Page 34 of Pack Plus One (Sweetwater City Reverse Harem Omegaverse #1)

“I bet she doesn’t make actual diagrams to support her arguments though,” Caleb points out, his thumbs still working magic on Leah’s shoulders.

“They were schematics, not diagrams,” Liam corrects. I don’t know if he realizes how prim he sounds. “And they improved efficiency by twenty-seven percent.”

“You calculated the percentage?” Leah asks, sounding both horrified and impressed.

“Of course,” Liam says, as if this is perfectly normal behavior. “How else would I know it was working?”

Leah shakes her head, looking between the four of us with undisguised curiosity. “How did you all even find each other? You’re so... different.”

An unexpected question, but not an unwelcome one. The others glance at me, silently designating me as the pack historian.

“Caleb and I met in college,” I explain, flipping a pancake with ease. “Business program. We were paired for a project on sustainable startup models.”

“I thought he was an uptight ass,” Caleb adds, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “He thought I was a reckless hothead.”

“We were both right,” I acknowledge dryly.

“But you worked well together,” Leah guesses.

“Terrifyingly well,” I confirm. “Our project won the semester competition. By the time we graduated, we’d already drafted the business plan for the brewery.”

“Then came Liam,” Jude chimes in. “The genius brewing prodigy who couldn’t talk to humans without having a panic attack.”

Liam shoots him a withering look. “I’m socially selective, not anxious.”

“And Jude?” Leah asks, glancing at the most outrageous member of our pack.

“Jude came with the building,” I say with a straight face.

“Hey!” Jude protests.

“He’s not entirely wrong,” Caleb points out. “We found him squatting in what’s now the taproom, claiming it was his ‘creative space.’”

“I was between apartments,” Jude clarifies loftily. “And I had excellent taste in real estate.”

“He’d been using the space to host underground art shows,” Liam explains, his tone suggesting that ‘art’ is a generous description. “Very avant-garde. Very... nude.”

“Performance art,” Jude corrects, unashamed. “And those paintings sold for good money. Which I eventually invested in the brewery, making me a founding partner, thank you very much.”

“We kept him around because he knew everyone in the local art scene,” I explain to Leah. “Turned out to be our best marketing asset.”

“And now?” she asks, looking between us with genuine interest.

“Now we’re Le Roux Craft House,” Caleb says, a hint of pride in his voice. “I handle operations, Mason manages the business side, Liam creates the recipes, and Jude runs the taproom and events.”

“Four random guys who had no business working together,” Jude adds cheerfully, “but somehow created something that works.”

“Like a pack,” Leah says softly, almost to herself.

“Exactly like a pack,” I confirm, meeting her eyes. “Sometimes the right combination just... clicks.”

Something flickers in her expression—recognition, maybe, or understanding. She knows what we’re really saying. What none of us has the balls to say because, I know, none of us wants to spook her.

Baby steps.

Jude gives Leah a long-suffering look. “Now you know what we deal with. Still want to stick around?”

The question, though framed as a joke, carries weight. Leah seems to feel it too, her fingers tightening around her mug as four pairs of eyes turn to her with varying degrees of intensity.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she says finally, honest in a way that makes something in my chest twist. “This is all... a lot.”

“No pressure,” I say before anyone else can speak. “Take all the time you need.”

Breakfast comes together quickly after that—a stack of blueberry pancakes (not too tough, thanks to Leah’s intervention), crispy bacon, scrambled eggs with herbs, and a bowl of fresh fruit. Liam sets out plates and utensils while I arrange everything on the table.

“Sit,” I tell Leah, pulling out a chair for her. “Before it gets cold.”

She hesitates, her gaze darting between the table and the staircase leading back to the nest room. Something in her expression suggests she’s calculating, weighing options, making decisions I can’t quite read.

“Actually,” she says finally, “I think I’ll eat in the... other room.”

She doesn’t say “nest,” I notice. As if naming it would make this situation too real, too permanent.

“I can bring you a tray,” Liam offers, already reaching for one.

“No, I can manage,” she says quickly, filling a plate with pancakes and fruit. “Just... I need a minute. To think.”

The admission costs her—I can see it in the tight set of her shoulders, the way she won’t quite meet any of our eyes. She’s not running, not exactly, but she’s retreating. Creating space.

“Of course,” I say before anyone else can protest. “Take whatever time you need.”

Relief flickers across her features. “Thanks. For breakfast. And the... tea.”

“Do you need help getting back?” Caleb asks, his protective instincts clearly at war with his desire to respect her boundaries.

