"You look like death warmed over," Mila announces cheerfully from behind the espresso machine, where she's putting the finishing touches on a complicated latte order. "Very pretty death, but death nonetheless."
"Thanks," I mutter, wiping the back of my hand across my forehead. "I feel... eekie. And hot. Like I'm coming down with a fever or something."
Mila pauses in her latte art, shooting me a look that's equal parts knowing and amused. "A fever. Right. Has nothing to do with the fact that you stopped your suppressants two weeks ago and your body is finally catching up with the decision."
Oh.
Oh no.
I hadn't even considered that. I'd been so focused on the emotional aspects of going off suppressants--the vulnerability of it, the trust it represented, the anticipation of finally sharing a heat with my pack--that I'd somehow forgotten about the physical reality. Heats don't announce themselves with a polite invitation and an RSVP card. They sneak up on you, building slowly until suddenly you're a flushed, needy mess who can barely function.
"That's not--" I start, but even as I say it, I know she's probably right. The warmth, the sensitivity, the way my Omega instincts have been purring contentedly every time I catch a whiff of my Alphas' scents... all signs that my body is preparing for something.
"Go home," Mila says firmly, sliding the finished latte across to the waiting customer with a practiced smile. "Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. You're going to need your rest for how 'busy' you're going to be." She makes air quotes around the word 'busy' with a suggestive eyebrow waggle that makes me snort.
"I'm anticipating being flipped left, right, and upside down," I admit, unable to keep the grin off my face despite my discomfort. "Three Alphas, one Omega, and a heat that's been building for weeks? I might not be able to walk straight for days."
"Goals," Mila sighs wistfully. "Absolute goals. I hope one day I get to experience what it's like to have a pack. The chaos, the love, the being-unable-to-walk-straight part."
I lean my hip against the counter, studying my friend's face. She's joking, but there's something genuine underneath the humor--a longing that I recognize because I used to feel it too, before the Late Alphas crashed into my life and turned everything upside down.
"How is it, really?" Mila asks, her voice softer now. "Having a pack. Being someone's Omega. Is it everything they say it is?"
I consider the question seriously, because she deserves a real answer.
"Honestly?" I say finally, leaning my elbows against the counter and really taking time to consider the question. "Having a group of men who basically make your life easier without you having to beg them for it--that's probably the highlight. They just... see things. They notice when I'm tired and need rest, when I'm stressed and need comfort, when I'm hungry and haven't eaten. And they do something about it without being asked. Without keeping score. Without making me feel like a burden for having needs."
I pause, searching for the right words to convey something I'm still marveling at myself. "Tank will just appear with a blanket when I've been sitting still too long, like he can sense when I'm getting cold. Elias remembers every throwaway comment I've ever made about food I like and produces my favorite snacks out of nowhere. Julian--Julian, who acts like he doesn't care about anything except investments and looking perfect--once rearranged his entire schedule because he noticed I was having a hard day."
Mila's expression shifts into something almost dreamy. "That sounds amazing. Like actually finding people who pay attention."
"It is. They acknowledge the little things I do for them, too. When I make coffee or bake something or do anything to take care of them, they notice. They say thank you. They give back. Julian wrote me a note once--an actual handwritten note on fancy stationery--thanking me for a cup of coffee. Tank hugs me every single time I do something for him, like he can't believe someone would want to take care of him." I shake my head, still marveling at it sometimes. "They're not doing things for show or to hold over my head later. They're just... good. Genuinely good men who want me to be happy."
"And you are?" Mila prompts. "Happy?"
"Genuinely," I confirm, and the word feels like a gift I'm giving myself. "Genuinely, truly, ridiculously happy. And now I understand how Hazel and Reverie fell so smitten with their men. It's like... finally being the center of someone's world. Multiple someones’. And having them be the center of yours right back. It's balanced in a way I didn't know relationships could be."
"Well then," Mila says, squaring her shoulders with exaggerated determination. "I better get lucky at this rate. Or I should go buy a love charm so I can be shacked up by St. Patrick's Day. Do you think those work? The love charms? Because I'm willing to try anything at this point. Crystals, manifestation journals, dancing naked under a full moon--whatever it takes."
I burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the mostly-empty bakery. "I ate twelve grapes under a table on New Year's Eve and wished for a pack, and look at me now. I'm not ruling anything out anymore."
"See? Exactly my point." Mila grins, then waves her hand toward the door. "Now seriously, go home and sleep. I've got the shop covered. We're dead anyway--everyone's saving their energy for tomorrow."
I sigh, reluctantly pushing away from the counter. The movement makes my head swim slightly, and yeah, okay, maybe going home is the right call. "Fine. But text me if you need anything."
"The only thing I need is for you to rest so you can enjoy getting railed by three hot Alphas tomorrow. Now shoo." She makes flapping motions with her hands like she's herding chickens.
I gather my things from behind the counter--phone, keys, the little bag of leftover pastries I'd set aside for snacking--while typing out a quick message to Tank.
Coming home early. Feeling a tad tired and warm. Don't want to get sick before tomorrow.
The reply comes almost immediately, which means he was already looking at his phone.
Stay put. Coming to get you.
I'm about to type back that I can just walk--it's not far--when my phone buzzes with an incoming call. The name on the screen makes me blink in surprise.
Sarah Loius - Ice Rink Coffee Manager
