mixed with the faint tang of artistic inspiration.

"Kit, look at me." I waited until her eyes met mine. "When you showed up here scared and alone, do you know what I saw?"

"Someone broken?"

"I saw someone brave enough to choose herself over a situation that was destroying her. Someone who'd rather face the unknown than accept being diminished." I tucked a paint-streaked strand of hair behind her ear. "And every day since then, you've proven that my first impression was right."

"I don't feel brave most of the time."

"Brave people rarely do. They just do what needs to be done anyway."

She was quiet for a moment, processing this in the careful way she approached emotional truths that contradicted her old beliefs about herself.

"The grant application," she said suddenly. "Did you see anything from the arts council?"

I retrieved the envelope from behind the counter, noting how her breathing quickened when she saw the return address. "Arrived this morning. I've been wondering if I should hide it until after tonight or let you deal with whatever it says now."

"Now," she said immediately. "If it's bad news, I want to process it before the party. If it's good news..." She trailed off, as if she couldn't quite imagine that outcome.

"If it's good news, we celebrate twice as hard tonight."

Kit took the envelope with hands that trembled slightly, turning it over as if she could divine its contents through touch.

"What if they said no?" she asked. "What if they don't think my program is worth funding?"

"Then they're idiots, and we figure out another way to expand what you're doing.

" I settled beside her, close enough to offer support without crowding.

"But Kit, even if this particular grant doesn't work out, look at what you've already accomplished.

Three art classes running simultaneously.

A waiting list for your workshops. Communities from four different counties asking you to consult on their arts programs."

"You know about the consulting calls?"

"Reed mentioned mysterious conversations about curriculum licensing."

Kit's cheeks flushed slightly. "I didn't want to make a big deal about it until I knew if it was going anywhere. But there are six different towns that want to implement something similar to what we're doing here. They're offering to pay me to help train their teachers and adapt the curriculum."

Six different towns. Kit's influence was spreading far beyond Hollow Haven, touching communities across the region in ways she was still learning to recognize as significant.

"That's incredible, Kit. Do you realize what that means?"

"That I might have accidentally created something bigger than I intended?"

"That you've created something important enough that other people want to learn from it." I watched her face as this reality settled. "That you're not just teaching art. You're changing how communities think about creative expression and mental health."

She stared at the unopened envelope, then at me, then back at the envelope.

"Open it," I said gently. "Whatever it says, we'll figure it out together."

Kit tore open the envelope with the quick motion of someone removing a bandage, pulling out a folded letter that looked official and intimidating.

I watched her face as she read, noting the moment her expression shifted from apprehension to disbelief to something approaching shock.

"Kit?"

"They said yes," she whispered. "They said yes, and they want to fund a three-year pilot program, and they're calling it 'innovative' and 'exactly what rural communities need.'"

"How much funding?" I asked, though the number was less important than the validation the grant represented.

"Enough to hire two additional teachers, fund supplies for twelve communities, and develop a comprehensive training program for rural arts educators.

" Kit's voice was gaining strength as the reality sank in.

"They want me to present at their annual conference.

They want to feature the program in their newsletter. They want to..."

She stopped abruptly, the letter fluttering to the counter as she buried her face in her hands.

"Kit? Are you okay?"

"I'm having a moment," she said, her voice muffled. "This is really happening. This thing I started because Mrs. Parker suggested helping beginners, it's becoming something real and important and..."

"And you deserve every bit of it," I finished firmly. "You took an idea and turned it into something that helps people. You built community connections and gave people confidence and created art where there wasn't art before."

She looked up at me with eyes that were bright with unshed tears, the happy kind, according to Charlie's taxonomy.

"I need to call them back," she said. "There are meetings to schedule and contracts to review and I need to figure out how to expand without losing what makes it special here."

"Good problems to have," I said, pulling her into another hug. "And you don't have to figure it all out today."

"No, but I need to figure out how to tell Reed and Jonah and Charlie without completely losing my composure."

"I think they can handle you having feelings about good news."

Kit laughed, wiping at her eyes with the back of her paint-stained hand. "This is going to make tonight even more overwhelming."

"Tonight is about celebrating how far you've come and how much you mean to all of us. This grant just proves that the rest of the world is starting to catch up to what we've known all along."

"Which is?"

"That you're extraordinary. That what you create matters. That you're exactly who you're supposed to be, doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing."

The afternoon passed in a blur of excitement and planning, with Kit alternating between reading the grant letter and trying to process the magnitude of what it meant for her future. By the time we closed the bakery and headed home, she was practically vibrating with nervous energy.

"I can't decide if I'm more excited or terrified," she said as we pulled into our driveway, where Charlie's banner, visible from space, just as Jonah had predicted, proclaimed "HAPPY ANNIVERSARY KIT AND FAMILY" in letters that sparkled with enough glitter to supply a craft store.

"Both is good," I said. "Both means it matters."

The party was everything Charlie had envisioned and more.

The barn had been transformed into something magical.

Fairy lights strung from every beam, tables arranged to encourage mingling, and enough food to feed the entire county.

What looked like half of Hollow Haven had shown up to celebrate, bringing potluck dishes and congratulations and the kind of community warmth that had become Kit's new normal.

But it was Charlie's surprise that really made the evening special.

"Kit!" she called over the crowd, her voice pitched to carry across the entire gathering. "I have something for you!"

The conversations died down as Charlie positioned herself in the center of the barn, holding a wrapped package that was clearly art-related.

"I've been working on this for weeks," she announced with the confidence of someone who knew she'd created something important. "It's all of us, but the way Kit sees us."

Kit opened the package with careful hands, revealing a collage of us, not as we looked in photos, but as she painted us: Jonah's steady strength, Reed's protective mischief, my nurturing focus, Charlie's bright spirit, and Kit herself glowing with the confidence and joy she'd grown into over the past year.

"Oh, sweetheart," Kit whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "This is perfect. This is exactly how I see all of you."

"Because that's how you taught me to see," Charlie said seriously. "You taught me that art shows people's hearts, not just their faces."

The happy tears that followed were legendary, even by Charlie's comprehensive standards. But they were good tears, the kind that came from being seen and understood and loved exactly as you were.

Later, after the guests had gone home and the fairy lights still twinkled in the empty barn, our pack sat on the back porch sharing the stories and memories that had accumulated over the year.

Kit was curled up in her favorite chair, still clutching Charlie's artwork and the grant letter, looking overwhelmed in the best possible way.

"So," Reed said, raising his beer in a mock toast, "here's to year two. Think we can top this one?"

"I hope not," Kit said immediately, then caught herself. "I mean, I hope it's just as good, but maybe with slightly less drama and life-changing revelations."

"Where's the fun in that?" Jonah asked, but his smile was soft with contentment.

"The fun is in this," Kit said, gesturing around at all of us. "The ordinary, everyday magic of having people who love you and work that matters and a place that feels like home."

"To ordinary magic," I said, raising my own glass.

"To family," Jonah added.

"To art that changes the world," Reed contributed.

"To Kit," Charlie said seriously, "who makes everything better."

"To all of us," Kit finished, her voice carrying the quiet confidence of someone who finally believed she deserved the happiness she'd found. "To home."

As we sat in the peaceful aftermath of celebration, surrounded by the evidence of love freely given and cherished, I couldn't help but think about how much had changed since that autumn morning when a frightened woman had walked into my bakery asking for coffee and kindness.

She'd asked for coffee and kindness. She gave us a family and a future. That's more than magic. That's Kit.