“I think I can manage to walk down a hallway without assistance,” she says dryly, but softens it with a small smile. “Though I appreciate the concern.”

And then she’s gone, padding down the hallway with her plate and mug, the too-long sleeves of my sweater falling over her hands, her gait just a touch more careful than usual—a subtle reminder of exactly how thoroughly we claimed her the last two nights.

Caleb watches her go, his expression unreadable. “She’s still here,” he says, as if reassuring himself. “She didn’t leave.”

“She’s processing,” I say, taking a seat at the table. “It’s a lot to take in. For anyone.”

“Especially after what we did to her,” Jude adds with a wicked grin. “I’m still not convinced she should be walking.”

“Omegas are remarkably resilient,” Liam informs us while serving himself. “Though I do agree that rest would be optimal for full recovery.”

“She’s not ‘our omega,’” I remind them, though the words feel strange in my mouth after last night. “Her heat broke. She’s under no biological imperative to stay.”

“But she is staying,” Caleb points out, finally taking his own seat. “For now.”

“And wearing Mason’s sweater,” Jude adds, stabbing a forkful of pancake. “Which is basically a declaration of intent in beta language.”

“It’s not—” I begin, then stop, because maybe it is. Maybe offering her my most prized possession was more significant than I’m ready to admit.

“For now,” I finally agree, though the temporary nature of her presence sits uneasily in my chest.

We eat in relative silence after that, each lost in our own thoughts.

Jude, for once, doesn’t fill the quiet with chatter, and even Liam seems more contemplative than usual.

Only Caleb appears genuinely calm, as if Leah’s continued presence in the house—even sequestered in another room—is all the reassurance he needs.

When we’ve finished, Liam and Jude clear the table while I wrap a plate for Leah in case she wants seconds later. Caleb disappears, presumably to shower, and I find myself with a moment to breathe, to process the surreal reality of the past forty-eight hours.

An omega in our home. In our nest. In our lives, possibly, if we don’t scare her away with our collective intensity.

I’m putting away the last of the leftovers when the sudden urge to check on her overtakes me. Not to crowd her or demand answers, just to... see her. Make sure she’s okay.

Despite her protests, heat recovery is no small thing, and the way she’d moved earlier suggested she was in more discomfort than she wanted to admit.

The hallway is quiet as I head toward the nest room, the door slightly ajar. I knock softly, not wanting to startle her.

“Leah? Just checking if you need anything else. Pain reliever, perhaps?”

No answer.

I push the door open a fraction wider, peering inside. The room is dim, the blackout curtains still drawn against the morning light. Pillows and blankets are scattered across the nest in a way that suggests someone had considered it, maybe even lingered for a moment... but it’s empty.

My chest tightens, unease creeping in. Did she leave ?

I step back into the hallway, scanning the dim corridor, and that’s when I notice the faintest glow of light spilling out from Caleb’s room.

Frowning, I make my way toward it, my footsteps soft against the floor. The door is cracked open, and I nudge it gently, peering inside.

She’s there.

Leah is curled up on Caleb’s bed, her small frame nestled beneath his dark gray comforter. Her head rests on one of his pillows, and her breathing is slow and even, her body completely relaxed in sleep.

My pulse slows, the tightness in my chest easing slightly.

But my frown lingers.

The nest was meant to be a comfort, a safe space designed specifically for her. It carries all of our scents—intentionally layered, balanced, welcoming. And yet, she’s here instead, wrapped in Caleb’s scent alone.

Did she not like the nest? Was it too much? Too overwhelming? Or is this... something else?

I step inside quietly, my gaze sweeping the room, taking in the small details. The clothes she’d worn earlier are folded neatly on the chair in the corner. In their place, she’s wearing one of Caleb’s shirts—his black button-down, the sleeves rolled up several times, the hem brushing mid-thigh.

It swallows her whole, the fabric soft and loose around her body.

My jaw tightens slightly, but I push the thought aside. This isn’t about jealousy. Not yet, at least.

Instead, I remind myself that this is Leah. She’s independent, guarded, and fiercely private. Maybe the nest felt too intimate. Maybe Caleb’s room was just... easier.

Or maybe it’s because Caleb has this way of making people feel safe without trying.

I linger for a moment longer, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her hand curls loosely against the pillow. She looks calm now. Peaceful.

But her choice to sleep here instead of the nest nags at me, even as I step back into the hallway and pull the door shut softly behind me.

Whatever this is between us…it’s complicated. Messy. Unpredictable.

And far from over.

In fact, it may have only just begun.