Page 73 of Omega’s Forward

“I know. I’ve lived here for nine years.”

“I was wondering if you were going to look for somewhere new before the baby gets here.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, no.”

“Okay, so walk it forward with me. You, eight months gone, on those stairs. Ice on the front step in January. Then a baby, and a stroller, and the groceries, six flights, twice a day, every day. What happens when the kid’s asleep on your shoulder and it’s raining and the buzzer’s broken?”

“The buzzer isn’t broken.”

“It could.”

“Then I’ll fix it.”

He sets his fork down and looks at me straight on. “You need a different place, Everett. Ground floor, or a building with a lift. I’m not being an ass about it. This is a gorgeous place but it’s not suitable for a kid.”

“You’ve been in this country one day and you’re already rehousing me.”

“I’m not rehousing you. I’m just pointing out the stair issue.”

“This flat is the first thing I ever bought.” I hear my own voice climb and I let it. “You’re being controlling. Is this how it starts? One night in my bed and you’re trying to get me to sell my home?”

Silence. He picks up his coffee and drinks some.

“Sorry, you’re right,” he says.

“That’s it?”

“It’s your flat. Your city, your call.” He shrugs. “I’m still going to worry about the stairs. You can’t make me quit that part.”

My father never backed off a position in his life. He just repeated himself louder. Brody let it go the moment I made it clear that I wasn’t happy.

He clears the plates. When he passes behind my chair his hand lands on the back of my neck, over the gland, warm and brief. My whole body quiets. He’s at the sink again before I can decide whether to lean.

He does the washing-up while I sit with my tea and watch his back move under his shirt. The want starts up again, low and patient. Half the night, and apparently it made no dent.

It’s the scent. It has to be the scent. This flat used to smell of me and not much else. Now every breath has woodsmoke in it and it makes my mouth water.

He catches me at it, of course. Alphas can smell want at ten paces and I’m a lot closer than that. He looks over his shoulder, one eyebrow up, hands still in the sink. “Something you need?”

“Finish the pan,” I say, with as much dignity as I can. “We have a two o’clock.”

“It’s ten in the morning.”

“Finish the pan.”

He doesn’t. Instead he does me, bent over the counter until we’re both panting and satiated.

Then he finishes the pan.

Priya calls while he’s drying his hands. “How is it going?”

“Good,” I say, eyeing Brody at the sink.

“Uh huh. Good okay. Or good amazing.”

I’m not sure I want to discuss this with her with him right there.

“Good,” I repeat.