Page 56 of A Snowy Escape

Chapter Eighteen

Luka

Abby is stressed. If the look on her face didn’t give it away, the change to her scent would.

She steps away from my side, spinning in a circle as she checks out the bathroom. “Wow, that tub is massive.”

“It can fit four, so you’ll definitely be able to stretch out and float around when you’re in there solo.” Bryant grins, nodding.

I have the overwhelming urge to punch him in the throat.

Is he not paying attention?

Can he not tell that she’s stressed?

Also implying that she can stretch out and float around when she’s in there alone implies that she’ll also be in there not alone.

Right?

I mean, that’s how I would take it.

“The shower has about a million settings,” Lawson says, holding his arm out. “Let me show you how it works.”

Abby doesn’t hesitate to walk into his chest.

Well, thank fuck for Lawson.

Maybe we aren’t screwed just yet.

* * *

We continue the tour, heading to the nest. It’s multifunctional, with a large circular recessed mattress in the middle of the room. It has curtains on runners that can be closed to make the space feel more confined.

Two walls are covered with floor-to-ceiling cabinets. Those are stocked with extra sheets, waterproof pads, blankets, pillowcases, and anything else an omega could need during a heat.

“The space was completely renovated when our parents’ pack moved to Texas,” I tell Abby. “It hasn’t been used since, so you shouldn’t have any trouble with scents.”

“Wow, it’s beautiful.” She takes off toward the steps that lead to the den nest.

Three walls frame the bed with just enough room on the sides to easily walk around the mattress. There are end tables built out by the head of the bed, and closed cabinets line the wall above them. They’re much smaller than the ones in the open area of the nest, since they’re intended for things like breakable ice packs, thermometers, and fever reducers.

Lawson trails after her, coming to a stop at the end of the bed.

Bryant tries to follow them up, but I plant a hand on his chest and shove him back.

“Let’s let him handle it,” I whisper. “She’s stressed, and he sets her at ease.”

“Well, we could too if it came down to it,” he grumbles back just as softly. “Fine. Whatever. Help me cook dinner.”

* * *

Somehow, I luck out by sliding in on the edge closest to Abby at the table.

Bryant is directly next to her, and Lawson is opposite me on the other edge of the booth.

This setup is actually one of my favorite things that we kept from what it looked like when my parents’ pack lived here.

Granted, the booth we had when we were kids was old and cracked, but I loved sitting around the table with our mom and dads.