1. Eli

1

ELI

A t the beginning of the day, Ethan seems fairly normal over the phone. It's loud wherever he is, but he talks like his normal reserved self, and I figure my concerns about his egg coming early are unwarranted. It never hurts to be safe, though. My clients never call to tell me that they're descending into their nesting fog. Normally I go over to their house when they stop answering their phone.

After Max leaves to meet Dominic at 6:30, I give Ethan another call. The phone rings four times before he picks it up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ethan. I'm just checking in again."

"Oh, good. Because I don't think they're going to fit."

"What won't fit?"

"Rows D, E, and F."

I don't know what he's talking about, which is a good indication that I need to get over to his house as soon as possible.

"Rows of what?" I ask on my way to the bathroom. I cradle the phone with my shoulder so I can use both hands to unbutton and unzip my pants.

"Rows in the airplane. I only have rows A,B, and C."

Has Ethan constructed some kind of airplane replica in his room?

"I think three rows will be more than enough," I assure him.

"I don't know. I think we need rows D,E, and F. We might have to hang them from the ceiling."

Huh. Maybe I don't have time for a shower. That sounds really dangerous.

"Will you wait to hang them until I get there? I have these great hooks that will be perfect," I lie. This is not the line of work to go into if you aren't prepared to lie through your teeth to dissuade your clients from doing something they'll regret later.

"I was thinking suspension wires," Ethan says. "Then they can sway back and forth above the bed like a real plane."

Nope. I don't have time to shower. I need to get over there right now. I rebutton my pants and dash for the front door, grabbing my keys and wallet on the way.

"That's a great idea. You'll probably need help with that, right?"

"I can do it by myself," he insists.

The man is tiny. If he tries to suspend whatever these "rows" are by himself, it might get ugly.

But omega penguin shifters are amazingly resourceful during their nesting fog. Who knows? He could have some pulley system set up that I'm not aware of.

I better take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator of my apartment building.

"Bring cinnamon bears," Ethan says.

The lack of a "please" means Ethan is pretty far gone. I'm surprised he answered his phone. It was probably because he needed cinnamon bears. What is he going to do with cinnamon bears in a plane replica?

"How many cinnamon bears?" I ask.

"Twenty bags should be fine." Then he hangs up.

Twenty bags? Good God. Where am I going to find twenty bags of cinnamon bears? Is there anywhere they sell them in bulk?

I call Charity.

"Hey. Are you having another sexuality crisis?" she asks. "Because I still haven't heard about how the first crisis went."

Damn it. I forgot to call her back. "Um, it was fine. I mean, we had great sex and stuff. But right now I need twenty bags of cinnamon bears."

There's a pause on the other end. "Wait. Do you need cinnamon bears because of Max or because of a nesting omega who has demanded them for unknown reasons."

"The latter one."

"Ah. Text me the address and I'll grab them for you. Do the bags have to be a specific size, or?—"

"He just said, ‘twenty bags should be fine.'"

"Isn't it weird how often they say that exact phrase? ‘Eight pillows should be fine.' Or ‘five cake pans in the shape of a star should be fine.' Like you were offering them ten pillows or seven cake pans, but they'd be ‘fine' with a lower number. So many of them say it too. Is there a nesting fog phrasebook somewhere?"

"Charity, I love you, but I need to go. I think I forgot to zip up my pants, so I need both hands, and I'm running down a flight of stairs?—"

"Say no more. I'm happy to be your back-up during this egg-laying. None of my clients are due for another week. Have you eaten dinner?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Text me the address. Bye!"

I call Charity every single time I head to a client's house for an egg-laying. Sometimes I need something, like twenty bags of cinnamon bears. It also helps to have someone remind me to eat before I go or to bring food if I'm working with a client for an extended period of time. I have a bag in my trunk with nonperishable food, but having a back-up person relieves a lot of stress in this job. You never know what might happen. I do the same for her when one of her clients lays an egg.

When I get to my car, I send Ethan's address to Charity and a text to Max to let him know I'm on my way to a delivery. Then I drive like a madman to Ethan's apartment building. It takes me less than five minutes to get there, park, and run to the second floor where his apartment is.

