Page 5 of Nesting With My Three Alphas (Hollow Haven #1)

Jonah

I 'd been making pancakes every Saturday morning for three years now, ever since Sarah died and I realized Charlie needed routines more than she needed her dad falling apart.

But this morning felt different. The familiar rhythm of whisking batter and heating the griddle was the same, but everything else had shifted.

Kit was coming to breakfast.

The omega next door who'd found my daughter nesting in her empty house and hadn't batted an eye. Who'd looked at Charlie's makeshift fort like it was the most natural thing in the world instead of a breach of boundaries that would have sent most people running.

I flipped a pancake with more force than necessary, trying to ignore the way my alpha instincts had been humming since I'd walked into that room this morning.

Kit in her sleep shirt, all soft curves and tousled hair, kneeling beside my daughter like she belonged there. Like she'd always belonged there.

Dangerous thinking.

"Dad, you're burning it," Charlie observed from her perch at the kitchen table, where she was supposedly setting out plates but mostly just rearranging the same three forks.

I looked down at the pancake, which was indeed a shade darker than golden brown. "Right. Thanks, buttercup."

"Are you nervous about Kit coming over?"

I shot her a look. "I'm not nervous."

"You smell nervous," Charlie said matter-of-factly. "And you keep messing with your hair."

I forced my hand away from my head, where I'd apparently been running my fingers through the already disheveled mess. "I'm fine."

"It's okay if you like her," Charlie continued, completely oblivious to my discomfort. "She smells nice. Like vanilla and something warm."

Warm. That was one way to put it. Kit's scent had hit me like a freight train this morning: vanilla and honey, yes, but underneath it all something that called to every protective instinct I possessed.

Something that made my alpha side want to wrap her up and keep her safe from whatever had put that wariness in her eyes.

The distant sound of church bells drifted through the open window, marking the top of the hour with their familiar chimes.

Saturday morning in Hollow Haven, where the biggest excitement was usually Mrs. Peterson's cat getting stuck in the oak tree again.

Except for this morning. When the most exciting thing was Kit coming to my house for breakfast.

It has been too long since I felt like this. If I was honest with myself, I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way again. It was nice to know that my heart was still capable of beating for someone else, even if Kit became nothing more than a friend.

The knock at the door saved me from having to respond to Charlie's observation. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and went to answer it, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened.

Kit stood on my porch looking nothing like the rumpled, vulnerable woman from this morning.

She'd changed into a soft green sweater that brought out the gold flecks in her brown eyes, and jeans that actually fit her curves instead of hiding them.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she'd put on just enough makeup to highlight her natural beauty.

She looked... relaxed. Happy, even.

"Perfect timing," I said, stepping aside to let her in. "Charlie's been asking every thirty seconds if you were coming yet."

"I heard that!" Charlie called from the kitchen. "And it was only every minute!"

Kit laughed, a genuine sound that did things to my chest I wasn't ready to examine. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Don't apologize," I said, leading her toward the kitchen. "Charlie's just excited to have someone new to talk to. Fair warning, she's going to want to tell you about every single dinosaur she knows."

"I love dinosaurs," Kit said, and from her excited tone, you could tell she meant it.

Of course she did.

The kitchen felt smaller with Kit in it, her scent mixing with the vanilla and butter from the pancakes until the whole space smelled like comfort and home.

I watched her take in the cheerful chaos.

Charlie's artwork on the fridge, the stack of library books, the general lived-in feel that came from a house where a child was loved and encouraged to be herself.

"This is lovely," she said quietly, running her fingers along the edge of the counter. "It feels like a real home."

There was something wistful in her voice that made me want to ask questions I had no right to ask. It wasn't just the way she looked at Charlie. It was the way she looked at the whole house. Like she didn't expect it to show people actually lived here.

What kind of home had she come from? What had made her pack up and move to a town where she didn't know anyone?

"Dad makes the best pancakes," Charlie announced, bouncing in her chair. "And he puts chocolate chips in them sometimes, but only on special occasions."

"Is this a special occasion?" Kit asked, settling into the chair I pulled out for her.

Charlie looked at me hopefully. I was already reaching for the bag of chocolate chips before I'd consciously made the decision.

