We walk over to the first aisle, and I take a deep breath as the conflicting scents of thousands of candles hits me in a rush. Coughing, I take a few more breaths until my head stops swimming, the immediate bombardment dying down.
Nate’s not much better, his eyes watering.
“Well, this is a good start,” he jokes as we start to stroll. A variety of options greet us, from tiny tea lights to candles in tins and gigantic pillar candles.
My hand reaches out and Nate nearly collides with me as he puts his hands on my shoulders.
“You like this one?” Nate asks, as I look at the label.
The bookshop.
Cracking it open, I take a sniff and my eyes widen. It smells just like Cade, his unique inky paper scent bottled and placed here for smellingany time I like.
My fingers tighten around it.
Just one candle. One little candle won’t hurt.
But a few steps later, my eyes are drawn to another one.
Rosemary and Basil.
It’s not an exact match, but it’s close enough to Hudson’s fresh, almost minty scent that I add it to Cade’s.
Chewing my lip, I start to scan the shelves.
It takes me a few minutes, but I manage to find some teakwood-scented tealights, the earthy, rich scent an exact replica of Axel.
When I turn, Nate catches my eye. He’s stayed back, giving me space to hunt down the scents I need. His grins at me, eyes sparkling.
“You don’t need those, you know,” he says. Embarrassment flushes my neck red, until his lip twitches.
“You’re laughing at me,” I say primly, “but I haven’t found yours yet.”
And I’ll be really, irrationally annoyed if I can’t find a candle that smells like toasted marshmallows.
Nate pushes himself upright, sauntering towards me. I keep my feet steady as he leans in, his cheek running against mine and giving me full access to his neck.
“You,” he purrs, “have a constant supply on hand.”
I swallow, nearly dropping the candles in my hands when he steps back, a satisfied smile spreading over his face. Reaching forward, he takes them from me.
Narrowing my eyes at him playfully, I turn back to the shelves. I’ll admit that having my own toasted marshmallow-scented alpha on hand might be handy, but he won’t be with me all the time.
I’m pushing aside a selection of truly disgusting pineapple candles when I pause, my hand hovering over a selection of wax burners.
“Kitten?” Nate’s voice sounds behind me.
I’m acting like a bitemarked omega.
I’m acting liketheiromega.
And whatever Nate says about all of them wanting me, I only have his word for it. What if he’s wrong? What if the others don’t feel the same?
What if this isn’t real?
“Stop it,” Nate says firmly. He turns me to face him, and I stare at the middle of his chest, the cotton blurring.
“Whatever self-destructive thoughts you’re having,” he says quietly, “I want them to stop, Gabrielle. You were having fun, and I was having fun watching you.”
