Growing up, he’d always thought he and Raph would lead separate lives. That they’d visit each other with their mates, and Raph would tease him about his piano-playing, or screw-ups, or whatever.
Except Wyatt had presented as omega, and suddenly Raph had seemed like the best alpha anyone could want. And so Wyatt had thought about Raph, wishing Raph would look at him the same way, see him as a desirable omega.
But his fantasies hadn’t extended to a baby.
What would he say to his parents when he visited? What would he say to Hazel? This was everything a relationship shouldn’t be.
I’m carrying my stepbrother’s child.
His head spun. Wyatt ducked into the washroom to rinse his hands.
Unlike Max’s saccharine whispers, Raph had made quiet, solemn promises. He’d offered to bring Hazel home when it was her bedtime. Wyatt had dated and lost interest in various alphas, but he trusted Raph.
And that had to be enough for tonight, when Wyatt stepped into the dining area of the restaurant, just as his new evening staff tripped, trying to avoid a toddler. Mina yelped, losing her balance. Dirty dishes slid off the tray; bowls smashed, drink glasses rolled and clattered. The toddler wobbled his way back to his parents, who had been scolding their other child.
The boy seemed fine. Mina had paled, eyeing the child, then the mess. Wyatt scanned the rest of the diner. There were no server requests, no cries for help. He spun on his feet, headed into the kitchen, and grabbed the broom and dustpan. When he turned back, he found Raph on his knees, grabbing the fallen chopsticks and spoons.
Raph was an alpha. A regional manager at his bank. Grandma would’ve said, Let the servants do it. Max would’ve said, You’re the omega. Clean that up.
Raph stacked the drink glasses together, gathered a handful of spoons, and set them on Mina’s tray. Then he leaned over the soup spills to grab the ceramic shards.
Warm fondness welled up in Wyatt’s chest. He stepped around Raph and Mina, swept up the shards and solid food remnants, and brought the dripping dustpan back into the kitchen. By the time he returned with paper towels and a mop, Raph was on his feet, surveying the floor.
Mina grimaced, looking apologetically at Raph. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you—”
“It’s fine,” Raph said. “It’s no big deal. You hurt?”
Mina shook her head, wincing when Wyatt stepped over. “I’m really sorry about this, Mr. Fleming,” she said. “I promise it won’t happen again.”
Wyatt remembered another time, when glittering shards of maroon glass had scattered across a dining room, and he’d cut his fingers trying to pick them up. Grandma had been there, her eyes bulging. Raph had held his hand and pulled him away, to go find his mom.
Useless child, Grandma had shouted down the hallways. You ruin everything you touch!
He blinked himself back to the diner, squeezing Mina’s shoulder. “Try not to let it happen again, Mina. I’ll clean the spills, but I’ll need you to get back to the tables. Can you do that?”
She flushed, nodding furiously. Wyatt watched as she hurried back to the kitchen with her tray, the tips of her ears red. When he turned, he found Raph watching him, a tiny smile on his lips.
“Something on my face? Wyatt asked, his heart missing a beat.
“You do good,” Raph said. “Need more help?”
Wyatt couldn’t help grinning, then. “No, I’ve got this—go clean up. Thanks for helping.”
Raph smiled and skirted the spill, heading for the washroom. Wyatt tried not to watch him leave. Instead, he mopped the mess from the floor, the memory of Raph picking up the dishes playing over and over in his mind.
Raph didn’t have to help. It wasn’t his restaurant. And maybe he was exactly the sort of alpha that Wyatt had subconsciously been looking for, after he’d left Max. Because he’d grown up with the best alpha there ever was, and no one could replace Raph.
He hid his smile, keeping his face down.
When the floor was mopped and Wyatt had placed a Wet Floor sign in the middle of the gleaming floorboards, he checked in on Mina again. She was shaken, but otherwise fine. Wyatt left her to the patrons, stopping by at the booth next to the kitchen.
“What do you do at the bank?” Hazel asked, her pencil poised above her homework, her eyes glued to Raph.
“I manage people,” Raph said. “It’s a mix of checking reports, approving them, making sure my branches are doing what they’re supposed to.”
Hazel blinked. “Say that in normal people English.”
Wyatt snorted. Raph turned incredulously. “This is your kid?”
“She very much is,” Wyatt said, leaning over to give her a quick hug. “Hazel’s brilliant, isn’t she?”
Raph pressed his lips together, but their corners curled into a smile. “She’s fine. Don’t want her head to grow too big.”
“You’re such a grumpy dog,” Wyatt said. Hazel was halfway through her homework, but it was clear she’d gotten distracted when Raph joined her. And Raph looked good, too. Wyatt had barely noticed earlier, but Raph was dressed in a crisp cotton shirt and dark jeans, his sleeves clinging to his biceps.
“He’s giving you the eyeball,” Hazel said, looking at Raph. “Maybe you did something wrong.”
Wyatt’s cheeks flared hot. “Hazel!”
She looked innocently at him. “You have that look in your eyes,” she said, pointing her pencil at him. “Like when you can’t decide if you want to bite someone’s head off.”
Raph coughed into his fist, but he was smirking. “Really? He bites heads off? This I gotta see.”
“You have so much to see.” Hazel leaned forward conspiratorially. “Dad sometimes has his moods.”
Wyatt froze. Surely she wasn’t telling Raph about the meltdowns. “Hazel.”
She glanced at him, and he shook his head slightly. Hazel pouted. “He needs to know about the Aunt Penny snowlady cookies,” she said. “You gave them to her and she said she didn’t look like two balls.”
Raph snorted.
“Oh. Well, fine,” Wyatt said, relief whispering through his
