Jeremy sets down our drinks next. "Peppermint mocha for you—" Me. "Gingerbread latte—" Nash. "Eggnog latte with extra cinnamon—" Grayson. "And you already have your black coffee, no sugar, no cream—" Theo.
"Anything else I can get you folks?"
"We're good, thank you," Grayson says with that polite smile he does.
Jeremy leaves and I take a moment to just appreciate the spread in front of us.
I didn't think it would be this fascinating to have a holiday-themed brunch with three very different Alphas, but I'm already learning so much about them just from their food choices. It's like personality analysis through breakfast orders.
Grayson clearly loves sweet things. His pancakes are absolutely drowning in maple syrup—like, there's more syrup than pancake at this point. The whipped cream is piled so high it's threatening to topple off the stack. He ordered strawberries AND blueberries when most people pick one or the other. He got the eggnog latte which is basically liquid sugar andcinnamon dressed up as coffee. The man has a serious sweet tooth and I kind of love that about him..
Theo, on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, is all about that black coffee and plain pancakes lifestyle. No syrup. No butter. No toppings whatsoever. Just dry pancakes and bitter coffee like he's punishing himself or following some kind of strict military diet that doesn't allow for pleasure. It's fascinating watching him eat plain pancakes while the rest of us are drowning in sugar.
But here's the thing—it makes me secretly blush because he clearly enjoys sweetness in other forms. Specifically the sweetness between my thighs in that supply closet two days ago. The memory hits me suddenly and heat pools low in my belly. The way he ate me out like it was his favorite meal. The way he groaned against my skin like I tasted better than anything on any menu. Apparently Theodore Wright only indulges in sweetness when it's coming from an Omega.
I have to look away from him before I start blushing too obviously. Focus on my food. Don't think about that supply closet. Don't think about his mouth. Don't think about—nope. Moving on.
Nash is the perfect middle ground between Grayson's sugar addiction and Theo's ascetic tendencies. Only one cream and one sugar in his coffee—not sweet but not bitter. Balanced. He ordered the gingerbread pancakes which are festive and fun but not overly sugary. They come with a good mix of protein and carbs. Practical but still enjoyable. That tracks perfectly with his personality from what I've seen so far—the smooth-talking lawyer who knows how to find middle ground. Confident but not overbearing. Charming but not fake.
We pause the conversation to eat. There's something really nice about this—just enjoying food together in comfortable silence broken only by the ambient sounds of the diner.The clink of forks on ceramic plates. The sounds of chewing and occasional satisfied hums when someone tastes something particularly good. Grayson makes this little noise of contentment when he tastes his pancakes that makes me want to smile—it's adorable and genuine and unselfconscious.
The peppermint mocha is absolutely amazing. Sweet and minty and chocolatey in perfect proportions with real whipped cream on top—not that artificial stuff from a can. There's crushed candy cane sprinkled over the whipped cream that adds this satisfying crunch. The pancakes are fluffy and light—that perfect texture where they're cooked all the way through but still have that pillowy softness. The bacon is crispy exactly how I like it with just a hint of maple sweetness. The sausage is seasoned perfectly with sage and pepper.
This might legitimately be the best breakfast I've had in months. Maybe years. When you're broke, you eat a lot of ramen and off-brand cereal and whatever's marked down in the clearance section. Day-old bread. Dented cans. The bruised fruit nobody else wants. Sitting here with actual hot food cooked fresh and good coffee that doesn't taste like burnt water feels like absolute luxury. Like I'm living someone else's life for an hour.
I watch the three of them eat too. Grayson cuts his pancakes into perfect little squares before eating them—methodical and precise. Theo eats his plain pancakes with military efficiency—fork, cut, bite, repeat, no wasted movements. Nash is more relaxed, occasionally stealing glances at his phone between bites like he's checking work emails even during breakfast.
Their scents are all mixing together with the diner smells and it's surprisingly pleasant instead of overwhelming. Maple-honey from Grayson. Cedar-smoke from Theo. Motor-oil-and-leather from Nash. Combined with coffee and syrup and bacon and cinnamon it creates this cozy atmosphere that makes mefeel safe and comfortable in a way I haven't felt in a really long time.
We eat in companionable silence for maybe ten minutes. Long enough to take the serious edge off our hunger. Long enough for me to feel more human and less like I'm going to pass out from low blood sugar and stress and general life chaos.
But then I notice we're all just kind of playing with our food. Pushing it around our plates. Making patterns in syrup. Clearly full enough that eating more feels like work.
Time to get down to business.
"Okay," I say, setting down my fork with finality. "Let's talk details. Because I need to understand what I apparently agreed to without actually agreeing to it."
Nash pulls out his phone, swipes a few times, then holds it up. "I took photos of the contract. Want me to read it?"
He took photos of the contract. That's actually smart. Lawyer brain in action.
"Yes please."
He clears his throat, squinting at his phone screen. "'The contracted pack'—that's us—'agrees to participate in no less than twelve documented Christmas activities with the Omega influencer over the course of the six-week contract period.'"
Twelve activities. Six weeks. That's... actually not that bad? Two activities per week basically.
I think about it, looking at each of them in turn. Grayson with syrup on his bottom lip that he hasn't noticed yet. Theo sitting perfectly still like he's on guard duty. Nash with his phone held up like a shield.
"Okay, so three activities each," I say, doing quick math in my head. "That's easy. We can figure that out. Next."
Nash scrolls. "'All activities must be documented through photos or video and posted to the agreed social media platforms within forty-eight hours of completion.'"
So they want proof we're actually doing this. Makes sense from a business perspective. Can't fake Christmas content if there's no content.
"Easy enough," I say. "I already post to Instagram and TikTok daily. This just gives me more material."
Nash continues. "'The Omega influencer will continue her established content schedule, including but not limited to book recommendations, holiday aesthetic content, and the Twelve Days of Christmas campaign running December thirteenth through the twenty-fourth.'"
