Page 27 of Holly Jolly Heat
"You've arranged those camera batteries three times."
I looked down at the perfectly aligned row of batteries on the dresser. "I'm ensuring optimal accessibility."
"You're spiraling."
I gave up the pretense and sat on the bed. "She set ground rules. Professional boundaries. Slow. Time to figure things out."
"Which is reasonable."
"Which is torture." I ran a hand through my hair, dislodging my baseball cap. "Do you know how long I've been talking to her? Six months of emails. Six months of inside jokes and efficient communication and feeling like I'd found someone who understood how I think. And then I meet her and she's?—"
"Everything," Dex finished quietly.
"Everything," I agreed. "And now I have to be patient and professional and not overwhelm her when every instinct says claim, protect, keep."
"Welcome to the club. Lucas is baking stress cookies with her right now trying not to combust from proximity."
Despite everything, I smiled. "How's that going?"
"He's covered in flour and looking at her like she hung the moon. So, about as well as expected."
I stood and went to the window. It overlooked the backyard, the massive Douglas fir, the barn, the workshop. Beyond that, forest. The property was beautiful, peaceful.
"I keep thinking about her emails," I said quietly. "All those months, we were building something. She just didn't know it was pack."
"She knows now."
"And she's terrified." I turned back to Dex. "What if we can't prove we're worth the risk? What if her career really is more important than the bond?"
"Then we respect that," Dex said firmly. "But Ro, she invited us here. She's not running anymore. That means something."
He was right. Michelle had stopped running. That was progress.
I just had to be patient enough to let her set the pace.
The next morning, I woke early, old habits from years of chasing the perfect light for shots. The house was quiet, dawn just starting to paint the sky outside my window.
I grabbed my camera and headed downstairs, thinking I'd scout the property for potential filming locations. If Michelle agreed to let Lucas stream from here, I'd need to know the best spots for natural light, for framing, for that cozy aesthetic Lucas's viewers loved.
The kitchen light was on.
I paused in the doorway, and there she was.
Michelle stood at the counter in pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt, her dark hair loose and messy, no makeup, making coffee with the kind of automatic movements that spoke of routine. She looked soft and unguarded and absolutely beautiful.
She hadn't seen me yet.
I should have announced myself. Should have made noise, given her warning, respected her space.
Instead, I watched her for a moment, memorizing the way she moved in her safe space, the way the early morning light caught her profile, the way her scent (peppermint and pine, with none of the sharp panic from Pike Place) filled the kitchen like welcome.
She was home. This was her territory, her nest in a way. And she'd let us into it.
My alpha purred softly.
Michelle's head snapped up, her eyes meeting mine across the kitchen.
For a moment, we just stared at each other. Her guard was completely down, her professional mask nowhere in sight. This was Michelle before the world, before the walls, just... her.
