"It felt weird after. Like I said too much or?—"
"Seth." I need to stop this before he spirals. "You were honest. That was fine. We're fine."
"Yeah?" His expression does something complicated. Hope and fear and want all mixed together.
The line moves. Neither of us notices.
"I keep thinking about it," he admits quietly. "What would've happened if that call hadn't come through. If we'd just—if I'd just?—"
My heart's pounding, but I force a light tone. "Probably would've been even more awkward. Your radio squawking while—" I stop myself, face heating.
"While what?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
"Bea—"
"Deputy Monroe!" Someone shouts from across the square. "We need you!"
Thank god.
He grimaces. "I should?—"
"Go. Save the festival from whatever crisis Tessa's having."
"Right. Yeah." He hesitates, like he wants to say something else. Those brown eyes are so earnest it makes my chest ache. Then just, "Later?"
"Later."
He heads off, and I watch him go. Still gentle. Still careful. But there's something different now—acknowledgment of what's between us. What almost happened. What might still happen if we're brave enough.
He heads off, and I watch him go. The careful way he navigates the crowd, pausing to help someone struggling with packages, guiding an elderly couple toward the seating area. Seth moves through the world like he's terrified of taking up too much space, but every gesture is gentle and capable and genuinely kind.
My heart's doing gymnastics.
I get my hot chocolate, but it doesn't help. My body's buzzing, my scent's spiraling, and I need space. Away from the crowd, the noise, the three sets of eyes I can feel tracking me through the square.
There's an alley between Millie's and the bookshop—dark, quiet, barely wide enough for two people. I slip into it, press my back against cold brick, and try to remember how to breathe.
The festival noise fades. Out here, it's just me and the cold air and the smell of cinnamon from my hot chocolate mixing with my own increasingly sweet scent.
I'm so fucked.
Three weeks ago, I was running from Terrance and his suffocating pack bond. Three weeks ago, I swore off alphas entirely. And now I'm hiding in an alley at a tree lighting ceremony because I can't handle being in the same square as three of them without my omega biology short-circuiting.
"Escaping the festivities?"
Grayson. Of course.
He's at the alley entrance, backlit by festival lights, hands in his pockets. Not crowding. Just... there. Watching me with that dark, assessing gaze.
"Needed air," I manage.
"Looked like you needed distance." He tilts his head. "Was half-expecting you to kiss someone to escape the crowd. Worked at the festival, right?"
My cheeks heat. "That's not—that was different."
"Sorry." He holds up a hand, something flickering across his face. "I shouldn't have said that. Don't know why I did. Getting caught up in town gossip isn't really my thing."