A skinny omega with bright blue hair steps out of Ethan's front door. He's wearing grungy coveralls and carrying a toolbox. He looks me up and down as I sprint down the hall.

"So you're the hired fist," he says.

"Yeah, is Ethan okay? Who are you? No offense."

He lets out a breathy laugh. "It's okay. I'm a friend, I guess."

Ethan had mentioned that all of his friends lived in California and Australia. He and Mike had settled here because they wanted their kids to grow up with other penguin shifters.

"Take care of him for me, will you? He's… special." The way the man says it makes me pretty certain he sees Ethan as something different than a friend.

"Yeah, I will."

As he passes me, I expect him to smell like grease or gasoline. He doesn't. He smells of cinnamon.

"He'll need help warming the eggs after the birth," I say.

The man pauses for a moment. "Probably not from me. My history with Ethan is… complicated. I missed my chance with him a long time ago. But thanks for your concern." He continues to the elevator, his head lowered.

"He asked me to bring cinnamon bears," I tell him. Just in case it matters.

He turns back to me. "He did?"

"Yeah. Twenty bags of them. I sent a friend to buy them."

A slight smile comes to his lips. Clearly, that means something to him.

Sometimes omegas ask for random things, and there doesn't appear to be a reason. But I think there always is. We may just not understand it. In a lot of ways, a nesting fog is nothing but peeling back the layers of who someone is and exposing their core.

I leave Ethan's ex to his thoughts and run to Ethan's front door. It's locked, which is good. I use my key to get in, because knocking may agitate Ethan at this point. The carpet of his hallway has been painted white down the center, like a runway, and the scent of Ethan's slick is thick in the air. Ethan emerges from his bedroom wearing nothing but a pointed cap of an old-fashioned flight attendant and what look like luggage tags around his wrists.

I hold back a smile. I love this job.

"Clem fixed rows D, E, and F," Ethan says matter-of-factly.

"Who is Clem?" I ask, even though I met him. I want to hear Ethan's answer.

"Clem is safe." He disappears into his bedroom without another word.

Being safe to an omega in a nesting fog is a big deal. I hope Ethan will allow himself to fall in love again someday, and I hope Clem is still around when that happens.

I follow Ethan into his bedroom. Inside is the most intricate nest I've ever seen. There are still traveling mementos around the bed, but they're festooned around seats that look like they were pulled straight from a plane. Rows A and B are on the left side of the bed, and Row C is crammed to the right. The other rows are indeed suspended above the bed with solid rope supported by beams installed in all four corners of the room. The construction of all this was probably what I heard in the background today. Ethan let Clem help him with his nest. That level of intimacy, even with a mate, is rare. Clem and Ethan must have gone through something significant together.

"Take off your clothes," Ethan says and holds out a second pointed cap to me.

With fairy penguins there are always costumes.

I pull off my shirt and toss it into the hall. When I go to yank down my jeans, I notice something peculiar. Normally, all it takes is the scent of a client's slick to get me hard. But I'm completely flaccid.

Instinctively, I know what this means. I found my fated mate. It makes sense that my reaction to my clients would change. I just wasn't sure what that change would look like. Jeremy provides knot-induced egg extraction, so he can definitely get it up for clients. This is clearly just a me thing, not a sex worker thing.

But it feels right. I don't want things to be the same. This is a sign that everything with Max is real.

Sometimes it feels too good to be true.

As I duck under rows D-F, and join Ethan on his bed, I make a half-hearted attempt to get my dick interested in the proceedings. It stays stubbornly soft.

"I'm going to open you up with my fist, okay?" I tell Ethan. He never showed any preference for knot-induced egg extraction during our conversations. I'll definitely need to tell clients going forward, but that isn't so bad.

I guess my dick belongs to Max. The idea makes me smile.

Ethan rolls over onto his hands and knees, lowering his head to the mattress and pushing his ass out. Clearly, he doesn't care either way.

"I'm so empty," he whines.

I'm always telling people that it doesn't matter how you open a birth passage, as long as the omega is comfortable. Ethan is comfortable with me. I've done my job preparing him emotionally, and that matters a lot more than what body part I prepare him with physically.

I place my hand on the side of his thigh. "Don't worry, I'll fill you."