I need him and Clara to sort out their feelings for each other, or she’ll never give me a chance.
I need him to know that he belongs between the two of us.
When Felix joined my team four years ago, he was twenty-four, with wide eyes and a shy smile. He grew up in CopperHill and returned here immediately after college. I think he had planned on commuting to Syracuse if I hadn’t hired him, but the moment our hands touched, I knew I couldn’t let him walk out that door.
Obviously, I waited too long to make my move. I should have asked him out from the beginning, but when Mitchell Sr was running the company, there was no way I could have. I would’ve lost my job immediately. By the time Mitch took over for his dad, it had been too long.
I was resigned to watch him from afar.
But over the past few months, my Alpha hindbrain has been loud and insistent that we are supposed to be together. I’m not sure what changed, but my draw to him has been growing even more impossible to ignore, and every day that passes, I become more and more of a bumbling idiot around Felix.
My dog Rooster pushes his cold, wet nose against the back of my hand with a whine. Shit. In my spiral of defeat, I missed his usual walk. But maybe I can use him as an excuse to search the town for Clara and Felix? It’s as good a reason as any to be walking around.
I can see it now.
“Oh, Clara, wow, I can’t believe I bumped into you. I was just out walking my dog. He needed some exercise. What a coincidence! May I have your number so we can discuss how we’re meant to be together? And if we have time, let’s circle back so we can develop a game plan to address the fact that we’re both pining after the same Omega.”
Corporate speak. Sexy.
That will go over well.
I haul myself out of bed, and Rooster’s paws tippy tap on my wood flooring with excitement. It doesn’t take me long to shower while he eats, and I bundle up, prepared to wander for as long as it takes until I find one of them.
Main Street hasa few shops and the pop-up Christmas market. One of the shops, Brew-tiful Days, is always busy. It’s always been a coffee shop, but the owner, Sylvia, hired us to modernize and update it when she first came to town two years ago. I tie Rooster up to a light post outside, and he immediately flops down in the snow and burrows himself into it.
Winter is his favorite time of year. Sometimes, it’s hard to get him inside.
The scent of fresh coffee, combined with the sweetness of the syrups used in their seasonal drinks and pastries, overwhelms my senses.
I wonder if they’ll do a Christmas cookie latte.
The line moves quickly, and when it’s my time to order, I look at the woman behind the register, and my heart stops beating in my chest.
“Clara,” I say on a sigh. “I found you.”
Her face flickers with joy before it shuts down, utterly devoid of emotion. “Gabriel.”
She’s as beautiful as I remember, even in the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen in my entire life. The massive reindeer on the front features a light-up red bulb on its nose, and a lighted garland is strung between its antlers, with strategically placed pom-poms, much like baubles on a Christmas tree.
“We need to talk. Please, give me a chance to know you,” I beg, uncaring about the people waiting behind me in line. “We’re scent matches. That means something.” She shushes me, looking around to see if anyone else is paying attention. Honestly, that hurts my feelings. Is she embarrassed by me?
Why wouldn’t she want people to know we’re a match?
“You know how rare this is,” I continue. “We owe it to ourselves to see where this goes.”
Her green eyes look so sad as she stares at me. Why is she dead set on torturing herself? “You need to order something. We have a line.”
“I’ll take a medium sugar cookie latte.” Is it cheesy to order something that will smell like her? Maybe, but I have been craving cookies since I met her last night.
“That’ll be six dollars and twenty-seven cents.” I hand over my credit card, but I don’t let go when she tries to tug it out of my hand.
“When is your break?”
Sylvia slides behind Clara, her greying hair popping out of the bun she’s wearing around her face. Somehow, her sweater manages to be uglier than Clara’s, green and red striped with Christmas cards adhered to the front that flap open as she moves.
“Right now, actually,” the older Beta says, tapping Clara on the shoulder. “She can chat now.”
Clara glares at Sylvia over her shoulder. “Actually, you’re busy, so-”
