I thought all omegas wanted to be mated?
Right?
Shit!
“Thank you,” Tansy finally says, offering a tight, polite smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s very kind of you to say.”
Relief and confusion tangle together in my gut, but before I get a chance to say anything, Tansy’s stomach growls very loudly once again.
We both freeze.
I wince, then laugh. “How about a full tourafterbreakfast?”
Tansy’s hand drifts to her stomach, rubbing it lightly, like she’s embarrassed. Her cheeks warm, but then her smile shifts, easing into something more real this time.
“Breakfast would be lovely,” she says quietly.
I nod, relieved. “Great. Kitchen’s this way.”
By the timebreakfast is almost done, my nerves have finally started to settle. They aren’t gone, but they’re quieter, like they’ve eased back enough to let me breathe.
I stand at the stove, spooning the last of the scrambled eggs onto two plates. I’m assuming the boys will be talking for a while. I’ll make them something once Cass is done yelling at everyone.
“Do you like butter on your toast?” I slide the bread into the toaster, then glance over my shoulder at Tansy.
She sits at the kitchen island, her chin propped in her hand as she watches me work. “Yes, please.”
I nod, then move, prepping everything else. I pull down two glasses and fill them with juice. I set them side by side so the levels match. Coffee goes into mugs next, the good ones, not the chipped everyday ones we use when it’s only us. I grab the small silver spoons for the jam, place them carefully on a folded napkin, then swap out the everyday cutlery for the nicer set from the drawer beneath the counter.
Tansy shifts on her stool. “Are you sure I can’t help?”
“I’ve got it,” I say as I glance up at her with a small, hopeful smile. “I like taking care of my family.” I pull out afew of the good, cloth napkins from a drawer. No paper towels today.
I want everything to be perfect.
By the time I start buttering the toast, I realize Tansy is still watching me with a small, thoughtful smile on her face.
“You’re very…precise,” she says softly, eyes tracking the way I cut the bread into perfect triangles.
I huff a quiet laugh, a little embarrassed now that she’s clocked it. “Yeah,” I admit. “I have ADHD with a Type A personality.” I plate the bread carefully, angling the slices just so. "It's a fun combo. Basically, I like plans, but my attention span does not. We negotiate daily.”
Tansy’s smile grows, real and bright, as she lets out a soft laugh. “I get that,” she says, still smiling. “Needing structure, but your brain refuses to cooperate.” Her shoulders lift in a small shrug. “I don’t do well when things feel out of control. So I make rules for myself. Little ones. Routines. It helps me feel…more in control.”
Something warm settles in my chest at that.
“Iloveplanning out new routines for myself,” I say. “I’m fantastic at the planning part. The follow-through, though? Absolute chaos.”
She laughs again. “It’s kind of nice,” she says, admiring the perfectly lined-up drinks. “You care about the little things even when your body won’t let you do it.”
“Yes,” I say, a little surprised that she gets it. Most people don’t. “Well, breakfast is ready.” I reach for the coffee mugs as Tansy slides off her stool.
“Let me help,” she insists, reaching for the plates before I can protest.
“Okay,” I say, smiling despite myself.
I grab the mugs and juice, careful not to slosh anything as we move to the small dinette tucked into the corner ofthe kitchen. The space is cozy, just big enough for the round, marble-topped table and matching upholstered chairs.
Morning light pours in through the window, warm and soft, spilling across the tabletop and stretching out into the backyard beyond. Dew still clings to the grass, the fence casting long, quiet shadows. In the far corner, near the treeline, I can make out Grason’s little greenhouse surrounded by morning fog.
