Noah's POV
For the umpteenth time since I started spending the night at the Big House, I walk in to a full kitchen.
That early morning peace and quiet is gone, replaced by the usual hustle and bustle I'm more familiar with when I come to this place. Alpha's and Beta's eating before they head out to their day job or their activities around the pack, Omega's helping Ma cook or fawning over Astrid's belly. Caleb and his husband, Jorges. Old Nick and his six cubs. It's a familiar chaos and, before it all, our Luna sits, dressed in black and eating breakfast.
She's seated nearest to the door with a half-eaten slice of toast in one hand and the morning pack bulletin in the other. Her silver curls are tucked into a black wrap, and she doesn't even look up when I lean in and kiss her head.
"Good morning, Ma."
"Mmhm," she replies, distracted. Then, more clearly: "Morning, baby."
"Morning all," I call to the rest of the room as I step around the counter.
