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“You might be pleasantly surprised by what awaits,” I tell her as towering pine trees envelop us. Although not as dense as the redwoods in the Forsaken Forest, they possess an equal measure of ancient grandeur. The journey is brief, and soon, we’re approaching our house.
Our home emerges through the trees, a harmonious blend of Victorian elegance and rustic cabin charm, its dark gray stone walls complemented by wood accents.
Her eyes widen in awe. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she murmurs, visibly stunned.
A wave of unease washes over me. “It may not be as grand as some other homes here,” I admit, feeling a twinge of nausea. I can’t help but wonder if our home, in its quaint uniqueness, might fall short of an omega’s deserving grandeur.
“It’s perfect.” She blushes, a delicate pink tinting her cheeks. “I wouldn’t want to get lost in your home anyway.” Her wink sends a flutter through my heart.
I don’t tell her that, should she choose us, this would become her home too, but first, I need to convince her, which means revealing all my deep, dark secrets. I swallow my fears, park the car, and before she can react, I unbuckle her seatbelt. Then, I gather the sizable bags of food I bought for the guys.
“Come on, munchkin,” I coax her, stepping out of the car and trying to see our home through her eyes. Our garage, built for five cars, has a reserved spot for our future omega. Currently,only Avery’s car is there, a vivid purple counterpart to my black sports car.
As she smirks at the car, I can’t help but smile. “Avery’s?” she asks.
“What gave it away?”
“It matches his personality,” she replies with a shrug. “This door?”
“Go ahead,” I encourage her. We seldom lock the door. She reaches for it, opening it into the mudroom. The lights flicker on as she steps in.
Following her, her sweet scent of brown sugar lingering in the air, I close the door behind us and enter the mudroom, which doubles as a laundry room. I hang up her coat, which she’s already slipped off, then mine. Silence envelops us until we step into the kitchen.
“Oh wow,” she exclaims, her voice brimming with awe. “This is incredible.”
“Devlin designed it,” I inform her. Devlin, along with Max and Avery, love to cook. “All the guys took cooking classes together.”
“They did?” Her eyes widen in surprise as she turns to me, watching as I place the bags on the island, a long butcher block lit by rustic overhead lights.
“Theydid,” I confirm, licking my lips. “Cooking isn’t my forte. Avery is into baking, Max prefers rich foods, and Devlin enjoys crafting gourmet or ‘bougie’ dishes.”
“What even is a bougie dish?” She laughs, helping me unload the tacos onto the counter.
I laugh with her, the sound echoing warmly in the spacious kitchen. “It’s Devlin’s term for fancy, elaborate meals,” I explain. “But tonight, it’s all about simple pleasures—like these tacos.”
“Tacos are far from simple,” she counters passionately. “They are a classic comfort food, something I never tire of enjoying.”
I can’t help but smile at her defense of the dish. After a moment of staring at her too long, I answer her earlier question. “A bougie dish is essentially a tiny portion of protein, a drizzle of some avant-garde sauce, and perhaps a garnish of vegetables,” I describe with a playful grimace, eliciting a laugh from her.
“So not your cup of tea then?” she deduces.
“Let’s keep that our little secret,” I reply with a wink, and she responds by miming the locking of her lips.
“How about a picnic in my art room?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, and a flutter of nerves ripples through me.
“Are you trying to lure me into your room, Ashton?” she teases, leaning across the counter, her scent intensifying and parching my throat.
Her beauty leaves me momentarily lost for words.
Feeling bold, I mirror her posture, leaning in. “My bedroom’s upstairs, the art room’s downstairs. So yes and no.”
“Yes,” she answers, and I’m left wondering which invitation she’s accepting.
Regardless, elation spreads across my face. I’m afforded extra time with this captivating woman. Whether or not she wants to see my actual bedroom doesn’t matter. She wants to spend her time with me, and that increases my heart rate.
“I’ll just prepare these for the guys,” I say, stowing their food in the fridge, then grabbing water and sodas for us. I pack our tacos, beverages, and Avery’s frozen brownies into a basket.
“What’s in there?” she inquires, craning her neck toward my basket.
