He picks the chair furthest from Lark. “What’s the meeting about?”
“Simple,” I say.
Three pairs of eyes turn toward me.
“It’s time we start courting our omega properly.”
Lark blinks. Graham straightens slightly. Saint doesn’t move at all, though one eyebrow twitches.
“You’ll each get one night a week. Just the two of you. No distractions.”
Lark goes very still. “Is this mandatory?”
Her eyes drift to Saint. She’s worried about rejection. I understand why. But I know my pack mate too well by now. That look on his face told me everything I need to know. He won’t walk away again. The scowl there now tells me he won’t make it easy, either. That’s why this idea is so important. We need to all move forward together.
“Mandatory,” I repeat.
Saint’s face softens. Not happy, but not ready to fight either. Lark sits back and clasps tighter to Graham’s hand.
“But we’re starting with something else first.”
Graham tilts his head. “What’s that?”
“A pack date.”
Lark’s smile spreads instantly. “Tonight?”
“This afternoon.”
Graham’s face mirrors Lark’s. Saint exhales slowly through his nose. I continue before anyone can derail the plan.
“There’s a street fair down at the riverfront park. Food trucks. Music. Homemade crafts.”
Lark practically vibrates with excitement. “That sounds fun.”
Graham nods enthusiastically. “It does.”
Saint sits forward, rolling his shoulder once like he’s testing it. “Crowds,” he mutters.
“You’ve never been scared of crowds before,” I reply.
His eyes narrow slightly. But he doesn’t argue. Which, considering his mood five days ago, is actually progress.
I glance around the room at the three of them. Graham leaning toward Lark. Telling her about the games and food they will share. Saint pretending he isn’t watching them. And Lark in the middle of it all, face alight with happiness.
Yes. A pack date is exactly what we need.
“Alright,” I say, pushing to my feet. “Everyone get ready.”
I look back at Lark and Graham. I’m going to be the one holding my omega’s hand.
Lark
Bright banners snap in the warm breeze as we step onto the crowded street, the entire town of East Rock apparently determined to squeeze itself into one long stretch of booths and tables. It looks like someone took every color they could find and tossed it into the air. Jars of jewel-toned jams and jellies glitter on gingham-covered tables. Rows of handmade scarves and thick mittens hang from wooden racks, even though the early fall air is still warm enough that I’m wishing I’d worn shorts.
Winter will hit East Rock soon enough. When the cold comes, it comes hard.
Further down the street there’s a section of games, mostly for kids tossing beanbags or fishing plastic ducks out of tubs, but a few are clearly designed with a different audience in mind. Tall wooden frames with oversized hammers. Targets that require throwingweighted rings. The sort of activities that practically beg an alpha to prove something to the watching omegas.
