Page 50 of Pack End Game

“I think we should find the rest of our group now. We’re missing out on the room with furniture on the ceiling,” I tell her as I take a few steps in the direction we came from.

She hurries into step beside me and holds on tight to my arm.

My leafy green totally trusts me not to steer us wrong.

We all manage to reconvene outside about thirty minutes after entering the surprise maze of a house that stands smugly before us.

Zak’s face is scrunched up in irritation, and Spencer looks like he’s developing a light bruise on his forehead, but he refuses to explain what might have caused it.

Our realtor seems to be wearing a lot less of his earlier optimism, finally grasping the fact that we aren’t ordinary clients. We’re so much better. It’s almost like he should be the one paying us for the experience we’re providing.

Who else would let him have the chance to explore all these unique houses?

We’re really expanding his worldview.

Rufus holds up both hands in surrender. “Suggestion! Why don’t we review what each of you is looking for most in the perfect house, that way I can make sure the next showings I line up are more in line with your pack’s dreams for the future.”

Oh, he is good with the spin.

Our realtor could totally convince me to buy discount meat from the back of a pickup truck if he ever went into that kind of business.

Not that I’ve ever bought meat like that. Not more than once or twice, at least.

Spencer and Zak work in tandem to provide a bland list of wants: home gym, large kitchen with plenty of counterspace, and an oversized garage.

Boring.

The attention collectively shifts to Mia, who initially gives a small shrug, but I smile in encouragement.

She sighs. “I want a nest space that feels spacious, but isn’t actually big enough to sacrifice a sense of coziness.”

I can sense that her answer leaves her feeling exposed, so I rush to throw out some ideas too and draw the attention away from her until the wave of self-consciousness seems to fade away. Spencer and Zak each come up with a few more snoozefest ideas that they sprinkle in between my superior suggestions.

Soon, we’re just piling item after item onto the wishlist for Rufus.

I’m just about out of ideas until I remember that I’m a newly minted expert in interior design. I scrolled through design accounts on social media for the whole twenty-minute drive here.

I place a hand on Rufus’s shoulder to make sure he’s giving me his undivided attention, but Spencer quickly knocks my hand away. He’s always so weird about me touching strangers and acquaintances.

A jealousy thing, obviously.

“Let’s talk materials,” I tell Rufus, keeping my hands to myself this time so Spencer doesn’t have to feel threatened. “I’m thinking maybe reclaimed barn wood, but like… polished. And concrete countertops, but warm. Emotionally warm, not temperature warm.”

“Emotionally warm concrete,” Rufus repeats. His whole face twitches as he holds back what he’s feeling, and he rests his chin on his hand.

“Exactly.”

He’s not the first person to struggle to contain their excitement over one of my genius suggestions. In fact, I’d say it happens regularly.

Mia chimes in again, “I don’t mind modern features–as long as it's not talking home modern–but I also want something that feels classic. Like your grandparents could live there, but also a teenager could walk in and think it’s cool.”

“Yes,” I agree readily. “Intergenerational approval. Very important. And it should be acceptable for a large family, just in case.” I wink at Mia, then Zak, and they both flush slightly. I’m getting future breeding kink vibes from the two of them, for sure.

Spencer is too pragmatic for a breeding kink. He’d probably have to make a spreadsheet about the potential financial and emotional costs of each additional child before dirty talking our omega about knocking her up.

Yawn.

I eye Rufus, who looks like he’s struggling to keep up with our growing list of demands… Or are they suggestions?