We're all tracking her reaction with the kind of attention usually reserved for opposing counsel about to make a critical argument in court.
The kind where everything hinges on their next words.
Her fingers are fidgeting with her napkin. Twisting it into knots. She does that when she's anxious—I've noticed since she’sbeen awake. Little nervous habits that give away what she's feeling even when she's trying to hide it.
"Stay with you," she repeats slowly, like she's testing the words on her tongue. Making sure she heard correctly. "For the holiday season."
"Yes."
"Live with you. In your house. For weeks." Her voice is getting higher with each repetition.
More disbelieving.
"That's generally what staying means, yeah."
I'm trying to keep my tone light, casual, like this isn't a huge deal. Like we haven't just offered to let an Omega we barely know—have known for literally two days—move into our space for over a month. Like my hindbrain isn't currently doing backflips and victory laps at the idea of her scent in our house, her presence in our territory, her things mixed with ours, her belonging with us even temporarily.
Because that's what Alphas do, right?
We lose our minds over Omegas who smell good and look at us with wide eyes and make us want to provide and protect and claim.
I've seen it happen to other Alphas. Watched them fall hard and fast and completely.
Never thought it would happen to me.
Apparently I was wrong.
She blinks a few times. Then it seems to settle into her mind—the reality of what we're offering sinking in slowly. What it means. The implications. The fact that three Alphas she barely knows are offering her a place to stay for weeks.
"No." She shakes her head emphatically, blonde honey-colored hair swinging with the movement. "No, I can't do that. That would be invading your space, especially during the holidays!"
There she goes. Putting everyone else first.
Worrying about inconveniencing us instead of accepting help she desperately needs.
It's admirable and frustrating in equal measure.
"You need to spend time with your families and do holiday stuff!" she continues, gesturing emphatically with her fork.
A piece of pancake goes flying and lands on the table between us. She doesn't notice. "Activities and traditions! You can't possibly have me in your space…i—i-it would mess everything up!"
Activities and traditions. Right.
If only she knew how empty our holidays usually are. Three Alphas sitting around doing nothing because we've never figured out how to celebrate properly without it feeling forced or fake.
I exchange a look with Grayson and Theo.
One of those silent pack conversations where we're all thinking the same thing.
We should tell her. She needs to know what she's getting into.
Or rather, what she's not getting into.
"We don't have any traditions," Grayson says quietly.
Reverie's fork stops halfway to her mouth. "What?"
"We don't really celebrate Christmas," I add, watching her face carefully.
