“So, Mom, did Shepherd tell you we would be here?” Foster asks.
Brooke pats him on the cheek, her short, graying hair shaking around her face. “You told me all about the program you were starting here. I’ve been coming here to volunteer as often as I can. This little one isn’t the only kid in need of a grandmother to spoil them.”
The soft, grateful look Foster gives her melts my heart. Only a few moments after meeting her, I already know she’s incredible. Kaitlin is going to love having her in our lives. And hopefully, if she can see past my familial connections, I can have a good relationship with her, too.
“Ms. Brooke is the best,” one of the younger kids chimes in. “She taught me to bake cookies!”
“Yeah, she brings us food all the time!” another adds.
Brooke smiles, waving a hand through the air to brush off their praise. I can see where Shepherd’s kindness comes from. His drive to help others must have been something he learned from watching his mother as a child. “Yes, yes, none of that is why we’re here today, is it, boys?” She directs her question to Sable and his friends.
“No, ma’am. It’s not.” Briar gives me a sheepish glance, while Sable has a sudden interest in looking out the front windows. The shyness of these two future Alphas is cute, but out of character. “We know you had to leave your home in New Hampshire, and you don’t have much family, so we wanted to do something to help you get ready for the baby.”
Sable motions to the other kids, who move away from the coffee table. It’s loaded with poorly wrapped presents and gift bags, all second-hand from a myriad of holidays and occasions. I walk over and peek inside one to see a tiny dump truck covered baby onesie.
Foster joins me, teary-eyed, taking in the effort the kids put in with a grin on his face. “This is awesome, you guys!”
I slide into a chair and grab a package wrapped in nutcracker-covered Christmas paper. It tears easily beneath my fingers, falling open to reveal a stack of hand-me-down pants and shirts. Some of these kids face food insecurity; others have no role models at home to guide them. Yet they put the effort in to gather these clothes to give to us.
Kaitlin joins me at the table, excitedly ripping open the papers and showing me everything she finds inside. By the time we’re finished, the chair next to me overflows with baby clothes. Tears cover my cheeks as I run a finger over the front of a onesie embroidered with the words‘little dude.’They have no idea how much this means to me. Not the clothes, but their excitement.
“Thank you,” I choke out. “This… it means the world to me. I’ve never had someone want to celebrate my children with me.”
Brooke tsks, lips pulling into a frown, while the kids give me sad or uncomfortable looks. “You’re all going to be great role models.”
The door opens again, and the center’s co-founder, Ursa, joins us. His pack is with him, arms laden with trays of sandwiches and cupcakes for the kids to enjoy. They rush to eat, laughing and joking with each other as the tension around my admission breaks.
A hand grips my shoulder, and I turn to find Brooke standing behind me. “You are family now, Hannah. All three of you. We Wilsons take care of our own.”
We spend the afternoon laughing and chatting, watching the older kids teach Kaitlin how to play all the games offered in the center. My heart is full to overflowing by the time Shepherd arrives to pick us up. He rolls his eyes when he sees his mother sitting beside me, lightly scolding her for not telling him she was planning all this.
Exhaustion weighs me down. I can barely hold my eyes open as I crawl into bed. For the first time in days, I fall asleep easily and don’t wake until morning.
The dryer buzzes, letting me know another load of laundry is done. I’ve been washing all the clothes we got at the impromptu baby shower yesterday, getting them ready to sort into bins. With the crib and changing table set up in the guest room, there isn’t enough space for an extra dresser. The bed is tall enough for me to slide collapsible bins underneath, which gives me the perfect spot to hide the clothes that need to be stored until the baby is bigger.
Foster leans against the door frame, studying the packed room with a frown. “We need more space.”
I shrug, not voicing my agreement. This is their home; I won’t ask them to move for my sake.
He crosses the room and sits cross-legged beside me, grabbing a pile of unfolded clothes and folding them. “You know, when we moved in here, we thought it would be years before we expanded our pack. The apartment may be home now, but it was never meant to last forever.”
“Look at you now,” I tease, bumping my shoulder into his, “two new mates and two kids. All of whom you found in a few short months.”
His answering smile is a little lopsided and so flirty it makes my core clench around nothing. Sitting close enough to feel his body heat and drown in the burst of perfume he releases, I’m so turned on it’s unbearable. “I couldn’t be happier. You, Manny,and the kids are the best things to happen to me since I met Shepherd.”
My eyes track his tongue as it swipes across his lips, and I lose what little control I had left. I slam my mouth onto his, letting him feel my hunger. He responds just as fiercely, nipping at my lips and sliding his tongue in to tangle with mine. A moan rattles from my chest, and he swallows it, hand tangling in my hair and cupping the back of my head.
“F-Foster.”
“Let’s sneak into my nest,” he urges. “Shep has Kait. I want to take care of my needy girl.”
Swallowing a whine when he pulls away, I let him guide me to my feet. Heat warms my cheeks as I prepare to slip past our Alpha in the living room, but Foster stops across from the kitchen and presses a hidden button that reveals a secret door between the hallway and the master closet. A similar door waits in the closet, leading to the back corner of his nest.
I pause in the doorway, taking everything in for the first time. Streams of glittering gold fabric flow from the ceiling to drop around a giant mattress covered in black satin. Pillows in every shade of black, gold, and brown crowd around its edges. Strands of twinkling lights mix with the curtains, creating the illusion of golden rivers. It’s luxurious and masculine, exactly like my Omega.
“May I come in?” I ask, remembering the rule from a book I’d read during my trip to Miami years ago.
Foster tugs on my hand, guiding me into the center of his nest. “You are always welcome in my nest, Angel. I would spend every night in here with you if I could.”
