Knot a Good Idea (Bittersweet Omegas #4)

Chapter 18

18

APRIL

“Oh my god,” Devyn says. “Oh, my god. ”

“Hush,” I murmur, unable to keep the smile off my face. I scribble the drink order for the hazelnut latte on the cup, then hand it to her. “Three shots of espresso instead of two.”

It’s been a week since Hunter’s visit, and he begrudgingly had to head back to the pack house after staying with me for two days.

He met Devyn, though, and she’s still losing her damn mind about it.

“Why are you even working today?” she says. “Isn’t your thing tonight?”

“I’m working a half shift,” I tell her. “And it’s doesn’t start until midafternoon, anyway.”

“I would have called out.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me that, please. Besides, I’ll be out of here in another half hour.”

“Okay, but you have to get ready, right?”

“It’s a kid’s art class, Devyn. I’m not wearing a ballgown.”

“Still.” Devyn steams milk while I toss a customer receipt in the trash. “I can’t believe this is happening to you. After everything, you finally get your happy ever after!”

I grimace, but she doesn’t see it. “I guess so.”

“You guess ?” She turns to me, her eyes wide. “You have a pack! And they’re billionaires! You have three hot Alphas! It’s almost too good to be true!”

I swallow. “Yeah. I’m pretty lucky.”

She sighs. “You and Skylar are so weird, sometimes.”

“How?”

“You guys have…” her voice trails off as she pours an espresso shot into the cup. “Never mind. It’s dumb.”

“What do you mean?”

A rare frown forms on her face while she finishes preparing the latte. “It’s just…I don’t know. It must be nice to have a pack.”

Devyn doesn’t have a pack. She has Ben, but he’s a Beta.

“You could have a pack, too, Devyn,” I say gently. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know, I just…I feel weird. Ben is open to it, but I…I don’t know.”

I don’t like seeing that look on my friend’s face.

Devyn, the ray of sunshine that fiercely loves her friends and boyfriend, should never feel insecure in her relationship.

Her heart is good.

“You deserve to be happy,” I tell her.

She narrows her eyes at me. “Gee, I wonder where you’ve heard that from.”

I smirk. “I guess the blonde brat in front of me should listen to her own advice.”

She sticks her tongue out at me, then hands the drink to the customer, who takes it with a smile.

“I’m so glad they found you,” the middle-aged man says to me, his grin wide.

My matching smile isn’t authentic.

His remark is another reminder that everyone here knows my story.

After he leaves, I catch Devyn staring at me. “What?”

“What does your mom think about them?” she asks me.

“About who?”

“Uh, your pack. Duh.”

“She hasn’t said anything to you?” I ask, surprised.

“No. She barely says anything when I ask.”

“It’s because you’re too nosy,” I mutter, but a sense of unease washes over me.

I thought my mom wasn’t still suspicious, but she must be.

But the NDA won’t let me open up to her.

Sandy knows, though. My therapist is bound by confidentiality, and she was more receptive than I imagined she would be.

I’m taking baby steps.

And even if it's fake dating, it’s better than nothing.

But the lines have blurred so much with Liam and Hunter that I’m starting to wonder how much of it is fake anymore.

They send a driver for me.

The shiny black SUV with tinted windows is out of place on my street.

My mom notices it immediately as she peers out the window. “Where are you going?” she asks softly.

“Oh, it’s an art thing,” I tell her. She takes in my appearance—an old baggy sweatshirt and faded light wash jeans.

“And they’re picking you up in that?” She gestures to the window.

“Yup.”

She gives me a look, her eyes narrowing. “So, when will I meet the other two?”

“Um, whenever they have time.”

She continues to stare at me. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, April?”

I nod. “I do. I promise.”

But she doesn’t believe me. Despite Hunter spending the night at the house and her smiling and laughing while he’s around, she’s still suspicious.

“Well, have a good time,” she sighs.

“I will.”

I hate the awkwardness around my mom.

Why can’t she just be happy for me?

Isn’t this what she wanted for me?

Isn’t this what everyone wanted? For me to get out again, to be social?

I stuff my anger down, knowing it’s pointless to lash out at her.

I also don’t want to be in a foul mood when I see the pack.

My mom watches from the doorway as I climb into the SUV, feeling out of place in my old clothes.

I don’t belong here.

The driver is kind enough but doesn’t bother to talk much on the drive.

The longer I sit in the back of the car, waiting to arrive at the destination, the more my head swirls with worry.

What if Donovan finds out about what Hunter and I did?

How would Liam feel?

By the time the driver stops, my mind is a mess, and I can’t help the feeling of guilt that pools in my stomach.

But when he opens the door for me, my worries are forgotten.

The warehouse is filled with children and a few adults, who I assume are their parents.

Some of the kids are on the floor, painting on giant canvases. Others are standing to paint on large wood slabs.

In the middle of them, sitting with a little boy, is Donovan.

He’s dressed in a light grey sweatshirt stained with splotches of yellow paint. His hair isn’t perfectly styled; instead, it’s slightly messy and a few dark strands fall into his eyes.

