“Where is he now?”
“Catching up with a friend. I’ve got the day off.”
“Perfect.” Trudy links her arm through Maggie’s as if they’ve known each other for years. “Coffee. Claire would know the best café for us to go to, as I’m not a local.”
Maggie brightens. “I’d love that. So nice to meet other Omegas where it’s not all competitive.”
“Oh, we’re aggressively noncompetitive,” Trudy says. “Militant, even.”
She catches my eye, then winks. And I choke on a laugh because the woman who showed up drenched on a doorstep days ago is currently social-butterflying my ex’s Omega down a sidewalk as if she’s hosting a brunch.
“Yep, this way. I know the best place for us,” I finally say, putting on a smile, while my insides are torn in so many directions.
We head toward The Flour House three abreast. Maggie is between us, chatting about the town, a seafood restaurant Louis took her to. I catch myself smiling and then being angry, and the whole cycle is exhausting.
The café is buzzing. Nina spots me through the crowd from behind the counter and waves with a coffee jug, but she’s busy, the line long, so I simply wave back and blow her a kiss.
We find a table in the back, and the second Maggie sits opposite me, Trudy pushes her chair under the table. “Let me grab the drinks,” she insists. “What are we having?”
I’m on my feet before she finishes the sentence. “Oh, no, I can do it. I know what’s good here.”
Trudy puts a hand lightly on my shoulder and presses me back toward the chair with alarming sweetness. “Claire, you live here, so sit and relax.”
“I’m very relaxed, but it might be easier if I order.”
Her smile widens. “What are you having, or shall I surprise you?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “I’m happy to come with you. Nina sometimes keeps the good cookies behind the counter.”
“How mysterious.” Trudy rests one hand on the back of my chair, smiling as if she hasn’t just blocked my escape route with manners. “But I think I can handle a café order.”
Maggie glances between us, amused. “Is there a cookie shortage I should be worried about?”
“Not yet,” I say, still staring at Trudy. “But some people are reckless with responsibility.”
Trudy’s mouth twitches. “Chai latte for you, then. Maggie?”
“Oh, that sounds lovely. Same for me.”
“Perfect.” Trudy gives me one last bright, treacherous smile. “You two get comfortable. I’ll be right back.” She disappears toward the counter before I can invent a single respectable reason to follow her, and the silence descends like a curtain.
Maggie studies me across the small table. The café noise—clinking cups, grinding beans, someone’s toddler shrieking near the door—fills the space between us.
“I’m sorry about how Louis treated you,” she says suddenly.
The directness startles me. So she knows who I am, sending my pulse into a frenzy.
“Ancient history,” I manage, because that is easier than admitting some memories still sting.
“Still. The timing was awful.” Maggie leans forward. “He told me about you and how things didn’t work out.”
“Did he tell you he left me on the morning of my live TV interview?” I ask, my voice staying calmer than I feel. “Or that he asked for my ring back while you waited outside?”
Her shoulders tense. For a second, she doesn’t blink, and her gaze drops to the table, the color draining slowly from her face. “No,” she says quietly. “He glossed over the details. Said you’d drifted apart.”
“Drifted.” The word tastes sour. “Sure.”
“I should have asked more questions.”