Page 51 of Pack End Game

“Shouldn’t you be taking notes?” I ask. I know he’s the professional here, but I’m not sure how he’s going to make sure to check all of our boxes if he doesn’t write down our every word.

“Great idea,” Rufus says, but for some reason, his dry voice makes me think the words aren’t genuine.

Getting lost in the escape room house must have made him grumpier than I initially realized.

Rufus takes out his phone and begins to type nonstop as we continue to take turns listing things that honestly seem impossible but entirely reasonable to find all in the same property.

“I want good natural light, but not in a way that fades furniture.”

“Windows that open, but not too much.”

“If there’s more than one level, then the staircase should make a statement but not demand all the attention.”

“Rooms that feel separate but also connected.”

Remembering my new role as football educator, I decide to add, “We’ll need a space with good acoustics for watching game footage. Like, you want the sound to carry, but not echo.”

Rufus moves his head back and forth, up and down. Looking from us to his phone and back again, typing then stopping, then typing again.

Good thing I gave him the suggestion about writing things down.

We’re making his job so much easier.

Eventually, Rufus stops typing and tucks his phone into his pocket. He offers us a thin smile as resignation dulls the light in his eyes. He looks older than I remember him being. New wrinkles seem to be forming fast enough that I think our realtor should really invest in a better skincare routine.

“Thank you,” he tells us, averting his gaze to avoid eye contact. “Yeah. That was super helpful.”

He’s obviously so eager to work with us, which further confirms that our list of demands–or suggestions–is totally within reason.

Internally, I offer Rufus credit for maintaining his professionalism even as he faces the reality that he hasn’t done a good enough job finding us appropriate houses so far. But I’ll be withholding any outward praise until he succeeds at his mission and finds us Mia’s dream home.

Failing our omega is not an option. Not for him or me.

Chapter Twenty-One

Mia

Am I pouting?

Yes.

Do I deserve to pout after seeing half a dozen houses that were all wrong?

Absolutely.

Rufus is doing a great job searching for the perfect home for our eclectic group, but each failed attempt seems to stress him almost as much as me. The pressure from the guys to make a decision so that our house hunt doesn't drag throughout the season doesn't help. I understand they don't want to risk leaving this decision up in the air by the time playoffs come around, but the perfect house cannot be rushed.

Even the houses that seem to be the most perfect in theory seem to strike me the wrong way. There's something off about all of them that I can't always put my finger on.

I'm confident that I'll know the perfect house–and nest–when we see it.

"Do you want something else?" Zak asks, interrupting my silent brooding.

Surprised, I look up at him from across the table, then follow his gaze to where I'm picking restlessly at the pepperonis on my slice of pizza. I drop the pepperoni pinched between my fingers on my plate and drop both of my hands to my lap.

"No, thank you."

Leave it to Daddy Zak to notice I'm playing with my food more than eating it. Unfortunately, I have a problem that a different choice in pizza toppings won't fix.