ONE
ZALE
The bus rattled to a stop in what had to be the smallest town I'd ever visited. Snow fell in thick, lazy flakes, coating the street, the old-fashioned lampposts and the cheerful storefronts with their Christmas lights. It was a postcard come to life, and everything my family’s estate wasn’t.
I grabbed my duffel bag and stepped out, and my breath steamed in the cold air. Behind me, the bus doors wheezed shut and the vehicle rumbled away, leaving me alone on the empty street.
The phone in my pocket buzzed. Another message from my omega dad, probably, or my alpha father or one of my brothers demanding to know where I'd gone. I silenced it without looking and shoved the phone deeper into my coat.
I was done with the endless arguments about my future and being told who I should mate with. Fed up with elaborate Christmas gatherings where I was paraded around as a prize to be won, I’d walked out three days ago with nothing but a bag and my debit card, and I wasn't going back.
The main street—because there seemed to be only one—was quiet this late. Most shops had closed for the evening. Ipassed a hardware store, bookshop and tiny post office, and their windows were dark except for security lights and holiday displays. I walked slowly, my boots crunching in the fresh snow as I took in my surroundings. This place was the opposite of my home in every way.
My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn't eaten since that sad gas station sandwich six hours ago. I scanned the street for anything open and spotted a warm glow spilling onto the sidewalk about half a block down. As I got closer, the scents of bread and cinnamon hit me. My wolf perked up though I wasn’t sure why because he didn’t eat baked goods.
The sign above the door read "Hawthorn's Bakery" in elegant script, though the paint was slightly faded. Through the large front window, I could see display cases and small tables, and someone was moving in the back. It was still open, thank gods.
A bell chimed when I pushed through the door. The warmth hugged me, along with that incredible smell intensified tenfold. Coupled with fresh bread, there was an aroma of melted chocolate and vanilla. It was spicy, and my mouth watered.
"We're closing."
The gruff, unwelcoming voice came from behind the counter. I looked up and my wolf, who’d been clamoring about something I couldn’t decipher, went absolutely still.
The man behind the counter was tall and dusted with flour as if he'd been rolling in it. His dark hair hadn’t been combed in forever and his jaw was sharp enough to cut glass. His t-shirt and apron were streaked with various colors of frosting, and his shoulders drooped with exhaustion. But it was his scowl that got my attention and I shivered as his dark eyes examined me.
Then his scent hit me. It was similar to a rich espresso with an undercurrent of something wild and alpha-like. My knees went weak, and I had to lock them to stay upright. I gripped the counter to steady myself.
Gods, he was the most attractive person I'd ever met. And he was a shifter—an alpha wolf. My beast recognized his beast instantly and urged me to get close to him and bare my throat. He wanted me to submit to the alpha.
No. Absolutely not. I'd just escaped an arranged mating situation. I was not walking into another complication, especially not with someone who was scowling at me and eyeing me as if I was an inconvenient smudge on an otherwise clean window.
"I just need something quick." My voice stayed steady, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside me. "Whatever you have left."
The baker—Hawthorn, presumably—stared at me. His nostrils flared before he turned to the display case with a grunt.
"Got some day-old croissants and a couple of muffins. That's it."
"Great." I approached the counter. Each step brought me closer to that intoxicating scent. The espresso smell wrapped around me, making my head spin. My wolf did excited little circles in my chest, and I told him to calm down. "I'll take two croissants and a muffin."
Hawthorn pulled them out with efficient movements and slipped them into a paper bag. He had strong, capable hands, and there was a small burn scar across one knuckle. I watched those hands and my mouth went dry for reasons that had nothing to do with hunger.
I dragged my eyes away. "How much?"
"Six dollars."
I fished out my wallet, aware of Hawthorn watching me. When I handed him the bills, his fingers brushed mine. The touch lingered for a heartbeat and heat shot up my arm and went straight to my chest. He jerked back.
His dark brown eyes met my blue ones and his eyes narrowed.
"You're not from around here." It wasn’t a question.
"Just passing through." The lie came easily. I wasn't sure yet if I was staying or catching my breath before moving on again.
"Uh-huh." Hawthorn didn't look convinced. His eyes tracked down my body then back up. The slow perusal made my skin prickle. "There's a motel two blocks north. The Sleep Easy Lodge. Tell Miriam I sent you. She might give you the local rate."
It was dismissive and a clear end to the conversation. But my wolf insisted there was a grudging kindness underneath the gruffness.
"Thank you."
