These are my grandmother's infamous gingerbread sugar cookie recipe—the ones everyone in our neighborhood used to beg for every Christmas season—and they're turning out perfectly. The dough texture was exactly right, the shapes held their definition during cutting, and if the incredible smell currently filling the entire cabin is any indication, they're going to taste absolutely amazing.
The entire cabin smells incredible—mouthwatering, actually. Warm spices creating a complex aromatic symphony: cinnamon and ginger providing the base notes, nutmeg and cloves adding depth and complexity, all mixed with rich melted butter and sweet brown sugar and pure vanilla extract. That distinctive, unmistakable Christmas cookie scent that makes everything feel cozy and nostalgic and safe and like childhood memories wrapped in comfort and love.
Grandpa would be so proud.
He always said I inherited Grandma's baking talent, that I had her gift for making things taste like home. I wish he could see me now, finally using her cherished recipe again after years of being too sad to try, too afraid I'd mess it up and lose that connection to her memory.
The timer on my phone dings softly—ten minutes until I need to check on this batch.
Perfect timing.
We're stuck here at Winter Pine Lodge thanks to the absolutely massive blizzard that hit hard and fast three days ago. What was supposed to be one cozy night has turned into an extended multi-day stay that we definitely didn't plan for, but honestly? It's been really comforting and smooth and almost magical. Way better than it has any right to be.
The blizzard dumped almost two feet of heavy wet snow in thirty-six continuous hours. The roads are still being systematically cleared by the county snowplows working around the clock. Highway 7—the main route back to Oakridge Hollow—won't be safe for travel until tomorrow morning at the earliest according to the latest weather reports and road condition updates that Theo checks obsessively every few hours.
So we're essentially cozy lodge prisoners, which sounds way worse than the reality actually is. Patricia has been absolutely wonderful, constantly checking on us, making sure we have everything we need, giving us significant discounts on the extended stay since it wasn't our choice to remain here.
Three full days with all three Alphas.
Three days of learning new things constantly, creating content that people actually engage with, reading by the massive stone fireplace in the main lounge, playing competitive board games that get hilariously intense, having epic snowball fights between storm surges when visibility improves, and just... existing together.Peacefully. Happily. Contentedly.Without drama or tension or anyone making me feel like I'm doing everything wrong or being too much or not enough.
It's been like living in a bubble. A perfect little snow globe where nothing bad can reach us and we can just be ourselves without external pressure or expectations or threats.
I've gotten the proper hang of TikTok now—really understanding how the algorithm works, learning optimal posting times for maximum engagement, figuring out which trending sounds and hashtags actually align with my content instead of just jumping on whatever's popular. Theo has been incredibly patient teaching me editing techniques on my beautiful new MacBook, showing me transitions and effects and how to color-grade for consistent aesthetic.
And somehow, miraculously, almost unbelievably, my TikTok account has absolutely exploded to 10,000 followers.
Ten thousand. Ten thousand actual real people following my content specifically. Watching my videos regularly. Engaging with my posts through likes and comments and shares. Waiting for my next upload. It feels completely surreal every single time I check the numbers and they keep climbing.
Kael said no one would ever care about my silly ideas. That I was wasting time on 'childish dreams' instead of focusing on practical things like cooking and cleaning. But look at this. Ten thousand people care. Ten thousand people want to see what I create.
And my brand new Instagram account that I carefully set up just two days ago following Theo's detailed instructions about bio optimization and profile aesthetics?
Already blowing up faster than I ever imagined possible. My very first post—a carefully curated photo of me doing Pilates in the Sunrise Wellness Studio with the stunning snowy forest view providing a gorgeous natural backdrop—has over 5,000 likes and counting, plus hundreds of encouraging comments.
The guys all had to collectively approve the photo before I posted it, which was both incredibly sweet and slightly ridiculous in hindsight. They huddled around my phone like some kind of pack approval committee, seriously debatingangles and lighting and what was visible and what message it sent.
"Not too seductive," Nash had ruled finally after intense deliberation, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "But definitely empowering for Omegas who want to get into Pilates and other fitness classes without feeling intimidated. Shows genuine strength and impressive flexibility without being overly sexual or male-gaze oriented. Good choice, Reverie."
Theo had nodded in firm agreement, then added with his typical tactical thinking, "You should seriously consider starting running drills or incorporating other varied fitness content too. You're genuinely fast, Reverie. Faster than you realize or give yourself credit for. That's extremely marketable content—showing Omegas they can be athletic and strong and capable, not just traditionally feminine and delicate."
Grayson had just smiled warmly and said, "Whatever you post, they'll love it. You're authentic and that's what people are hungry for."
I've been actively thinking about various fitness activities I could showcase going forward. Running and sprinting drills, definitely—especially since Theo keeps saying I have natural speed. Maybe some beginner-friendly strength training focused on functional movements. Yoga flows that emphasize flexibility and mindfulness. Hiking content once winter passes and trails are accessible again.
I did casually mention yesterday that I've always wanted to try pole dancing fitness classes—purely for the athletic aspect, the incredible core strength and flexibility training, the artistry of movement—and all three of them immediately, simultaneously, in perfect unison said "Hell no" with matching expressions of absolute horrified rejection.
Which was honestly hilarious.
Their synchronized horror and instant agreement was comedy gold. I wish I'd recorded their faces.
But then I'd pointed out with deliberate innocence that learning pole fitness would mean I could eventually give them private pole dances in the comfort and privacy of our home, and they'd all immediately paused mid-protest, exchanged those loaded meaningful Alpha looks, and revised their position to "We'll think about it very carefully and discuss the pros and cons thoroughly."
So predictably cute. So transparently Alpha. Possessiveness mixed with desire mixed with the realization that private performances might be worth the risk of me learning. They're so easy to read sometimes.
I hum contentedly to myself—some Christmas carol that's been persistently stuck in my head all morning, maybe 'Silver Bells' or 'Winter Wonderland'—as I turn my attention to the disaster zone of dishes currently piled high in the large farmhouse-style sink. Mixing bowls of various sizes, measuring cups with sticky residue, spatulas covered in dough, an entire collection of cookie cutters in festive shapes, all liberally covered in sticky dough remnants and fine flour dust.
Baking is fun but the cleanup is always a nightmare. Worth it though. Definitely worth it for the end result.
