Yeah. Thanks for the recommendation.
Good. Town's small but decent. People will leave you alone if you make it clear you want space.
That's the plan.
Three dots. Then:Give it a chance though. Honeyridge Falls has a way of growing on you.
I stare at the message for a long moment.
Give it a chance. Like I gave Pine Valley a chance? Like I gave Morgan a chance, thinking maybe this time would be different?
Elijah knows I needed out. Needed my own space. Needed somewhere I could build something that was mine without Morgan showing up to cause scenes at the shop. Three years together, and by the end she was calling constantly, accusing me of things I wasn't doing, making clients uncomfortable.
It wasn't violent. Just exhausting. Suffocating.
Foster care taught me how to disappear. Morgan reminded me why I needed to keep that skill sharp.
The irony isn't lost on me that the first person I'm attracted to here is an omega. Morgan's worst nightmare. The thing she was always terrified I'd want instead of her.
Maybe she knew me better than I knew myself.
I don't answer Elijah's text. Can't promise what I don't know.
By late afternoon, the place looks lived-in. Art on the walls. Equipment ready. Smells like leather and ink instead of dust and emptiness.
Not home. Never had one of those.
But it's mine. For now. That counts for something.
My stomach growls. Right. Food. Forgot about that.
The instant ramen I brought doesn't sound appealing, and I've been living on gas station snacks for two days. Pretty sure that's not sustainable long-term.
Probably should figure out the local food situation before I die of malnutrition in my cool new apartment.
Levi mentioned a diner—Millie's, maybe?
I grab my jacket and head out.
Cold hitsme the second I step outside. That sharp December cold that makes your nose hurt. Main Street's quiet—few cars, lights coming on in windows. That blue-gray time between day and night when everything feels like it's holding its breath.
Millie's Diner is three blocks down. I can smell coffee and fried food from here, and my stomach growls loud enough to embarrass me.
I'm almost there when I see her.
Bea Wilson, locking up the general store. Closer now, I can see sharp features, green eyes that look tired, dark hair escaping that ponytail. Still wearing that worn jacket.
She turns. Sees me watching.
Freezes.
We're maybe ten feet apart. Empty sidewalk. Two strangers.
Her scent hits me properly now—cinnamon and apple cider, sharp winter air underneath. Warm and tart and so distracting I forget what I was going to say.
Pretty omega who looks exhausted and defensive and smells like everything I shouldn't want on day one in a new town.
My body doesn't care about logic. Blood's already heading south, pulse picking up.
