Page 60 of Pack Plus One (Sweetwater City Reverse Harem Omegaverse #1)

LEAH

A week flies by without me noticing. So much to do before the bakery opens and the time is almost here.

Twenty-four hours. We moved up the launch and that’s how long we have until Sweet Omega’s official grand opening. One day that suddenly feels like two minutes thanks to Eric.

“We need to move faster,” I announce to the pack gathered in my bakery. “Everything needs to be perfect by Thursday.”

Caleb emerges from the storage room, carrying a stack of shelving units that he sets down with controlled strength. His forearms flex as he arranges the pieces, and I definitely don’t get distracted watching the movement of muscle under tanned skin. Definitely not.

“The display cases are positioned,” he reports. “Floor has been refinished. Sign is installed. What’s next?”

I consult my mental checklist, which has grown exponentially. “Shelving needs to be assembled, counter area needs final cleaning, menu boards need to be finished, and I need to finalize the opening day selection.”

“I’ll handle the shelves,” Caleb says, already reaching for his drill.

“Menu boards are nearly complete,” Liam calls from the small office where he’s been working on the elegant chalkboard displays. “Just finalizing the specials section.”

“And I’m documenting everything for maximum social impact,” Jude adds, lifting his phone to snap a candid photo of me in my flour-covered apron. “The ‘authentic bakery experience’ aesthetic is very hot right now.”

“Delete that,” I warn, pointing a spatula at him. “I look like I’ve been attacked by a flour bomb.”

“Exactly,” Jude grins, typing something on his screen. “Hashtag bakery life, hashtag flour queen, hashtag sweet omega rising.”

I lunge for his phone, but he dances away with the grace of an alpha who’s spent years avoiding consequences for his actions.

“Too late,” he singsongs. “Already posted to the bakery’s story. Fourteen likes already. The people want authentic, Leah!”

“The people can have authentic when I don’t look like a powdered donut,” I grumble, trying to hide my smile as I return to my cleaning.

Mason glances up from his tablet, his expression shifting to something I’ve come to recognize as his version of concern. “You haven’t slept properly in thirty-six hours,” he observes. “Do you want to take a break? We can handle the work for a bit.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, even as my body betrays me with a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Obviously,” Liam says dryly, appearing in the office doorway with a mug of tea that he sets on the counter near me. “Drink this. It’s chamomile.”

“I don’t need chamomile,” I protest. “I need more hours in the day.”

“What you need,” Caleb says without looking up from the shelf he’s assembling, “is to delegate. You can’t do everything yourself.”

“I’m not doing everything myself,” I point out, gesturing to the four of them scattered around my bakery. “I’m very clearly allowing you all to help.”

“‘Allowing,’” Jude repeats with air quotes. “Like we need permission to help our omega?”

The possessive phrasing makes me blush.

“Fine,” I concede.

“That’s our girl,” Jude grins. “Feminist as fuck while letting us handle the heavy lifting.”

Mason eyes Caleb’s work with barely concealed skepticism. “The angle of that bracket is concerning.”

Caleb grunts, adjusting the piece without argument. For an alpha who growls at most suggestions, he takes Mason’s practical input with surprising grace.

“Has anyone checked on the competition today?” Liam asks, changing the subject with his usual diplomatic timing.

Four pairs of eyes turn toward the front windows, where Alpha Bites is visible across the street. The sleek black and white exterior looks irritatingly professional, with workers inside arranging furniture.

“Eric’s been parading around in there all morning,” Jude reports. “Wearing a suit like he’s opening a bank instead of a bakery. Very ‘I have a trust fund and I’m not afraid to use it’ energy.”

“Has he hired more staff?” I ask, trying to sound casual rather than desperately curious.

“Four betas,” Mason answers promptly. “All female, all conventionally attractive, all wearing identical uniforms that would not be out of place in a 1950s diner.”

I blink at him. “How do you know all that?”

“Reconnaissance,” he shrugs. “I walked by and observed while picking up the receipt paper.”

“Spy beta,” Jude stage-whispers with obvious delight. “Very 007.”

“Practical information gathering,” Mason corrects. “Know thy enemy.”

I turn back to the window, squinting across the street. Sure enough, I can make out several betas in matching outfits arranging pastries in display cases. Something uncomfortable twists in my stomach.

“He’s really going all-in on the traditional bakery concept,” I mutter. “Complete with uniforms and... are those pearl necklaces?”

“Collars would be too obvious,” Jude remarks, earning himself a sharp look from Caleb.

