Page 32 of Holly Jolly Heat
"Is there?"
"One is creepy. The other is appreciative cinematography."
She laughed, genuine and unexpected, and the sound made my alpha purr.
We reached the viewpoint, and Michelle had been right. The vista was perfect. Cedar Falls spread below, the valley stretchingtoward distant mountains, everything dusted with snow and catching the morning light.
"It's beautiful," I said, filming.
"I used to come up here when I needed to think. After Dad died. When I was deciding to start my business. Whenever life got overwhelming."
"Do you come here often now?"
"Not as much as I should. I'm always working."
"Maybe that's the problem."
She looked at me. "What is?"
"You're always working. Always running. Never stopping to just... be."
"Being is overrated. Being means feeling things I'd rather not feel."
"Like what?"
"Like grief. Like loss. Like fear." She looked back at the valley. "Like wanting something I'm terrified of having."
My heart clenched. "Us?"
"Yeah. Us." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm scared, Ro. I'm scared of losing control. I'm scared of depending on you and then losing you. I'm scared that if I let myself have this, I'll forget who I am outside of pack."
"My grandmother was an omega," I said quietly. "Bonded to my grandfather, raised three kids, but she was also an artist. Painted every day. Sold her work in galleries. She had her own life, her own identity, completely separate from her pack role."
"How did she balance it?"
"She didn't. Not always. Sometimes pack came first. Sometimes her art came first. Sometimes she had to choose, and sometimes she chose her art." I moved closer to Michelle. "But my grandfather never asked her to be anything other than herself. He supported her shows, watched the kids when sheneeded studio time, bragged about her to everyone. Because he loved who she was, not who he wanted her to be."
"That's what I'm afraid of. That being pack omega means becoming someone I'm not."
"We don't want you to become someone else. We want you. The workaholic. The perfectionist. The woman who stress-bakes at three AM. The manager who fights for her clients like they're family. All of it."
Michelle turned to face me fully. "You keep saying that. But how can you know? You barely know me."
"I know you well enough to be sure." I risked moving closer. "Yes, we keep saying the same things, but that’s just because that’s all we knowso far. We have time to learn the rest. All the time you need."
She looked up at me, and we were close now, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, close enough that her peppermint-pine scent was everywhere, close enough that my alpha was screaming to close the final distance.
"What if this doesn't work?" she whispered.
"What if it does?"
"That's not an answer."
"Sure it is. You're so focused on all the ways this could fail that you're not seeing all the ways it could succeed."
"I'm a planner. I need to prepare for worst-case scenarios."
"And I'm an artist. I need you to see the possibility."
