His skin is warm. The muscles underneath shift at my touch. His scent hits me full force—pine and sawdust and alpha musk that makes my omega go liquid.
My hand lingers. Long enough to feel his pulse jump. Long enough for his eyes to meet mine.
The moment stretches.
His pupils are dilated. His scent is changing, getting heavier with arousal. He's looking at me like he wants to devour me.
"Bea," he says, voice rough.
I'm still touching him. Standing so close I can feel his body heat. All he'd have to do is lean down?—
Movement outside the window catches my eye.
I glance over, and there's Grayson walking down the street. Dark jeans, leather jacket, tattoos visible even from here. The afternoon sun catches the ink, making it stand out stark and beautiful against his skin.
As if sensing my gaze, he stops. Turns. Looks directly at the window.
Directly at me.
Even from this distance, I feel it—that pull. His mouth curves into a slow smile, and he raises his hand in a small wave.
My body responds like he just touched me. Heat floods through me, settling between my thighs with embarrassing intensity.
I drop my hand from River's arm like I've been burned.
"Sorry, I—" I step back, creating space. "Got distracted."
River follows my gaze out the window. Grayson's still there, still watching, before he finally continues down the street.
"The tattoo artist," River says, and there's something in his voice I can't quite read. "Maeve mentioned you two had dinner."
Of course Maeve did. Town gossip central.
"It wasn't—we just ate food. That's it."
"Okay." He runs a hand through his hair, and I catch the tension in his shoulders. "Look, I should probably say something before this gets awkward."
Oh no. Here it comes. The "you're a great employee but" speech.
"I'm attracted to you," he says simply. "Have been since the festival. Milo told me not to rush this, to give you space, but... you're my employee, and you just moved back, and you've clearly got a lot going on. So I'm not going to make this weird. I just wanted to be honest."
My throat is tight. Of all the things I expected him to say, that brutal honesty wasn't it.
"I—"
"You don't have to say anything." He gives me a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm just letting you know where I stand. No pressure. No expectations. You're great at this job, and I don't want things to be uncomfortable."
"They're not," I manage. "Uncomfortable, I mean."
"Good." He glances at the clock. "It's almost closing time anyway. Why don't you head out? I can finish up here."
It feels like a dismissal, even though his tone is gentle. Like he's giving me space to process, or maybe giving himself space to deal with whatever he just saw in my reaction to Grayson.
"River—"
"See you tomorrow, Bea."
There's nothing else to say. I grab my coat and bag, and leave.