“It’s a marketing strategy,” Liam says calmly, always the voice of reason. “He’s positioning himself as the conservative alternative to your more progressive approach.”

“Well,” I say, straightening my spine, “let’s make sure my progressive approach kicks his traditional ass, shall we?”

Jude whoops, punching the air. “That’s the spirit! Viva la revolución!”

“I’m opening a bakery, not leading an uprising,” I remind him.

“Why not both?” he grins, already typing on his phone. “Sweet Omega: Pastries and Revolution. I’m feeling it.”

By evening, the bakery is ready. The display cases gleam beneath strategic lighting. The seating area looks inviting with its vintage tables and comfortable chairs. The kitchen is organized for maximum efficiency.

It’s beautiful. It’s mine. And I’m absolutely terrified.

“What if no one comes?” I whisper, the fear finally breaking through as we stand in the center of the space, surveying our day’s work.

The pack exchanges a look I can’t quite interpret.

“People will come,” Liam says with quiet certainty.

“But what if they don’t? What if they all go to Alpha Bites instead? What if?—”

“Leah,” Caleb interrupts, his voice gentle but firm. “Stop.”

I take a shaky breath, trying to contain the anxiety threatening to overflow. “I can’t.”

His warm arms envelop me and I can’t help but melt into him.

“We’ll help,” Liam says. “Starting with making sure you actually sleep tonight.”

I glance at the clock, surprised to find it’s already past ten. “I still need to finalize the opening day menu and?—”

“No,” Caleb says simply. “You need to rest. Everything else can wait until morning.”

I want to argue, but my body betrays me with another jaw-cracking yawn. “Fine,” I concede. “But I’m setting an alarm for five.”

“Seven,” Caleb counters.

“Six,” I compromise.

“Home?” Jude repeats, his expression brightening. “As in, the pack house? Our home?”

I feel my cheeks warm. Biting my lip, I give them a small nod.

Jude pumps his fist victoriously but wisely keeps his commentary to himself for once.

We lock up the bakery, and I can’t help casting one last glance across the street at Alpha Bites. The lights are still on, shadows moving behind the windows as Eric’s team continues their preparations. My stomach tightens with renewed anxiety.

“Tomorrow,” Caleb says quietly, his hand finding the small of my back. “Tonight is for rest.”

I nod, letting him guide me to his SUV. The short drive to the pack house passes in comfortable silence, their presence beside me more soothing than any words could be.

The pack house welcomes us with warm light and familiar scents. Despite my protests about needing to review recipes, I find myself drawn to the nest room as soon as we arrive, my body craving the comfort of the space I’ve claimed as my own.

“Shower first,” Liam suggests, gentle but firm. “You’ll sleep better.”

He’s right, of course. I’m covered in a day’s worth of bakery prep—flour in my hair, vanilla extract on my wrists, a suspicious smudge of chocolate on my elbow that I don’t remember acquiring.

The nest’s bathroom is a luxury I’m still getting used to—multiple shower heads, endless hot water, and enough space for... activities that make me blush to think about. I’ve barely turned on the water when there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Leah?” Liam’s voice carries through the steam. “May I join you?”

My pulse quickens. “Yes,” I call back, aware of the flutter in my chest.

He enters, already shirtless, his eyes darkening as they find me. “You’re exhausted,” he says simply. “Let me help.”

He undresses, stepping into the shower. Without a word, he takes the shampoo, pouring a measure into his palm before gesturing for me to turn around.

His fingers are magic against my scalp, working the shampoo into a lather with firm, methodical pressure that makes me groan involuntarily. “Good?” he murmurs, his voice closer to my ear than I expected.

“Mmm,” is all I can manage as tension melts from my shoulders under his attentions.

He works his way down my body with careful hands, washing away flour and fatigue with equal thoroughness. By the time he reaches my thighs, my exhaustion has transformed into a different kind of heaviness, a languid heat pooling low in my belly.

“Liam,” I breathe, leaning back against his chest.

“I know,” he says, his voice a rumble I feel through my skin. One hand slides between my legs, finding me already slick for him. “Let me take care of you.”

His fingers are precise, deliberate, drawing circles exactly where I need them. I arch against him, my head falling back against his shoulder as tension builds with surprising speed. “That’s it,” he encourages, his free arm wrapping around my waist to steady me. “Let go, Leah.”

When I come, it’s with a soft cry that echoes against the tile, my body shuddering in his arms. Before I can recover, he turns me to face him, lifting me with ease. “May I?” he asks, always so careful.

“Yes,” I gasp, wrapping my legs around his waist.