"The Omega Nest Cafe?"
"What?" I'm getting excited now, that telltale energy building in my chest. "It would be perfect! The tagline could be—" I pause for dramatic effect, spreading my hands like I'm revealing a marquee sign, "'Healing Hearts, One Cup at a Time.'"
Mei stares at me for a long moment, then says, "That's incredibly romantic."
"Thank you!" I bounce on my toes, unable to contain myself. "C'mon, it would be a bestseller! Think about it—cozy, small-town romance with an Omega who just wants to be in love.Reallove. Not the bullcrap we see on TV where Omegas are just there to look pretty and be claimed. I want the slow burn, the groveling, the tension, the sexual epicness!"
I'm pacing now, gesturing wildly, and Mei is watching me with the resigned expression of someone who's seen this show before.
"The Omega would be someone who's had fallout after fallout with packs, right? She thinks love is hopeless. Thinks maybe she's the problem. But then—" I spin around dramatically, nearly knocking over a display of bookmarks, "—she runs into an Alpha at the cafe. Classic meet-cute. Maybe she spills coffee on him? They're both apologizing, patting him down with napkins, their hands touch, there's thismoment?—"
"Is Reverie going on one of her plotting sprees again?"
I whirl around to see another coworker, James, leaning against the romance section with a knowing smirk.
He's a Beta in his fifties who treats the bookshop like his personal kingdom and me like his chaotic younger sister.
"It's not a plotting spree," I huff, putting my hands on my hips. "It's creative vision."
"Sure it is," Mei says, but she's grinning now. "So what happens after the coffee incident?"
Oh my god, they're enabling me. I love them so much.
"Well, obviously they keep running into each other," I continue, warming to my theme. "The cafe becomes this neutral ground where they can just be themselves. No pack politics, no expectations, just two people connecting over pastries and terrible puns about coffee beans. And slowly, so slowly it hurts, she starts to believe that maybe love isn't hopeless. Maybe she isn't broken. Maybe?—"
"Maybe you should write this yourself," James suggests.
I laugh, sharp and a little bitter.
"I can't write for shit. Trust me, I've tried. My prose reads like a caffeinated squirrel had a nervous breakdown on the keyboard."
"That's... surprisingly accurate," Mei says.
"But mark my words," I point at both of them with the intensity of someone making a prophecy. "I'm gonna find someone to write this idea, and it'll be amazing. Better than the Bakedverse series everyone is going gaga for!"
Mei and James exchange glances, then both start laughing.
"We believe you," Mei says, patting my shoulder. "But maybe table the literary revolution for now and go get your sugar cookies before they're all gone and you're crying in the storage room."
"Again," James adds helpfully.
"That wasone time," I protest, but I'm already heading toward the back of the shop, the three books clutched in my hands. "And they were chocolate chip! You can't blame me for having priorities!"
Their laughter follows me as I make my way through the stacks, past the mystery section and the local authors display and the reading nook with the overstuffed armchairs that I've definitely napped in during slow shifts.
Sugar cookies. Focus on the sugar cookies. Everything else can wait.
But then I glance down at the books in my arms, and reality crashes back in like a bucket of ice water.
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
I can't actually buy these books until my next paycheck.
I did the math this morning—rent, utilities, groceries, the emergency fund I'm desperately trying to build because being broke and alone is terrifying. Books, as much as it pains me to admit, are a luxury I can't afford this week.
Manifestation is great and all, but it doesn't pay the bills.
