"Honestly? I don't know." She laughs softly. "I love creating coffee and various drinks. Experimenting with flavors, crafting something unique, watching someone's face light up when they taste something I made. Hell, I'd love to have my own little shop someday. A cozy little place where people could come for good coffee and escape from the chaos of the world, even if just for a few minutes."
Her expression shifts into something softer. Something almost dreamy. "Seeing my peers like Hazel Holloway build her bakery and watching it expand... that was inspiring. Reverie achieving her social media goals and finding a pack along the way, just like Hazel did..." She smiles, and it's genuine—pleased for her friends even in the midst of her own uncertainty. "I'm just wanting to follow the path that will give me fulfillment, you know? And I think maybe opening my own coffee shop could be that. I just need the logistics. The support."
Logistics and support. Things her family clearly never provided. Things her ex-pack definitely never offered. She has dreams—real, tangible dreams—and no one has ever helped her pursue them.
Until now. Until she walked into our lives and fit like a puzzle piece none of us knew we were missing.
She shakes her head, pulling herself back to the present. "But going back to the objective here—Julian doesn't need to lose his job. If you need a temporary Omega, I can do that. Less than six weeks is an easy commitment."
I study her carefully from my position in the armchair. "And you need protection from your ex-pack?"
She hesitates. Nervous energy ripples through her scent—that soft amber undertone sharpening into something more anxious. But she nods slowly.
"It would be nice," she admits, her voice smaller than before. "Just until Valentine's Day. You know how luxury deals work." There's a bitter edge to her words now. "Pass the date and all bets are off. My family will leave me alone the moment they realize they can't benefit from me anymore. And, well..." She trails off, her gaze dropping to her hands. "Being in another pack temporarily would be nice. Maybe I'll get to experience more breakfasts at the table together."
The room goes quiet.
Elias is the first to break the silence. "You really never ate together with your pack?" There's something horrified in his voice. Something that matches what I'm feeling.
She shakes her head. "Nope. Not with my pack. Not with my family either, actually." She tries to make it sound casual, but I can hear the hurt underneath. "Maybe when I was a child. But as we grew older... it just never happened."
Never. She's never had a real family meal. Never had the basic experience of sitting at a table with people who care about her. What kind of life has she been living?
I share a look with Elias and Julian. We don't need words—we've been pack long enough that certain understandings pass between us silently. This woman has been through hell. And she's asking for protection. For a place at our table. For something that should be the bare minimum of pack life.
"Then let's make a deal," I say, my voice firm with finality.
Rosemarie's head snaps up, her eyes meeting mine.
"You'll be our pack's temporary Omega. We can file the paperwork to prove to the government that you're pending acceptance into a pack—that way no one can make any fast moves to claim you legally. And we'll provide you protection until Valentine's Day." I pause, letting the words sink in. "Julian gets to keep his gigs. Elias and I are fine with the arrangement."
She's staring at me like she can't quite believe what she's hearing. Like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like kindness without strings attached is a foreign concept she's forgotten how to recognize.
What did they do to her? What kind of people made her expect the worst from everyone?
"And it's a rarity that we ever eat alone," I continue, holding her gaze. "Unless we're all at work. When we're all in town, we make sure to eat together—whether for breakfast or dinner. It's a non-negotiable in our pack."
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
"So that now includes you," I declare. "And Sasha."
At the sound of his name, Sasha comes bolting into the living room like he's been waiting for his cue. A hundred and fifty pounds of enthusiastic Malamute launching himself directly at the couch—and directly at Julian.
Julian curses, trying to fend off the assault of fur and tongue. "I'm allergic!" he sputters, pushing ineffectively at Sasha's massive head.
"Allergic my ass," Elias laughs, clearly enjoying his packmate's suffering. "You've been around Sasha for four years and I've never seen you sneeze once."
"He sheds! He sheds on my suits!"
"Then stop wearing designer shit to a house with a dog!"
Rosemarie is giggling—that bright, genuine sound that seems to transform her entire face. She reaches over to scratch behind Sasha's ears, and he immediately abandons his assault on Julian to lean into her touch.
"Did you like breakfast?" she coos at the dog, using that voice humans use when talking to animals. "You did? Such a good boy. Yes, you are."
Sasha's tail is wagging so hard his entire back end is wiggling. Julian is trying to brush dog hair off his tablet with an expression of long-suffering resignation. Elias is still laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. And Rosemarie...
Rosemarie looks happy. Genuinely, truly happy, in a way I don't think she's been in a very long time. The tension that's been coiled in her shoulders since she woke up this morning has finally eased. The wariness in her eyes has softened into something more trusting. More open.
