Page 21 of Holly Jolly Heat
"She invited us anyway," Dex countered.
"Because she's brave," I said. "She's absolutely terrified, and she invited us anyway."
"So we prove she made the right choice," Dex said firmly. "We prove we're worth the risk."
We split up to claim our rooms. Mine was cheerful and blue, with a comfortable-looking bed and a window overlooking the backyard. I could see the massive Douglas fir, the barn, the workshop. It was perfect for establishing shots if Michelle agreed to let me stream from here.
Not that streaming was the priority. Michelle was the priority.
But still. The content possibilities were excellent.
I unpacked quickly. I'd brought way too much stuff because I'd panic-packed at five AM. Then I went to find my pack.
Ro was in his green room doing the same, his professional camera already set up on the dresser. Dex was in the study, which had been converted into a guest room with a daybed, but still had bookshelves and a desk.
"This house has good bones," Dex observed. "Security's decent. Exits are clear. Neighborhood seems safe."
"Not everything's a security assessment," Ro said, but he was smiling.
"Everything's a security assessment when our omega is involved."
Our omega.
The words made something in my chest warm.
"Do you think she'll actually hear us out?" I asked. "Or is she going to spend the whole time trying to keep us at professional distance?"
"She'll hear us out," Ro said confidently. "She wouldn't have invited us otherwise."
"She's scared of losing her business," Dex added. "That's valid. We need to show her we won't let that happen."
"How do we do that?"
"By being patient. By proving pack bonds can be professional assets. By letting her set the pace." Dex looked at me pointedly. "Can you do that? Let her set the pace?"
"I'll try," I said honestly. "But she's my omega. Our omega. Every instinct says claim, protect, keep. It's hard to override that."
"I know," Ro said quietly. "But we have to. She needs us to be more than just our instincts."
A knock on the study door interrupted us. Maya poked her head in.
"Lunch is ready. Mom says to come down before Bill eats all the tortillas himself." She grinned. "Also, Michelle's stress-cooking. She made three desserts. You're going to want to pace yourselves."
"Michelle stress-cooks?" I asked.
"When she's anxious, she bakes. Usually in the middle of the night." Maya's expression softened. "She's been stress-baking since she got here three days ago. We have enough cookies to supply the whole town."
The image of Michelle in the kitchen at three AM, working through her anxiety by creating something, made my chest ache.
We followed Maya downstairs to find the dining room table absolutely loaded with food. Bill had made what looked like his entire Mexican repertoire, enchiladas, rice, beans, fresh tortillas, several salsas. And yes, there were three desserts on the sideboard. Cookies, brownies, and what looked like a homemade pie. I couldn’t wait to try all of them.
Michelle was already seated, looking slightly mortified.
"I stress-bake," she said defensively. "Mom told you, didn't she?"
"Maya did," I admitted, sliding into the seat across from her. "For what it's worth, I stress-game. Built an entire virtual village last night instead of sleeping."
Something in her expression softened. "The midnight architecture stream? I watched it."