"I guess it is," I said, earning a cheer from Charlie and a smile from Kit that made my heart skip.

I poured three circles of batter onto the griddle, adding a generous handful of chocolate chips to each one. The domestic normalcy of it should have been comfortable, but having Kit sitting at my kitchen table, accepting Charlie's chatter with genuine interest, felt anything but normal.

It felt like the beginning of something I wasn't sure I was ready for.

"So how old are you, Charlie?" Kit asked, accepting a glass of orange juice with a thank you that made my alpha purr with satisfaction.

"Seven and three-quarters," Charlie said importantly. "I'll be eight in February. Dad says I can have a sleepover party if I want, but I don't know very many kids yet."

"You just started school here?" Kit asked gently.

"Yeah, we moved here in August," Charlie said. "From Portland. Dad wanted somewhere smaller, with more trees and less cars. This is where he met my Mom."

I felt Kit's eyes on me as I flipped the pancakes, probably wondering what had driven us to leave the city for small-town life.

The truth was complicated. Sarah's death, my struggle to balance work and single parenthood, the gradual realization that Charlie needed space to run and climb and be a kid without the constant noise and danger of urban life.

But mostly, I'd needed to get away from all the places that still smelled like her. Even if it was to this place that held so many memories on every corner.

"I like it here," Charlie continued. "There's lots of woods to explore, and Micah gives me free cookies sometimes, and now Kit lives next door and she's gonna help me build a proper nest!"

"Charlie," I warned, sliding the pancakes onto plates. "Kit might change her mind about that."

"No, I won't," Kit said firmly. "I promised."

The simple conviction in her voice made something tight in my chest loosen. When was the last time someone had made Charlie a promise and meant it?

I set the plates down and took my own seat, trying not to notice how right Kit looked sitting at my table. How her presence seemed to settle something restless in both Charlie and me.

"These smell incredible," she said, cutting into her pancakes with obvious appreciation. "I haven't had homemade pancakes in... gosh, years."

"Years?" Charlie looked scandalized, just like she had earlier. "That's terrible!"

"It really is," Kit agreed solemnly, taking a bite. Her eyes fluttered closed in pleasure, and she made a soft sound of contentment that went straight to my hindbrain. "Oh wow. Charlie wasn't exaggerating."

She moaned like it was the best thing she'd ever tasted. I wanted to hear that sound again.

"Family recipe," I said, proud despite myself. "My mom taught me when I was about Charlie's age."

"Your mom sounds wonderful."

"She was." The words came out rougher than I intended. "She died before Charlie was born."

"I'm sorry," Kit said quietly, and there was real understanding in her voice. Loss recognized loss, apparently.

"It's okay," Charlie piped up around a mouthful of pancakes. "I didn’t get to meet Grandma, but Dad tells me stories about her, and he makes her pancakes. So it's like she's still here a little bit."

The matter-of-fact way Charlie dealt with loss never failed to humble me. Kids were resilient in ways adults couldn't be, accepting what they couldn't change and finding joy in what remained.

"That's a beautiful way to remember someone," Kit said softly.

We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of forks against plates and Charlie's occasional observations about the perfect chocolate chip to pancake ratio.

Outside, I could hear the distant sound of kids riding bikes down the street, their laughter mixing with the rhythmic hammering from Reed's latest project over at the Carrington place.

But I found myself watching Kit, noting the way she savored each bite like she wasn't used to food that was made with care.

What kind of life had she been living before this?

"So what brings you to Hollow Haven?" I asked, keeping my tone casual. "If you don't mind me asking."

Kit's fork paused halfway to her mouth, and for a moment I thought she wasn't going to answer. When she did, her voice was carefully neutral.

"I needed a fresh start," she said. "Somewhere quiet, where I could figure out what I wanted to do next."

It wasn't really an answer, but I recognized the careful deflection. Whatever had driven her here, she wasn't ready to talk about it.

"Well, you definitely found quiet," I said. "This place practically rolls up the sidewalks at nine PM."

"Good," Kit said with feeling. "I've had enough excitement for a while."

Excitement. Another non-answer that told me everything and nothing.