Searching For His Omega - Harper B. Cole Page 0,39

both hands. But now with my belly leading the way as I toddled along, my attitude was “Come on. Let’s get this done. All hands on deck!”

After finishing my errands and eating a takeout BLT in the park, I popped into the library. Like the café, it was also housed in an older building. Doris, the librarian on duty, was a regular Café Om customer, and she waved as I wandered in and headed for the magazines.

While I’d searched online for ideas on decorating a baby’s room, there was something satisfying in flicking through glossy pages of brightly colored photos.

“That’s nice,” said a voice over my shoulder.

A pregnant omega in his late 30s sat beside me and pointed at the nursery with three light gray walls and the fourth a sort of greenish color. It wasn’t cluttered, but there were huge shelves displaying kids books, a colorful rug, and a comfortable armchair, as well as the crib and other baby paraphernalia.

“Mmmm, I agree.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “I’m Dave.”

“Stan.”

“Your first?” he asked, giving my bump a nod.

“Yeah. And you?”

“Second.”

We discussed nursery color schemes, child care options, and buying paternity clothes online. “Maybe we could grab a coffee some time,” he suggested.

I must have hesitated, and Dave rushed on, “Oh right. You’re the Café Om manager. You probably want anything but coffee when you go out.” He laughed. “Or you could join our fathers-to-be group. We take turns hosting at one another’s place.”

For the first time since Chet had left, I was content. Not deliriously happy about him being away. Missing him was my constant companion, it went everywhere with me—even into the bathroom. And that wasn’t healthy. But apart from the staff, Dave was the first friend possibility. “I’d like that.”

Dave hoisted himself up. “I’d better go as everyone’s coming to me tomorrow and I have to bake cookies.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s become a competition as to who cooks the most delicious food. If you’d like to come, give me your phone number and I’ll text you the address.

I made a spur-of-the moment decision. “Why don’t we have it at my place? I have an apartment above the café. And no one has to cook. I can guarantee there'll be an endless supply of coffee, tea, and treats.”

Dave’s eyes watered, and he hugged me. “You’re an angel. But I gotta go and message everyone. Is ten too early?”

“That’s fine,” I replied as he waved and took off.

There was a bounce in my step as I headed home, and I didn’t bother poking my head into the coffee shop as I assumed all was well.

Later that night when I spoke to Chet, the first thing I said was, “I’ve made a friend. His name’s Dave and he’s pregnant with his second baby and I have a group of pregnant omegas coming here tomorrow.” I was practically bouncing off the couch as the words gushed out of me.

“That’s nice.” Chet’s downcast expression and unsteady voice burst my bubble.

“What’s wrong?”

“The usual. Missing you, working long hours, living out of a suitcase.” He peered at his phone. “And I can’t chat for long as we have a reshoot.” He yawned, and guilt flooded over me at being excited while he was miserable.

“I’m sorry.” And I was. We said goodbye and arranged to speak the following day. Another thing to add to my to-do list. How to balance my excitement and not feel bad because Chet was feeling crappy. And offer him support. Life’s complicated!

Twenty-Six

Chet

“Come out with us,” Joe, one of the guys from the restaurant we were filming asked for the third time. It was my fault. I kept saying maybe when I meant no.

“I know I said maybe, but I have plans.”

“Oh.” He dropped his head. “We thought...never mind.” I sometimes forgot how big a deal this whole thing was to people. It wasn’t just their job, like it was mine. It was an opportunity to get some free promotion and a little bit of fame.

“My omega is pregnant. Very pregnant, and I promised him I would FaceTime him after he got off work, and I miss him so much.” I was rambling on to this poor guy, giving him far more information that he probably wanted.

“Have him drink some orange juice.” He took out his phone and started to scroll through, eventually turning it to face me. It was a picture of a belly with a weird almost Alien-type bump. “This is my youngest when he was extra active. My