With a smirk of victory, Auren turns and sweeps away, disappearing into the market crowd.
“Ignore him. He’s just a jealous snake,” Jared tells me, but when I tug again, he lets me go.
“Are you okay?” Grady asks, reaching partway toward me, offering support without pushing.
“I’m fine,” I lie reflexively, my mouth shaping the reassurance even as the rest of me rejects it.
Leif’s hand settles on Quinn’s shoulder, but his attention remains fixed on where Auren disappeared. “Manipulative Omegas like that are…” He glances down at his young charge. “Not nice people.”
Quinn looks between us, sensing tension shedoesn’t understand. “I found a dragon book.” She holds up her prize. “Leif said we could get lemon scones next!”
“Sounds perfect,” I say and stand to gather the empty cups. “Let’s do that.”
Leif studies me for another beat, reading what I’m trying not to show. “I think we could all use some scones right about now.”
We fall back into the motion of the market, Quinn chattering about pastries. Leif matches her stride while Grady’s cane taps a steady beat beside them. Jared stays close enough to me that his shoulder brushes mine when the path narrows, and I struggle not to tense at the contact.
I can fake calm. I can buy scones, make small talk, and act as if I’m not a shaking mess after my encounter with Auren.
But inside, I’m unraveling. Seeing Auren again reminded me of how he got under my skin before, and how his charm used to sway me when I’d been starved for approval.
And Jared… sweet, eager Jared. I’ll have to be more careful going forward.
Kissing him was me being weak, reaching for warmth instead of common sense. And if I don’t put distance between want and need, I’m going torepeat every mistake I made with Auren, while hurting the young, vulnerable Alpha at my side.
Chapter Twenty
Jared
The eggs sizzle in the cast iron as I stir them into a fluffy scramble. I’ve gotten good at breakfast since moving in with Emily, and most mornings, she now lets me cook.
It was a small win until the disaster at the market yesterday set us back.
Outside the kitchen window, the sky hangs low and gray over muddy garden paths, and the weather forecast promised more storms all this coming week.
Behind me, Emily sits at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee cooling between her palms. She hasn’t spoken more than ten words since waking, and the silence between us stretches thin, ready to shatter at the slightest misstep.
I salt the eggs, grab a fistful of the shreddedcheese Emily always stashes in a glass jar, and fold it in. The kitchen fills with the smell of coffee, toast, and the stew simmering in the crock-pot. She threw that together when we got home yesterday, then disappeared behind her crochet for the rest of the night.
Mixie sits in the doorway, tail flicking in agitated arcs. Animals always pick up when something’s wrong.
“Almost ready,” I say, too loudly in the quiet kitchen.
Emily hums in response, the sound noncommittal. On a normal day, at this point, she’d be puttering around gathering glasses of orange juice or hovering behind me to keep an eye on things.
Instead, she traces the rim of her mug with her index finger, round and round, her gaze fixed on some middle distance I can’t reach.
The eggs finish in a flash. I drop them onto the plates, beside toast cut into neat triangles, because that’s how Emily eats it. She never said a word, but I paid attention. I always do. The wrinkle between her brows when she’s focused, the nervous hair-tuck, the precise tap-tap of straightening the shakers.
All these small details add up to the woman I’mfalling in love with, even as she pulls away from me.
I set her plate in front of her, careful not to let our fingers brush. Since the market yesterday, sinceAuren, she flinches at my touch. I wish I could smell her pheromones to help gauge her mood, and not for the first time, frustration fills me at my broken senses.
“Thank you,” she says, picking up her fork but not eating.
I sit across from her, the wooden chair creaking under my weight. The table between us stretches wider than its actual four feet, an ocean opening where once there was solid ground.
“How about a warm-up on your coffee?” I offer, rising to fetch the carafe from the counter.