"For a custom mattress built to unusual specifications, yes."
Sergio leans against a display bed, arms crossed. "We'll figure something out."
I turn to face him. "How?"
I'm not sure why, but I have visions of Sergio going back and restraining Pedro, and locking Carlos in the closet at night. But then we'd still be able to hear Carlos through the door. He doesn't snore every night, but when he does, let's just say I've seriously considered checking if he's summoning ancient gods or just breathing.
David loosens his tie. "Let me see if my manager has any suggestions."
He escapes toward the back office like a man fleeing a natural disaster.
Stacey drops onto the nearest mattress, her hot pink coat spread around her. "This is the best shopping trip I've ever been on. That guy's having an existential crisis and we haven't even discussed thread counts yet."
Harmony speaks quietly. "Poor guy." She's examining price tags, but her hands are shaking slightly. Her scent is wrong. Too sharp. Too sour.
I cross to her. "You okay?"
"Just warm." But she's pale under the fluorescent lights. "These stores always run hot."
"We can leave."
"No, I'm fine." Harmony steadies herself against a display. "Just need some air maybe."
Pedro appears at her other side, doctor instincts kicking in. "When did you take your suppressants?"
"This morning."
"And yesterday?" Pedro asks.
Harmony meets his eyes. "Yesterday morning. I know. I should have doubled up. Being around this many alphas, the scent saturation, it's harder than I thought."
Pedro says it gently. "You need to leave. Soon. Not trying to rush you out, but your body's struggling."
"I know." Harmony's voice is small. "I'm sorry. I wanted to stay longer."
"Don't apologize." I hug her carefully. Her scent is wildness and worry, chamomile turned acrid. "You drove six hours to be here. That's more than enough."
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out.
Mom: Flight cancelled. Weather in Guadalajara. Earliest I can get out is next week. I'm so sorry, sweetheart.
I stare at the text. Mom was coming to visit next week. Ever since I told her about the pack's proposal during my heat, she's been asking when we're going to make it official. "Soon," I kept saying. "When the timing feels right."
Sergio reads my expression. "Everything okay?"
"Mom's flight is cancelled. Weather."
"When was she coming?"
I look at him. At Pedro. At Carlos examining mattresses across the store. At Nacho watching us with those dark, steady eyes. "Next week. She wanted to be here when we bonded."
The word hangs in the air.
Bonding.
We agreed to it weeks ago, during my heat. But we've been waiting. For what? The perfect moment? The right time? My mother's visit?
Stacey sits up from the mattress, watching us with interest. "You don't need to wait for her. I mean, if you wanted to just do it. Bond. Whenever."
