She pointed to a spot somewhere behind her temple, and trailed a sloping line around the side of her head. Kind of like those elf omegas in the movies, with the twigs and leaves woven into their hair. Raph nodded solemnly, hoping he wouldn’t screw up. He managed people for a living, not tied braids.
It turned out that French braids were the most fiddly, complex things ever. Raph had thought he’d do okay, since he’d tied the basic braids. But the French braids required him to add tiny segments of hair to each bundle. And Hazel’s hair was soft, silky, slipping out of his fingers like water.
He messed up thrice. On the fourth attempt, Wyatt stopped by the table, an amused smile on his lips. “You look like you need help, Raph.”
Raph’s face heated. “I’ve never done braids before, okay.”
He thought Wyatt might laugh at him, or feed him some line about Hazel tying better braids. Instead, Wyatt said, “You’re doing really well for a beginner.”
Raph chanced a look up at him. Wyatt’s eyes were honest, his smile fond.
Hazel beamed. “I like Uncle Raph. He practiced with the normal braids first, like you taught me. I think he’ll get really good at tying my hair.”
Raph couldn’t help snorting. “You want me to braid your hair forever?”
Hazel looked at him sideways, her hair slipping through his fingers again. “Yes.”
And Raph didn’t know what this was, with Hazel so comfortable with him, and Wyatt looking down at them both, his eyes shining.
He was moving slower than usual, though. Raph saw how drained he was. “You need to rest for a bit. You look dead on your feet.”
“Surely I don’t.” Wyatt rubbed his face on his sleeve, but he was slow doing that, too.
“You’re tired. Can you take a break?” Raph asked. “You’ve got a seat here.”
And Wyatt smiled, warm and soft.
“I’m fine, Raph. You’ll make such a great dad, you know,” he said, his hand drifting up to his flat belly. Raph realized Wyatt was also talking about their unborn child. Someday soon, they’d raise that baby together, and Hazel along with it.
“I try,” Raph said when he found his voice. Hazel’s braid had gone loose again, and he tried to tug the different strands gently back into place. “But I doubt braids will be my thing.”
“You can teach Hazel to play the violin,” Wyatt said. “I’ve been teaching her the piano.”
Between them, Hazel perked up. None of the other patrons looked over, or stared.
This should’ve been wrong, all of them being so close. But both Wyatt and Hazel welcomed him, and he fitted in with them. They felt like a family he hadn’t known he was missing.
The thought left him breathless. “I’ll try,” Raph said. “It’s been a while since I played.”
And the dinner at the mansion crashed back into his mind.
“Shit,” Raph said. “The charity audition.”
Wyatt frowned. “Language, Raph.”
Hazel made a face. “I know what ‘shit’ is, Dad. Censorship is bad.”
“You do need to be polite, hon.”
“I know,” Hazel said. “But I can say ‘shit’ in front of you.”
Raph bit down his smile. Wyatt groaned, exasperated. But his eyes glowed with love, and Raph knew Hazel would always be Wyatt’s most important person. That was fine.
Wyatt pulled his phone from his back pocket. Then he snapped a picture of Raph, with Hazel’s braid half-undone in his hands. “This has to be the picture of the year.”
“Seriously?” Raph said. A picture of him tying braids?
“Yeah.” Wyatt tucked the phone back, the fatigue from his face melting away. “A photo of my two favorite people.”
Since when did I become your favorite person?
“Don’t let Uncle Sam hear that,” Hazel whispered. “Or he’ll get pissy.”
Wyatt glanced at the kitchen, then back at Hazel and Raph. Had there ever been something between Wyatt and Sam? Wyatt had said he didn’t have an alpha, but Sam was omega.
With some hesitation, Raph nodded at the kitchen entrance. “Were you and him...?”
Wyatt saw through him anyway, smiling. “He’s my best friend, Raph. That’s all there is to it.”
Hazel nodded. “Yeah.” In a whisper, she added, “Dad doesn’t kiss Uncle Sam.”
Wyatt’s cheeks darkened. “Hazel!”
He’d only kiss Raph, not Sam. And that killed the uncertainty in Raph’s gut. Wyatt was bonded to him. Very much interested in him. Raph wanted to pull him close, feel Wyatt’s body flush against his.
“Just saying the truth.” Hazel smiled, all innocent.
Wyatt sighed. “Right. What’s this about an audition?”
“Dad signed us up for one. I told Penny to pick a song.”
“Damn it, Raph.” Wyatt grimaced, flopping down on Hazel’s abandoned seat. “They don’t even know I’ve met you.”
“Think I don’t know that?” Raph winced. “On hindsight, I shouldn’t have agreed to it. When did you last play the piano?”
“Two weeks back, maybe.” Wyatt peered at him. “When did you last play the violin?”
“Maybe a year or two. I’ve just been maintaining mine, but no real playing.”
“That’s a pity,” Wyatt said, something flickering through his face. Pity? “I loved hearing you play.”
Years ago, on sunny afternoons, Wyatt had sat cross-legged on Raph’s bed, watching as Raph played their favorite songs. It had been bittersweet; Wyatt had made it plenty clear that he was interested in Raph. And Raph had always pushed him away.
“I want to hear, too,” Hazel said, bouncing. The French braid slipped completely out of Raph’s fingers. Raph sighed, combing her hair out. It was impossible for him to tie that braid.
“Think you can bring your violin over sometime?” Wyatt grinned. “I’ll treat you to dinner if you do.”
Raph swallowed, his stomach growling. He hadn’t eaten. And Wyatt’s enthusiasm was difficult to refuse. “Yeah, I guess I could. But I’m rusty. It’ll sound godawful when I start practicing.”
“That’s okay,” Wyatt said. “I just wanted to hear you play again.”
He looked all warm and soft in the diner’s lights, his eyes bright, his hair golden. And Raph breathed in deep,
