Page 7 of In Stockings
Lyra, though, is a little charmer, cutting straight through the bullshit and inviting the omega out with us. We should’ve taken her along on dates before.
Lyra now has her hands wrapped around a porcelain unicorn, and Archie’s shoulders sag. “Fine, I will get Granny that.”
“Yay,” Lyra coos, dropping it into my basket.
“Are we done here?” I ask.
The others nod, and we go to pay at the checkout.
Outside it’s already dark, and a cold wind bites at our noses. Lyra huddles in Archie’s arms, burying her face in his neck.
“Maybe she’s not going to show?” I mutter.
Lyra pops her head out, crinkling her face against the wind. “TwinkleToes? She’ll come. She liked you guys, and she liked me.”
I tug one of her pigtails. I wish I could be so sure.
“Look, here she comes,” Lyra points towards the hospital's main doors as the omega comes scurrying out, lost in the layers of a huge pink coat.
Unfortunately, the ears have gone.
“Cool coat!” Lyra says as Astrid stops before us. “Can I get one?”
“Maybe Santa will buy you one.” Astrid smiles at our girl and then at us. “Hi.”
“Hey,” I say as she falls into step alongside me as we stroll down the high street to Lyra’s favourite Italian restaurant around the corner. It’s owned by a pack we got friendly with a few years back.
“So,” I whisper to her, “where can three men get their hands on a white unicorn with a pink mane and rainbow wings.”
“The word on the street,” Astrid whispers back, “is that the gift shop in the hospital sells them in their toy department. But you’d better get there quick. They’re flying off the shelves.”
“Useful intel. Thanks.”
She laughs, and I hold the restaurant door open for her, inhaling her scent as she slips underneath my arm.
Dylan, the owner, spots us and waves us over to our usual table near the back of the restaurant. Lyra slides along one of the benches, tugging Astrid along with her. When Samson tries to take the space next to Astrid, Lyra shoos him away.
“No, boys have to sit on that side.”
“Why?” I ask.
“It’s the rules,” she says with a knowing look. The three of us shuffle along the opposite bench, our elbows knocking against each other. It’s cramped but gives me a perfect view of the little omega.
The ears aren’t the only things missing. She’s scrubbed off the rosy cheeks, and she’s wearing jeans and a loose shirt, the buttons undone to reveal a flash of ample cleavage.
I force my eyes away, accepting a menu from Dylan as he returns a few moments later with colouring books and felt tip pens for Lyra.
“How are you doing today, Princess Lyra?”
“Good. I just saw Santa.”
“Wow, lucky girl.”
“And we met TwinkleToes,” she points to Astrid, who blushes adorably. “We brought her with us. She needs new socks, though. Hers have holes in them.”
Dylan shakes his head slowly as if trying to make sense of those words and hands out menus.
“I already know what I’m having,” Lyra says, pulling a lid from a pink pen.
