Chapter Twenty-Three

Van

Would like to speak with you regarding a residency in Las Vegas for you and the band. The message came from a person who I knew was not joking around. They had set up some of the most successful residencies in Sin City. They want to build you a theater.

Holy…everything.

A Vegas residency, if we could come to terms, would resolve everything, at least so long as it lasted, that was if Jamie agreed. He liked his job at the coffeehouse and I wasn’t about to agree to something as big as that, something that would place me in Nevada for the foreseeable future, without a big conversation.

The message came while I was staying at Jamie’s for a few days, and I rushed to the store to buy some ingredients for dinner. It was always better to have a conversation about serious things over spaghetti. Or at least that had been my alpha dad’s theory. When he could get my omega dad to make it for us.

And I had recently learned to make it myself.

But I am not a neat cook, and, despite all my best efforts, the kitchen looked like a gang war had taken place and everyone died. I even had a strand of spaghetti on the ceiling. I read somewhere that if it stuck, it was done.

So, since it stuck, I dumped out the water and noodles into a colander and settled in to wait for my mate to get home from work. I set the table for two—his brother was out for the evening—with a candle and a bouquet of flowers from the grocery store. This was a big deal for me, this offer, and I thought it might be perfect for us, but it would mean Jamie had to give up his job. I sent one more message while I was waiting for Jamie.

“Mate, I’m home.” He loved saying that. “And it smells great in here.”

“Spaghetti. Go get cleaned up and we can eat. Hope you’re hungry.” I slid the garlic bread into the oven and turned to get the salads from the refrigerator.

“Yes, today the baby says we eat all the food. Tomorrow we might not eat at all.” Jamie’s stomach had been erratic so far in the pregnancy.

“Glad I cooked my specialty, then.” The only thing I made that other people would eat. But I had a cookbook about preparing food for pregnant omegas, and I planned to get better at it.

A few minutes later, we were seated at the table devouring my only slightly overcooked spaghetti and I broke the news. “I just heard today that a casino in Las Vegas wants to give me a residency.”

“Like an apartment?” He paused twirling his noodles to cock his head at me. “A time share?”

“No, an extended concert series. We’ll have to discuss details, but they want to build a theater within the resort for me, meaning…”

“Meaning they want you for a while?”

“A successful residency can last for years. It’s just like touring, but instead of us going everywhere, the audiences come to us. It will be much easier on me, so I won’t be having all those migraines, I don’t think.”

“You had migraines?”

“The kind with all the special visual effects, not the pain, but my doctor said it was likely the extensive tours that did it. Traveling almost every day is hard on a person.”

“And you feel good about the performing part?” He was so nice, worrying about me when I was talking about uprooting his whole life.

“I love the performing part. The only thing is, it would mean we’d have to move to Las Vegas and live there at least most of the time.”

“Yeah. I suppose so. Do you like that idea?”

“I don’t mind the heat, and everywhere is air-conditioned.”

“Do you think I could get a job there? I suppose there’s always a need for a barista somewhere, huh?”

“You are the best. I know you love where you work, not just what you do, and you really won’t need to work at all unless you want to. I do make a good living, you know.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to be supported. Oh, maybe for a while after the baby comes, but after that…I don’t want to just stay home.”

My phone chimed then, and I read the text and looked up at him. “Something you haven’t told me?”

“Like what?” He looked utterly confused.

I pushed my phone across the table. “Read this.”

He picked up the device and a small smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “Oh.”

“You never told me you enter competitions. And win.”

“Because it’s no big deal. Just coffee.” He set the phone down and waved a hand.

“Omega, you’re a national champion, and they would apparently love to offer you your own sort of residency. In their award-winning coffeehouse.”

He squealed and came around the table to plop on my lap. I restrained my oof when he flung his arms around my neck. “When do we leave?”

“The show is replacing another band, and they are anxious for a big name ASAP, so I’d say we can move whenever we want, you can start your job right away, and I’ll handle all the details for mine.”

“Count me in. I’ll give notice at work.”

“And I’ll scoop up the spumoni.”