“No,” I cut in. “Get your ass in the nesting room. You’re coming with me.”
He sighs, but to my surprise, he actually follows me.
Back in the nesting room, I motion to the bed, but he stops a foot away, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s trying not to take up space.
“I can sit on the floor,” he mutters.
“Charlie.” I give him a pointed look.
His gaze flicks toward the nest, then away. “I don’t want to disrespect your space. I know it’s private.” He’s not wrong.
An omega's nest is private. Special. Precious. But an omega's nest is also about their pack. And this is something I want to share with him. My packmate.
“I want you to share it with me,” I say softly. “This nest is ours. I want you here.”
He hesitates, mouth falling open with shock. “No.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “I’m fine with my regular bed. I don’t need to nest.”
I smile gently.He’s still fighting it.
“Okay,” I say. “Then sit with me while I finish arranging things.”
He nods and sits at the edge,barelytouching the mattress.
I begin placing pillows along the walls, building a perimeter of softness, and then I hand one to him. “Can you put this one there while I smooth out the blanket?”
He takes it and tosses it roughly into place. I don’t comment. I wait.
“I was thinking of making honey-roasted chicken tonight,” I say casually. “With rosemary potatoes.”
Charlie hums, looking distracted. “You know I like the mushroom sauce you do with that.” His head tilts as his gaze drifts back to the pillow. He frowns and adjusts it slightly. Then again. His hands smooth over it, molding the shape until it’sjustright.
I hand him another. “Put this one next to it?”
“Sure,” he murmurs, still distracted. “We should do those green beans with the chili flakes. The crispy ones.” He tucks the second pillow into place, then smooths a blanket over both. His hands linger. Caress. Shape. Mold.
“Oh, excellent idea,” I say, setting another pillow next to him.
Charlie grabs it without thinking and tucks it into place. Then he smooths a blanket over all three. His hands linger. Caress. Shape. Mold.
Something warm fills my chest. Pride. Relief.Hope.
I stay quiet, let him keep talking about dinner, watching as he shifts a fourth pillow without being asked. His movements get slower. More thoughtful. His body starts to relax. The omega might not realize it yet, but he’s nesting.
And I’ve never been happier. Grabbing the wrinkled blanket next to me, I smooth out the material into neater layers around the border of the nest while Charlie works quietly beside me.
Then he glances up at me. “Do you bake too?”
The question catches me off guard. I stiffen slightly, my hands freezing mid-fold. “Not really,” I say, then clear my throat and add, “I’m better at cooking. It’s easier to fix something when it’s not exact. Baking is too…precise.”
Charlie nods, lips twitching. “Oli mentioned a cake he used to eat growing up. Something with brown sugar andcinnamon, and these crunchy sugared pecans on top. I kind of want to try making it for him.” The way he says it—quietly, almost shyly—makes something warm and tender flicker in my chest. “But I’m terrible in the kitchen,” he adds with a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d probably set the oven on fire.”
“I’ll help,” I say, smiling. “You pick the recipe, and I’ll keep us from burning the house down.”
His boxy grin spreads, soft and unguarded, and for the first time, I see real ease settle into his shoulders.
I take advantage of the moment and let the conversation drift forward. “How are you feeling about Oli being in the pack?”
Charlie hesitates, then places another pillow in the corner before sitting back on his heels. “Good, I guess,” he says. “I’m still mad at him, but he’s trying so hard to make it up to me.” He looks down at the pillow he just placed, smoothing the seam. “He’s always kissing me and touching me. Pushing these fuzzy feelings through our bond.” He bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks about it. “My body wants to forgive him so bad.”
