I turn on the tap, adjust the temperature dial until the water runs perfectly warm—not too hot to hurt my hands but hot enough to cut through the butter and sugar residue—and add a generous squirt of the lodge's fancy lavender dish soap that smells amazing and creates excellent bubbles.
I start washing everything methodically, working from least dirty to most dirty like my grandmother taught me. The warm water feels good on my hands, soothing and comfortable. The routine of cleaning is oddly meditative and satisfying, watching dirty things become clean again through simple repetitive effort.
I'm scrubbing a particularly stubborn mixing bowl—the big stainless steel one I used for the initial dough mixing—when I suddenly feel strong arms wrap around me from behind. Warm, solid, unmistakably Alpha arms encircling my waist carefully and pulling me back gently but firmly against a broad chest.
I pause mid-scrub, soapy suds dripping from my hands back into the sink with soft splashing sounds. My heart does a little happy skip in my chest.
I look over my shoulder to see who's decided to join me in the kitchen, though the scent already told me—maple and honey with that underlying warmth that's distinctly, uniquely Grayson.
Grayson.
His honey-hazel eyes are warm and soft and affectionate, his dark hair slightly mussed and sticking up in places like he literally just rolled out of bed. He's wearing a simple white t-shirt that hugs his shoulders and shows off his arms in a way that makes my mouth go slightly dry, paired with comfortable gray sweatpants.
Bed-rumpled Grayson is dangerously attractive. Should come with a warning label. 'Caution: May cause heart palpitations and loss of coherent thought.'
I beam at his arrival, genuine happiness and affection flooding through me like warm honey.
"Oh! You're finally awake! You were napping again! That's like the third nap today!"
He chuckles warmly, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating into my back where I'm pressed snugly against him.
"I have been doing that way too often lately. Sleeping at weird random hours, napping constantly, becoming absolutely terrible at maintaining any kind of normal schedule or routine."
"That's actually a really good thing," I say firmly, turning back to the dishes but staying comfortably in his embrace,enjoying the warmth of him against my back. "Winter is when you can actually slow down properly and listen to what your body needs. You should absolutely take advantage of that and get all the rest your body is clearly asking for. You work so hard the rest of the year writing and editing and managing deadlines."
His arms tighten slightly around me in response.
Affectionate. Protective. Content.
Like he's exactly where he wants to be.
"Have you been getting any actual writing done during all this rest?" I ask curiously, genuinely interested in his creative process. "Or have you just been sleeping,reading, and existing peacefully?"
He smirks—I can't see his face but I can absolutely hear it in his voice.
"A little bit of writing, actually. Been working on that idea you were talking about so enthusiastically the other day."
My heart does a little flip of excitement.
"The Knotty Christmas Wish story? You're actually writing it? Not just thinking about it but actually putting words on the page?"
"That's the one," he confirms warmly. "And weren't you also talking about another concept? Something about... The Omega's Nest Cafe?"
"Yes!" I turn off the tap immediately, excitement making me forget about dishes entirely. I turn in his arms to face him properly, my wet soapy hands dripping water onto the floor between us but I don't even care. "I've been thinking about it constantly, actually. It would be so wonderful to have a whole connected string of books with different holiday tropes but also stories specifically for us Omegas, you know?"
He's listening intently, his full undivided attention on me in a way that makes me feel seen and valued and important.
His hands rest comfortably on my waist, thumbs rubbing small unconscious circles.
"Like stories about virgin Omegas who are nervous and scared about their first pack," I continue, the ideas flowing freely now that someone is actually listening and interested. "Or second chance romance for Omegas who are newly divorced or widowed and think they'll never find love again. Or Omegas running away from abuse situations and finding healing and safety. Omegas who think they're fundamentally broken or damaged but discover they're actually perfect exactly as they are."
My voice gets softer, more emotional, more personal.
"It would be really meaningful for Omegas to read stories where they're genuinely beloved and cherished and protected from real threats. Where their Alphas actually fight for them and defend them instead of just... letting bad things happen or being part of the problem."
Where they're valued.
Where they matter.
