“I can definitely do that.” I grab a croissant and grin, relief loosening my tense shoulders. “And I’ll need to learn all of your favorite foods.”
He beams, contentment sweeping through me. “We can’t wait.”
THIRTY-SIX
Nash
Bringing Delilah into my workshop is a big deal. It’s my sacred space. Since Robbie died, I’ve never let anyone into my work area.
When Dad shut down the garage, I spent a lot of time there alone. Solitude suits me—the quiet, the lack of interruptions. As much as I love Tae, his high energy can be too much sometimes, and the addition of Jagger to our pack only increased my need to retreat.
I lay out a few of my tools, straightening up and stashing anything sharp safely out of reach. I can’t imagine she’ll accidentally stumble onto a chisel, but from what I know of her, she has a habit of falling over, so I won’t take any chances.
“There,” I declare proudly, wiping my brow as I survey the area. No tripping hazards or obvious signs of danger. Omega-proof.
Soft footsteps bring me back to the present. I open the door just as Delilah’s hand is frozen in a fist, about to knock.
“Hi.” She looks adorable. She’s wearing one of Tae’s oversized T-shirts paired with a pair of long socks that look to be Jagger’s, and her skirt from yesterday. She stops to pull up oneof the falling socks. “Whoa…” Her gaze strays beyond me. “This place is huge.”
The workshop is completely separate from the house and spans two levels. Upstairs, I have my bookbinding supplies, my soldering station, and space for my more intricate hobbies. Downstairs is where I keep my woodwork bench, car lift, and other heavy machinery. Tools are hung on the walls, and pieces of various projects are strewn over the surfaces.
“It has room for everything I need,” I reply, stepping out of the way to let her inside. I’m not sure whether having her sweet apple scent in here will help motivate me or distract me when I work, but I love seeing her in my space.
She walks around, pointing to various pieces of equipment. “What do you use that for?”
“That’s a blow torch.” I reply. “I mainly use it to remove rust and do metal work, but they’re handy to have around for all sorts.”
“So kinda like a kitchen torch for desserts?”
“Something like that.” I grin. “You make crème brûlée, and I bend metal into shape.”
“I guess our passions aren’t so different.” She bends down to examine a birdhouse that I built from scratch, peering at the intricate little carvings and details. “This is beautiful. And look at that!” She points at a tiny bumblebee I carved into the walnut. “It’s so cute.”
I shrug nonchalantly, hiding how pleased I am by the compliment.
I’ve never particularly cared about what other people think of me or my work. Granted, I always aim to do a good job, but hearing her praise something that I’ve poured hours into motivates me. Seeing her gleeful smile—the way her cheeks dimple— has me wanting to carve an entire army of wooden beesfor her. I make a mental note to go back to the bed in the nest to add a few extra details into the bedposts.
“Where did you learn how to do all this?” she asks.
“My dad was handy,” I reply, leaning against my workbench. “Robbie and I spent most of our childhood with him, fixing things. I guess I had a knack for it. We liked taking things apart just to see whether we could put them back together.” I tuck my hands in my pockets. “I was never particularly academic and didn’t go to college. But I’ve always been good with my hands. Picking up odd jobs here and there. I like to keep busy.”
“The details are extraordinary.” She bends down to scrutinize a set of mini, hand-carved garden gnome figurines. They’re not my finest work, but I wanted to experiment with different techniques. “It’s hard enough to capture expressions on fondant people when I’m decorating a cake, but I can’t even imagine how you’d do this with a tool.” She runs her finger over the gnomes’ tiny hats. “They’re amazing.”
Growing up with beta parents—my grandfather was an alpha, so the gene must have skipped a generation—I never particularly understood the craving other alphas felt when they talked about omegas. My parents were deeply in love, so a part of me always wanted that, but I didn’t get the biological need that some others did to have an omega. Now, seeing her here, I understand what bonded alphas mean when they say their entire world shifts. I’m already calculating how I can make wooden bees have different expressions just to hear her laugh.
“If you like this, there’s more I have to show you.”
“There’s more?” Delilah ogles the staircase leading up to the second level.
The stairs creak underfoot as I lead her into the rafters. Her jaw drops as she takes in the finishing bench, my supply station, and the books in various states of binding. “I’ve been experimenting with the Coptic and French-link stitch lately, andmanaged to pick up a book plough at a flea market outside of town last weekend.”
I stride over to a cabinet to take out a plain brown box wrapped in a ribbon. I may be able to make books look pretty, but gift wrapping isn’t one of my skills. Regardless, I hold it out. “This is for you.”
“A gift?” She frowns down at the box. “You guys have already given me so many gifts.”
“This is… different.”
She carefully unwraps the ribbon as I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants, nervously awaiting her reaction. So many hours have gone into making this, and I’m desperate for her to like it. I wait with bated breath, studying her expression as she cracks the lid open. Her eyes widen, her lips pinching together before she draws in a sharp inhale.
