Cali
I am starving, and there’s absolutely nothing to eat in this whole house.
I’m not saying there’s no food. There’s oodles and oodles of food. The fridge is fully stocked, the pantry has everything I could ever want. From loaded carbs to sugary confections. There are also cooking devices of every kind at my fingertips. Do I want to air fry something? Check. Microwave? Sure. Pressure cooker? Besides my fear that it will explode—why not?
The issue is that I—or rather the baby growing at a crazy rate in my belly—have no idea what I should eat. Everything sounds delicious, but when I focus on one single thing, it no longer sounds good.
That’s why I’m sifting through my food stock at two o’clock in the morning on Christmas Eve. Or is it technically Christmas Day at this point? I’m trying to be quiet, but I must not be as stealthy as I hope, because three sleepy-eyed alphas stumble into the kitchen.
“Raindrop, you okay?” Bax asks, his brown eyes heavy with sleep. Connor is right behind him, hands threading throughhis tousled red hair, and Seth behind him—his chiseled chest gleaming in the low kitchen light, jogger pants slung low on his hips.
A high omega whine slips past my lips before I can stop it, and all three alphas snap to attention, any traces of sleep disappearing from their features. I instantly feel terrible. Just because the baby’s keeping me up doesn’t mean we should all suffer. I bury my face in my hands. My emotions feel like a roller coaster taking me around sharp turns every few moments.
Large, strong hands gently pull mine away from my face. Bax is right in front of me, crowding in so that I’m surrounded by his woodsmoke scent.
“Don’t you dare feel bad,” he commands.
“I just feel like I’m keeping you all awake. It’s not fair.”
Seth quirks an eyebrow at me. “Fairness has nothing to do with it, Precious. We’re a team. We support each other. You’re pregnant, and we want to do whatever we can to support you.”
I take a deep, calming breath. We’ve already been over all of this, but I love that they’re so willing to say it as many times as I need for it to sink in.
“So, let’s figure out what baby wants tonight. Last time it was eggs and ketchup. That sound good tonight?” he asks.
I cringe.
“I’ll take that as a no.” He chuckles.
Bax sits at the table and I sit in the chair next to him while Connor and Seth pull out random food combos and present them to me. Bax’s hand rests on my knee, drawing soothing circles into it with his thumb.
Peanut butter and Oreos? No. Strawberries and Parmesan cheese? No. Bananas and mayo? No—and the list goes on. Just as I’m about to melt into an uncontrollable puddle of hunger and frustration, the perfect pair is presented.
Seth throws some frozen fries in the air fryer, and Connor scoops out a bowl of vanilla ice cream. Once the fries are done, we all sit around scooping them into the ice cream like a soft-serve condiment. It hits the spot—salty and sweet, cold and hot.
“Soooo…” Seth draws out the word. “Since we’re awake, maybe this would be a good time to broach the name topic?” he asks hesitantly.
I grumble, and Connor chuckles. Bax sighs. In so many ways, our pack runs smoothly. We all agree on how we like to spend our spare time, what foods we like, where to go on vacation. But when it comes to baby names, we’ve been completely at odds. Bax likes 90s names, like Ashley or Nick. Connor likes unpronounceable Irish and Scottish names that I couldn’t properly spell if my life depended on it. And Seth’s been the worst, preferring old-fashioned names that immediately evoke images of smoking old ladies on their porches and misogynistic men.
And me? I have no idea what I like. As it turns out, it’s easy to like names when you don’t have the pressure of knowing that a human will be attached to that name for life.
“Don’t panic. It’s not that kind of talk,” Seth assures me, clearly reading the weary skepticism on my face. “What if we did something a little different?”
It’s Bax’s turn to quirk an eyebrow. “Different how?”
Seth goes to our designated junk drawer and pulls out a pad of paper and a pen. Then he grabs a bowl from the cupboard.
“Everybody, write down five names,” he says, then starts writing. We all glance at each other before shrugging and starting. Then we tear off the names and fold them before putting them in the bowl per Seth’s instructions. He mixes them with a flourish before setting the bowl in the middle of the table between us.
“Now we pick a piece of paper, and whatever name we get, we have to say to the baby. If the baby reacts, then that name goes into the finals.”
I can’t help a small smile. Seth is always so guileless, and right now his face is so open and hopeful that none of us could ever say no.
I, as the carrier of said pup, have the honor of the first pick.
I blanch when I read it in my head.
“Out loud,” Seth reminds me with a grin.