I catch the smile he gives the boy as he leans in and says something to him as he paints.

It’s the most relaxed he’s ever looked.

He stands when he sees me and wipes his hands on his faded jeans, his lips pulled into an almost smile.

I could swear he looks happy.

His scent is welcoming and delicious as he walks toward me, and I fight the urge to step into his arms.

“Thank you, Thomas.” He nods at the driver. “She won’t be needing a ride back.”

I swallow. That means he’ll be driving me home.

“Was it necessary to send a fancy car to get here?” I gesture at the warehouse as the SUV drives away. “I could have driven here myself.”

He shrugs. “I couldn’t pick you up, so I sent someone.”

I make a face. “You didn’t have to.”

“April.”

I stare at him as he crosses his arms and his smirk falls. “Just…let me do these things for you.”

The last time we spoke, he acted like he couldn’t stand me.

But the Donovan in front of me is vulnerable and open, so I decide not to argue.

“Where are the others?” I ask, peering at the warehouse.

“Liam and Hunter couldn’t make it.”

“What do you mean?”

Donovan shrugs innocently. “Hunter gave Liam the wrong day, and they already had a meeting scheduled today.”

I frown.

Donovan wouldn’t give them the wrong day on purpose, right?

It’s not like he would want me to himself.

Donovan’s icy eyes are soft as his gaze falls to my lips. “You ready to ruin those clothes?” he asks.

I raise an eyebrow at him, and he laughs. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the kids.”

When we reach the entrance to the warehouse, all the kids stop what they’re doing to look at me with curious faces.

“This is Miss April,” Donovan says to them as they look at me with wide eyes and smiles. “She’s helping us make the sets today.”

And that’s when I put it together.

They’re painting landscapes on the wood. One group paints a bright green field with mountains in the background and a rich blue sky, while the one on the wall is grey and black bricks.

It’s the beginning of a castle along with a dragon to the side.

“Hi Miss April,” they all say in response.

My face flushes.

Donovan leads me to the place where he was sitting, and I join him on the concrete floor, smiling at the little boy. His wide brown eyes look up at me with curiosity.

“Kyle, this is Miss April,” Donovan says in a soft, low voice. “She’s going to help us.”

Kyle gives me a shy, toothy smile, and nods his head, his dark hair falling haphazardly in his face.

“So, what now?” I ask Donovan, staring at the buckets and trays of paint next to the canvas.

He raises an eyebrow, managing to still look arrogant in paint-stained clothes. “Do I need to tell you how to paint grass?”

I blink at him in disbelief.

“You use the green paint, Miss April,” Kyle supplies. “Like this.”

Kyle reaches for the roller that’s in the green paint tray, rolling it on to the side of the tray to wipe the excess off. Then he hands it to me.

“Thank you, Kyle,” I say politely, taking it from his paint-stained hands. “That’s very kind of you.”

I shoot Donovan a nasty look when Kyle turns to talk to a girl around his age painting pink flowers.

He ignores it and picks up a medium-sized brush with yellow paint. Then, he absently flicks bits of paint off the bristles, letting it land on the part of the field that’s been painted.

“These are sets for a play?” I ask him, still holding the roller awkwardly and frowning at the canvas.

I feel like I’m going to mess up all the kids’ hard work.

“There’s a theatre down the street from here,” Donovan answers, working the brush gently over the flecks of yellow. “We try to have the kids help out with painting the backgrounds.”

Kyle is fully engrossed in the conversation with the little girl and has moved away from us.

“So…are these kids…do they have…” I don’t even know how to ask the question. The green paint drips onto my jeans, and I place the roller back into the tray.

“They’re part of one of our art programs,” Donovan supplies, delicately adding highlight to the field. “We work with the theater to pay for what they need. Then we make sure the kids have transportation to and from activities. Sometimes they’ll be building sets, other times they’re attending drawing, sculpting, or painting classes.”

“Oh, wow,” I say. “That’s incredible.”

“We don’t just do it in this city, either,” Donovan adds. “We’re trying to be in as many cities as possible, but it takes time.”

“How many cities are you in now?”

He stops painting, his hand holding the brush mid stroke. “More than thirty. We try to make it accessible to all kids. We’re also planning on adding intermediate and advanced technique classes.”

“I…wow.”

“It’s not enough,” Donovan adds sharply, picking the paint brush back up. “My goal is to make sure every child has access to these things, not just in the state. Nationwide.”

“Yes, but you’re making a huge difference right now,” I say, observing the kids. They’re chatting excitedly with each other while channeling their creativity, and my chest tightens as I watch them. “You’re building a community for them,” I murmur. “Some schools don’t even offer art classes, yet you guys are providing it to every kid that wants it.”

“It’s not enough,” Donovan repeats quietly, his lips pulled into a thin line as he paints. “More could be done.”

I sigh. “More can always be done,” I admit. “I could do more with my life. I could be more. Have you ever thought about maybe just taking the win and acknowledging you did something good?”

Pot, meet kettle.

Donovan wipes the brush down with a paper towel and places it next to the yellow tray. “Grab the paint roller.”

