Page 32 of Dreamscape Therapies

"You literally made eye contact with me when I opened the door."

"I was concentrating."

"You were whispering to a case of Coors."

"I was counting."

"Sure, sure.” She grins and disappears back into the kitchen before I can throw anything at her.

By noon, the lunch crowd rolls in.

Whistler's is a neighborhood bar, which means our regulars are predictable in the best possible way. Office workers come in for burgers and sodas. Construction crews take over the high-top tables. Retirees claim their usual spots at the bar and start drinking before most people have finished their morning coffee.

I bounce between paperwork, the kitchen, and the bar, helping wherever I'm needed.

Busy enough to stay occupied, but not so busy I want to fake my own death.

It’s that perfect middle ground.

And all the while my mind keeps drifting back to Jay. The way he laughed at my stories no matter how dumb they were. The way he listened so intently. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t just some broken person.

He puts me at ease, and it’s unsettling that I can’t put my finger on why that is.

I'm reorganizing the liquor behind the register when the front door swings open and a booming laugh rolls across the room.

Oh, for fuck's sake. I don't even have to look to know who it is.

"Vincent!" Eric's voice could probably wake the dead.

He strides into the bar like he owns the place, which is impressive considering I actually do own the place.

He's a huge beta human with a thick red beard, broad shoulders, and the kind of easy confidence that makes him impossible to ignore. His bald head shines in the dim lighting of the bar in a way that somehow makes him look both intimidating and ridiculous.

He throws his arms wide. "The love of my life! The man of my dreams! Where have you been hiding?"

"Work."

"Disgusting."

Behind him comes Aksel, quieter but no less imposing.

He's a tall alpha, solidly built, and carries himself with the calm confidence of someone who rarely needs to raise his voice to get what he wants. Blonde hair falls across his forehead, and his eyes sweep over the bar before settling on Eric with the patient expression of a man who has been dealing with this particular brand of insanity for a very long time.

Aksel is one of Eric's best friends and business partners, and, from what I understand, the only person on the planet capable of making Eric shut up with a single look.

It doesn't work today.

The last person through the door is Hale.

And Hale is very, very pregnant.

He's slightly shorter than both men, with dark hair, striking features, and the kind of permanent unimpressed expression that makes me suspect he's been forced to tolerate Eric for far longer than anyone should legally be required to. One hand rests protectively beneath his enormous belly as he walks inside.

"Please stop yelling," Hale tells Eric. "He can hear you just fine."

"But how will he know I've missed him if I don't announce it to the entire bar?"

Hale gives him a flat look. "You could try using a normal speaking voice."