He works silently, efficiently, his movements precise. No tutorials, no brute force, just calm competence. Within two minutes—two fucking minutes—the water stops flowing. He reassembles the handle, tests it, and stands.
“It needed a new washer,” he says, wiping his hands on a towel. “The old one was worn.”
“That’s what I said,” I point out, feeling ridiculous and juvenile and hating myself for it.
“Yes,” Miles agrees, utterly deadpan. “After you flooded the bathroom.”
Caleb snorts, then covers it with a cough when I glare at him.
“Thank you,” Elle says, directing her gratitude to Miles. “All of you, actually. For trying to help.”
I notice she’s biting her lip, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She’s trying not to laugh. At me. At this entire ridiculous situation. Three powerful Alphas reduced to squabbling over a leaky faucet while she watches from the doorway.
“Happy to be of service,” Caleb says with an exaggerated bow, water still dripping from his hair. “Always willing to get wet for a good cause.”
Elle makes a choking sound, and then she’s actually laughing—a bright, unexpected sound that catches me off guard. It’s not her polite, professional laugh that she uses in meetings. It’s real, unguarded, bubbling up from somewhere genuine.
“I’m sorry,” she gasps, trying to compose herself. “It’s just—the three of you—and the water?—”
She dissolves into laughter again, and something in my chest tightens at the sight. I’ve never seen her like this, defenses down, eyes bright with genuine amusement. It transforms her face, softens the professional mask she always wears.
I should be irritated. I’m soaking wet, my dignity in tatters, my attempt to help her turned into a comedy of errors. But instead, I find myself transfixed by the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs, the slight dimple that appears in her left cheek, the musical quality of her unrestrained amusement.
“You’re encouraging them,” I say, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.
She covers her mouth with her hand, eyes still dancing. “I’m sorry. Really. It’s just... not what I expected when I mentioned the leaky faucet.”
“What did you expect?” Caleb asks, leaning against the doorframe with casual grace despite being drenched.
“I don’t know. Maybe a quick call to maintenance?” She glances between us, humor still brightening her expression. “Not an Alpha showdown in my bathroom.”
“Alpha-Off: Plumbing Edition,” Caleb suggests, grinning. “Coming soon to reality TV.”
Even Miles’s mouth quirks slightly at that. The tension in the room shifts, transforming from competitive to something almost... companionable. All because Elle is laughing, the sound breaking through our Alpha posturing like sunlight through storm clouds.
“We should clean this up,” I say, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. Over myself.
“I’ll get towels,” Elle offers, moving toward a linen cabinet.
“I’ve got it,” I insist, stepping forward too quickly. My foot slides on the wet floor, and I nearly lose my balance. Elle reaches out instinctively, her hand catching my arm to steady me.
The contact is brief, innocent, but it sends electricity racing through my system. Her scent intensifies with the proximity, vanilla and coconut and something citrusy that makes my mouth water. Her blockers are failing more rapidly than I’d realized.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, everything else falls away—Caleb, Miles, the flooded bathroom, the approaching storm of her heat. There’s just Elle, her dark eyes wide, her hand on my arm, her scent filling my senses.
I see the moment awareness hits her. She pulls back, cheeks flushing, professionalism reasserting itself like armor. “Sorry,” she murmurs, retreating a step. “Didn’t want you to fall.”
“Thank you,” I manage, voice rougher than intended.
An awkward silence descends, broken only by the sound of dripping water.
“Right,” Caleb says, clapping his hands together. “Clean-up time. Elle, why don’t you take a break in the living room while we fix the mess we made? Least we can do.”
For once, I find myself agreeing with him. “He’s right. We’ll handle this.”
Elle hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of three Alphas in her personal space, but equally uncomfortable with the alternative—remaining in close quarters with us while her biology is increasingly difficult to ignore.
“If you’re sure,” she says finally. “I could use some tea anyway.”
