Bea
The afternoon lull at the general store is supposed to be peaceful.
It's not.
I'm reorganizing the impulse-buy display for the third time, and my omega won't settle down. This is Honeyridge Falls—I expected today to go sideways.
Mrs. Henderson started the interrogation the moment I unlocked the register this morning, asking about "that nice deputy" approximately twelve times, as if I didn't already want to crawl into a hole and die. Then River Brooks showed up during his lunch hour, smelling like pine and sawdust, and offered me an actual legitimate job using my actual degree.
Now he's gone.
His scent is still lingering in the store—pine and fresh-cut wood that makes me think of building things, creating something that lasts. And when he'd leaned on the counter with those stupidly blue eyes, all steady and sincere while explaining he genuinely needed my marketing skills—not pity, not charity—warmth had pooled low in my belly.
I am NOT into River Brooks.
I'm just... appreciating his business acumen. And the fact that he sees me as competent instead of broken. And maybe his forearms. For professional reasons.
Except my body didn't get that memo. When he got close to the counter, my pulse kicked up. My mouth went dry. And Inoticedwhen his scent shifted, that spike of arousal he couldn't quite hide.
Which never happened with Terrance. Not once in our entire relationship.
But it happened with Seth at the festival. And now River.
Great. Fantastic. Exactly what I need right now.
Did I even take my heat suppressants this morning? Because this—whateverthisis—feels like my omega biology has completely overridden my common sense.
Gum. Batteries. ChapStick. I move them around like shuffling will somehow reorganize my thoughts too. It doesn't work.
The bell over the door chimes.
I look up.
Seth Monroe stands in the doorway holding two coffee cups and looking like he's reconsidering every life choice that led him here.
Oh god. Not now. Not while I'm still flustered from River.
His scent hits me a second later—clean rain and cedar and fresh-baked bread—and my omega responds immediately. Where River's scent made me hot and restless, Seth's wraps around me like a warm blanket. Comforting. Safe. The complete opposite of River's "I work with my hands and you should definitely think about that" energy.
My body doesn't care that I'm confused. It just knows: alpha. Good alpha. Want.
My hands grip the counter. Not helpful, body. Not helpful at all.
We both freeze.
"Hi," he squeaks. Actually squeaks. His neck is already turning red.
"Hi."
Painful silence.
My mouth goes dry. I can't stop staring at his lips. Those lips. The ones I kissed at the festival—tentative and careful before turning surprisingly hungry for one perfect moment.
Heat creeps up my neck. Stop it. Stop thinking about how he tasted. Stop remembering.
He shifts his weight, nearly spilling the coffee. "I, um. I brought..." His voice cracks. He clears his throat, tries again. "Coffee?"
I take pity on him. "You brought me coffee."
