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“Yeah.” I reach into the side pocket of my briefcase, where I’ve been hiding them all weekend. “Here.”
Damon rips them open, shaking his head. “I never realized how hard it would be to plan a surprise for her,” he mutters. “I haven’t even heard her yet today.”
He means in his head. Of all of us, Damon is the one who can be counted upon to have his every thought available. Going hours without “talking” to Remi must be strange for him.
“She’s happy,” I report, stabbing at buttons on the espresso machine. “And she bought this thing to annoy me.”
“Everyone knew that, Big Hoss,” he laughs. “You should have seen her face the first morning you tried to use it.”
He slides his mental curtain open just long enough to slip me an image of Remi, rumpled and sexy in one of her negligées, giggling behind her palms while I fought with a stubborn lever. Every time I cursed, she snorted into her hands.
Damon and I stand still, each of us staring internally at her sweet, gorgeous face. Love bursts through my body and echoes in my packmate’s. When his is accompanied by a whack of doubt, I turn my head and find him wincing at our breakfast.
“Do you think she’ll like this?” he mumbles.
I know what he means. Nothing ever seems quite good enough for the girl who gives us everything.
We could get more flowers. Another present. Some shells from the beach…?
I start to look around for some other idea, my eyes darting across the small living room. When they fall on the sign our omega now has hanging over the front door, I freeze.
Don’t make perfect the enemy of the good.
A smile stretches over my face. “She’ll love it.”
Because she loves us, and we love her. It’s not perfect, but it’s good.
And that’s the best of all.
She did this on purpose.
The quiet thought occurs to me as I lie in the beach house’s only bed, facing the wall of windows. Golden pink streams through the tissue-thin curtains framing the view. It’s a straight shot through the tiny house’s tiny backyard, over a few dozen feet of sand, right to the ocean.
To the sunrise, emerging from the aqua blue.
Once Remi decided to dedicate a portion of her summer to making this house exactly the way she wanted it, we all knew it would be beautiful. She surprised us by abandoning the preppy, sophisticated style of our pack house in favor of a kitschier, more bohemian style here.
We all love it, but Smith is particularly enamored. This place has been healing for him, I think. The way the deck slopes slightly, the constant salty musk of sea air, the fine layer of sand that coats the threshold no matter how many times we vacuum. All the little quirks he’ll never be able to fix—it’s been surprisingly easy for him to let them go.
Remi helps. Her first beach house rule? No one cleans until everyone’s been to the beach and had a nap.
Her second rule: no one closes the bedroom curtains.
Because she wanted me to wake up to this, I realize. A sunrise view. The one we spent years chasing.
It’s here. And she made sure our bed was oriented right toward it.
My beautiful, brilliant girl.
She hears my thought but doesn’t reply, burrowing down into my chest instead, pretending to sleep. She does that, sometimes. And none of us ever call her on it because it’s so goddamn endearing.
If acting like she’s still unconscious to get more cuddles is the only thing my girl feels the need to pretend ever again, I will die a happy man.
Her leg flinches against mine, confirming my suspicion. The side of my mouth twitches into a half smile while I tuck my face into her mussed curls.
Now that we’re bonded, Remi and I rarely speak out loud when we’re alone together. We both enjoy the quiet and revel in the feeling of being so connected without ever having to break it. Instead of speaking, I send her a mental image of the sunrise outside our window. Then I send her pictures of a hundred other sunrises. On rooftops, balconies, bridges, from the top of the Eiffel Tower.
That one took some doing.
