Page 26 of Holly Jolly Heat
"It's not simple. But it's possible." I looked at her. "You're brilliant, Michelle. You built a company from nothing. You solve impossible problems every day. This is just another problem to solve."
"That's what my mom said."
"Your mom's smart."
"My mom's a menace who's probably listening at the door right now."
"I'm not listening!" came Janet's voice from the hallway. "I'm just passing by! To the bathroom! Which is in the complete opposite direction!"
Michelle sighed, but she was smiling.
We baked in comfortable silence for a while, and I let myself just exist in this moment. In Michelle's family kitchen, making cookies with my omega, no pressure or expectations or complications. Just this.
"Thank you," Michelle said quietly as we put the first tray in the oven.
"For what?"
"For not pushing. For respecting my boundaries. For sending thoughtful gifts instead of showing up demanding I acknowledge the bond." She looked at me. "For being patient."
"You're worth being patient for."
"You don't really know me yet."
"I know you fight for your clients like they're family. I know you're brilliant at strategy. I know you stress-bake at three AM. I know you built a business on your own terms." I held her gaze. "And I know that when I saw you at Pike Place Market, everything in me said 'home.' That's enough to be patient for."
Michelle's eyes were bright, and for a moment, I thought she might close the distance between us. Might let herself lean into what we could be.
Instead, the oven timer went off.
"Cookies are ready," she said, breaking eye contact. "First batch."
I let her retreat into the practical task, but I felt like we'd made progress. Small steps. Building trust.
Ro had been right. This was going to take time.
But as I watched Michelle carefully remove perfectly golden cookies from the oven, her scent warm and sweet and filling the kitchen, I knew with absolute certainty:
She was worth waiting for.
However long it took.
FOUR
Ro
I'd been in love with Michelle for six months before I ever met her.
Not that I'd realized it at the time. I'd told myself our email rapport was just good professional chemistry. That I looked forward to her messages because she was efficient and competent. That I reread her responses because I was checking for details, not because I enjoyed the way she structured her thoughts.
I'd been lying to myself spectacularly well.
Then I'd caught her at Pike Place Market, and every careful lie I'd built had shattered instantly.
Now I was unpacking my camera equipment in her childhood home, trying to be calm and professional while my alpha screamed that our omega was thirty feet away behind a closed door.
"You're spiraling," Dex observed from the doorway of my green guest room.
"I'm organizing."
