"This is Rosemarie," Elias says, slipping his arm around my waist like it's the most natural thing in the world. "She's our pack's Omega. I invited her for fondue night since you did say we could bring partners." He grins. "And we always have a wild time, so why not include her?"
Rodriguez's other eyebrow joins the first. "I'm impressed," she says, looking me up and down with an assessing gazethat's more curious than judgmental. "You actually found an Omega who can balance your odd late pack. Didn't think it was possible."
Elias groans dramatically. "Can you not make fun of me like that? Again—I'm only twenty-nine. That's not even old. That's barely out of the womb by Alpha standards."
"Sure it is, Chief." Rodriguez's voice drips with sarcasm. She turns to me, extending a hand. "Lieutenant Rodriguez. Call me Maria. I'm his second-in-command, which means I spend most of my time keeping him from setting himself on fire."
"Rosemarie Carlisle." I shake her hand—her grip is firm and confident—and offer a genuine smile. "Nice to meet you. And thank you for... earlier."
"Someone has to maintain order around here." Maria jerks her head toward the back of the firehouse. "Come on. We're about to start, and if we leave the boys alone with the fondue pots any longer, someone's going to burn their mouth and file a workers' comp claim. Happened last year. Don't ask."
She leads the way, and I follow with Elias's arm still warm around my waist. His thumb traces small circles against my hip through my shirt, a casual intimacy that sends warmth blooming through my chest. The firehouse transforms as we move deeper into the building—from the utilitarian front area to what can only be described as a surprisingly cozy communal space.
The bunk room has been converted into a party zone. String lights zigzag across the ceiling in careful patterns, casting everything in a warm golden glow that softens the industrial edges of the space. Heart-shaped balloons in shades of red and pink are scattered throughout—some tied to chairs, others drifting lazily near the ceiling, a few deflated ones wedged sadly in corners. Long tables covered in red tablecloths have been set up with an impressive spread: fondue pots bubbling with rich cheese and dark chocolate, platters of crusty bread cubes andcrisp vegetables and glistening fresh fruits, bottles of wine and beer and what looks like a suspicious punch bowl that's already turned an alarming shade of pink.
This is not what I expected from a firehouse Valentine's party. This is actually... charming. Genuinely charming. Someone put real effort into this, and I'd bet money it was Elias.
The scent of melted cheese and chocolate mingles with the ever-present undertone of firehouse—leather and diesel and the faint chemical note of fire retardant—creating something unexpectedly pleasant. Like comfort food meets industrial workspace.
The firefighters have reconvened in this space, their earlier frenzy contained to occasional curious glances in my direction. They're clustered around the food tables, loading plates and bickering with the casual ease of people who've spent long hours together in high-stress situations. One of them is arguing passionately about the correct cheese-to-bread ratio. Another is defending his right to double-dip.
"Beer?" Elias asks, already moving toward a cooler stocked with an impressive variety of craft brews. "Or there's wine, or some fruity cocktail thing Martinez made that's probably ninety percent sugar and ten percent questionable life choices."
"I can drink a beer," I say, and the reaction from the nearby firefighters is immediate and dramatic.
"Wait—she drinks beer?"
"An Omega? Drinkingbeer?"
"And she's dating our Chief? Run away! The apocalypse is here! Check if the trucks are ready!"
I roll my eyes at their theatrics. "Hardy har har. You're all comedians."
Maria appears at my elbow, looking satisfied. "You're lucky you have a guest tonight," she announces to the group."Otherwise, every single one of you would be outside doing drills right now. In the cold. In the dark. For hours."
The firefighters scatter like cockroaches when the lights come on, suddenly very interested in the food table on the opposite side of the room. I can't help but laugh—genuine, surprised laughter that bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest.
This is fun. This is actually, genuinely fun. When was the last time I had fun like this? Surrounded by people who tease and joke and don't expect anything from me except my presence?
Elias hands me a cold bottle—some local craft beer with a label featuring a pine tree—and clinks his own against it. "Welcome to my second home," he says, gesturing around the decorated space. "It's chaotic and loud and someone almost always catches something on fire, but it's mine."
"I love it," I admit, and I mean it. "It's... warm. In a way that has nothing to do with temperature."
His expression softens, that playful sparkle giving way to something more tender. "Yeah. It is."
We load our plates from the round table—crusty bread for cheese fondue, strawberries and marshmallows for chocolate. The food smells incredible, rich and indulgent, the kind of meal you eat with your fingers and don't worry about dignity. I find myself relaxing into the chaos, responding to teasing comments from firefighters who are clearly testing the boundaries of what they can get away with, laughing at inside jokes Elias explains in hushed whispers.
I fit here. Somehow, impossibly, I fit in this loud, chaotic space full of people I've just met. The old Rosemarie would have been pressed against the wall, watching from the sidelines, desperate to leave. But this Rosemarie—this version of methat's slowly emerging from the shell my family and ex-pack forced me into—this Rosemarie is actually enjoying herself.
After we've eaten our fill of savory fondue, Elias catches my eye and nods toward the garage area where the trucks are parked.
"Want to see something cool?"
I raise an eyebrow. "You're going to show me the fire trucks, aren't you?"
"I'm going to show you the fire trucks," he confirms, grinning unrepentantly. "And we're going to eat dessert in one. Because I'm the chief and I can do whatever I want."
Dessert. In a fire truck. With the fire chief. My life has taken turns I never could have predicted.