“So, you disregarded everything I just said, right?” But I grab the paint roller anyway, rolling my eyes.

Trying to get through to him is like talking to a concrete wall.

Pot, meet kettle for the second time.

Donovan hums in acknowledgement, then his hand reaches out to cover mine. I jolt at the sensation, not expecting the electricity that shoots through me at his touch.

I hold my breath as he guides our hands down, the roller making contact with the canvas.

“Not too much pressure,” he murmurs. “You’ll go over it a few times.”

I press the roller down, the vivid green paint passing over the canvas.

“You’ve got it.” His voice is at my ear, and I swallow. “Just back and forth, like that.”

When he moves his hand away, I keep my eyes glued onto the canvas, forcing my heartbeat to slow.

My body burns, craving more of his touch.

His ocean scent swirls around me, and I suck in a deep breath, willing him to not notice the effect he has on me.

I’m still mad at him. He was still a cold-hearted asshole the last time we talked, and smelling like heaven doesn’t change that.

“Why art?” I ask carefully. “Is there a reason you chose this?”

I can feel his eyes on me, but I refuse to look at him until my body cools down.

He’s silent for a long time, to the point where I’m not sure if he heard me.

Then, he speaks.

“I’ve known Liam for a long time,” he says quietly. “He was a nervous wreck when he was a teenager. In high school, we had art class together, and he loved every second of it. He said it calmed him, so I started channeling my energy into it, too.”

“Do you like to paint like him?” I ask.

“No. I sketch, when I have time. I don’t mind painting, but I prefer a sketchbook. Like Hunter.”

“Hmm.” I finally look back at him to find him staring at me.

“What?”

“It’s nice you have an outlet,” I say. “You act like you have a giant stick up your butt all the time.”

“Miss April said butt!” Kyle yells, and it catches me so off guard that I look at Donovan and burst out laughing, dropping the paint roller and splashing green all over my sweatshirt.

Donovan stares at me, stunned.

“What?” I ask him, suddenly insecure. “Is there paint on my face?”

But he continues to look at me in awe. “Your smile,” he says finally, his voice soft.

I make a face. “What about it?”

“You’ve smiled for Liam and Hunter like that. Not me,” he clarifies.

“Oh. Well, now you’ve seen it,” I say, suddenly uncomfortable. “I have a field to paint, if you don’t mind.”

My face burns, but Donovan’s small smile helps soften the embarrassment.

“I owe you an apology,” he says, once I’ve completed three layers of green paint. “For how I behaved the other night.”

I nod. “I appreciate it.”

“I’m not…” he sighs and swallows, flexing his jaw. “I’m not the best with…feelings.”

I cross my arms over my knees and lean over, stretching my back. “I can tell. But neither am I.”

“You seem to have a better handle on it than I do.”

A little girl runs over to show Donovan her paint splattered hands, and he smiles at her.

It’s a genuine smile, one that I want to commit to memory for the rest of my life.

Is that how he feels when I smile?

When she runs off, I sigh. “I don’t have an outlet for all my frustrations just yet. Well, besides the café. But at work, customers always want to talk about…you know. My past.”

He nods. “Which is partly why you agreed to a date with me, right? Because I didn’t know who you were and I didn’t treat you like you were a victim.”

“Yes. That’s exactly why, actually. You made me feel normal,” I say quietly, picking at a splotch of green paint under my nail. “All three of you do.”

He picks up a fine tipped brush out of a can of muted pink paint. “You do the same for me,” he murmurs, gently swirling lines along his yellow flecks.

“I wouldn’t call you normal,” I tease, and he shakes his head and chuckles to himself.

“I guess not.”

I scoot closer to him, leaning over and watching how he paints. It’s soothing to watch the brush go back and forth as Donovan creates blossoms in the painted field.

I’m not sure if I’ve accepted his apology yet. Our last interaction made me sick to my stomach from the rejection.

But as I watch him paint with the children, something inside me settles.

His scent is mouthwatering like always, but there’s a new note.

Something familiar and cozy that calms me.

He’s good with kids , a tiny voice in me whispers.

Does that matter, though?

It’s not like I have a future with Donovan, or any of them.

Do I even want kids?

I’m still defective. I’m still not even?—

“April.”

I blink, my attention focused back on Donovan’s icy eyes.

“You were gone for a moment,” he says gently.

I nod. “I do that sometimes,” I admit. “I never used to. Not before?—”

But Donovan interrupts me by taking my left hand with his free one, squeezing it.

He doesn’t say anything. He just turns his attention back to the flowers, painting with his lips slightly pursed, as if we’re not holding hands at all.

It’s grounding.

And I let out a deep, soothing breath.

Kyle runs back to us and points at our joined hands. “Is Miss April your girlfriend?” he yells, loud enough for the other kids to turn around. One of the parents smiles at me warmly.

I tense.

“She is,” Donovan says easily, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.

I’m fine playing the part in front of adults, but the kids make me nervous for some reason.

Like they’ll see through it.

But Kyle nods in understanding, looking at me before giving Donovan a thumbs up. “She’s really pretty.”

This time, both Donovan and I laugh.