"Actually," I say, keeping my voice casual, "could you give the second bag to Reverie? Tell her it's an early Christmas gift."
Mei pauses mid-scan, looking up at me with sudden interest.
"Reverie? You know her?"
"We just met," I say, which is technically true even if it feels like an understatement. "She recommended these books. Seemed like she really wanted to read them."
Mei's smile turns knowing.
"That's really sweet. She'll love this."
She finishes ringing everything up, and I hand over my card without looking at the total. It doesn't matter. Money from the ranch, money from the small inheritance my grandmother left me—it's just sitting there. Might as well use it for something that makes someone happy.
Mei bags the books carefully, putting mine in one bag and Reverie's set in another. "Should I tell her who they're from?"
"No," I say quickly. Then, softer, "Just the Christmas gift part."
I don't want gratitude. Don't want her to feel obligated. I just want her to have something nice.
Mei nods, understanding in her eyes. "Alright. I'll make sure she gets them."
I take my bag and thank her, then do something I probably shouldn't—instead of leaving, I head toward the reading nook tucked in the back corner of the shop. It's a small alcove with two oversized armchairs, a side table, and a lamp that casts warm, golden light.
Private enough that you can watch the rest of the shop without being obvious about it.
I want to see her reaction. Just for a moment. To know she's happy.
I settle into one of the chairs, pull out the first book from my bag—the cafe one, because it feels appropriate—and pretend to read while I wait.
It doesn't take long.
"What do you mean someone bought these for me?"
Reverie's voice carries from the front counter, loud with shock and disbelief.
"All three? These are hardcover editions! That's $100 minimum with these special editions. They're the ones I was just talking about!"
I can hear the female clerk—Mei—laughing.
"I guess you have a hot secret admirer! He didn't tell me his name, but he was certainly attractive and comes here once in a while. Maybe you'll meet him again."
"I hope so," Reverie says, and there's something in her voice—soft and genuine and full of wonder. "So I can say thank you."
I risk a glance around the edge of the bookshelf that's partially hiding my alcove.
She's standing at the counter, the bag of books clutched to her chest like something precious. Her face is lit up with joy—pure, unfiltered happiness that makes her glow. Those big eyes are shining, maybe even a little misty, and she's smiling so wide it must hurt.
The gratitude in her expression isn't performative. It's real. Deep. Like this small act of kindness matters more than it probably should.
When was the last time someone did something nice for her? Where someone saw her want something and just... gave it to her? No strings attached, no expectations, just because she deserved it?
My heart does that thing again—that complicated squeeze that's equal parts painful and perfect.
I did that. I made her smile like that. Such a small thing, barely anything, and it means the world to her.
I lean back in the chair, my book forgotten in my lap, and let myself think about something I haven't allowed myself to consider in a long time.
What would it be like to have an Omega who truly cherished their Alpha? Not because of obligation, pack bonds, or social expectations, but because they wanted to? Because they chose to?
