We whip up the long roads curving around the coast and up to the All Saints’ Pier Market so fast and so free, it feels like we’re flying. I hold tight to my alpha, his wine-and-cherries scent and the smell of his leather jacket in my nose, feeling like the whole of the world is so far away, that there’s only us, snaking up the two-lane highway north.
We park in a gravel lot near All Saints’ Pier, Marcus slipping in beside us, guarding me as always, protecting me regardless of the space between us.
Luca grabs my hand, kisses it, and then guides me up to the All Saints’ Pier Market. The farmers’ and artisan market hosted every Saturday at the pier is full of colorful stalls, wind chimes tinkling in the wind, and suncatchers snagging the summer sun, their colorful lights dancing around. We stroll through it, hand in hand, stopping at every stall. We load my backpack up with fresh local honey and summer-fresh strawberries, with a beautiful carved wooden bowl, and a beaded wall hanging for my nest.
We hop back on his bike, just as the sun begins to set, and I know my vision paled in comparison to the feeling of sunshine on my skin, the alpha I love at my side.
“Now, flip!”Cassian instructs, passing me the spatula.
We’re on my sixth batch of French toast, and I’m determined for this one to turn out, if not perfect, then at least edible. I quickly flip the pieces of toast in the skillet, finding them to be perfectly golden brown.
I let out a squeak of surprise. “Saints, I did it!”
Cassian has had the hardest job of our break between finals and graduation. He’s been teaching me to cook during the mornings we’ve lingered at home, and while I’ll never match his skills, I’m pretty damn proud that I’ve mastered French toast.
When I take the slices from the skillet and plate them up with homemade whipped cream, maple syrup, and a few of the strawberries from the farmers’ market, artfully sliced into roses—which I’m not too proud to admit was completely Cassian’s doing. I nearly sliced my finger open attempting the same.
I present the plates to Simon and Luca, and they look up at me dubiously.
“Oh, come on,” I protest, ready to stamp my foot. “I’ve been practicing! There aren’t even any eggshells in this batch.”
“An improvement,” Simon says with a wry smile.
Saints bless them, they’ve tried every single burned, mushy, too-eggy batch, all with smiles on their faces as they choked down my disasters.
“This one’s good. I promise,” I plead with them, passing them forks.
Luca is the first to dig in, and when he takes his first bite, he lights up and nudges Simon with his elbow. “You’ve got to try this, man. She really did it.”
After they’ve both cleaned their plates, they pass me between them for sweet syrupy kisses, and if that’s not the best reward for a job well done, I don’t know what is.
“Is the goop… goopy enough?”I ask Simon, looking over his shoulder at a bowl of face mask.
“Trust me on this one. I’ve done tons of spa days with Ellie to cheer her up. The goop is perfect.”
Now it’s my turn to look at him dubiously. The goop in question is an unappealing grayish color, and I can’t imagine having it on my face.
But Simon lies me down and puts my head in his lap, gently massaging my temples and scalp and then combing his fingers through my hair. Saints, it feels amazing. I could get used to this. After pulling my hair back from my face, he applies goopy stroke after stroke to my face, gently rubbing it into my skin. Itdoesfeel good, cool and thick.
“I’ve ever done this part for Ellie. Normally she applies it herself. Am I doing it right?”
I’ve only had spa days at the highest end spas in New York and London, so I honestly have no idea what it’s like to not be worked on by multiple aestheticians at once, but itfeelsgreat. I hum my agreement. “It’s perfect.”
When he’s done applying my mask, we switch places and I gently massage his scalp, too, earning me a moan of utter contentment. “Good to know,” I say with a mischievous grin, the mask pulling at my skin when I smile.
After I’ve carefully applied the mask to his freckled face, he sighs, staying in my lap. I card through his rust-red curls, happy to have this time with him. I’m even happier when the mask comes off and we exchange goop-free kisses. That may very well be my favorite part of the day.
I’m lounging against Ian,the both of us reading when Simon mutters, “By the saints. It can’t be…”
He quickly gathers my pack and Marcus. “There’s something you all need to see,” he mutters, waving his phone. “We just got a school-wide email from the headmaster, and it’s… it’s straight bullshit.”
I assume the worst, that Fairhaven Academy has finally bowed to the Council’s decree about banning omegas from higher education, but as Simon reads on, I’m filled with rage, not forlorn fear.
“I’m pleased to announce,” Simon reads, “that we’ll have a guest professor in the upcoming fall term. Pharmaceutical CEO Redwood Rose of Rose Pharmaceuticals has graciously offered to teach a course on the intersection of magic and science in the healing arts. This course will be open to all students; however, all omega students will be required to take it as part of their Restorative Magic requirements.”
Simon tosses his phone onto the couch cushions. “Does no one realize what a terrible man your father is, Junes?”
“He’s careful,” I say, my voice hoarse. “To most, he’s the affable CEO of a company that’s done a lot of good in the world. No one knows about his… other work. Besides, he’s on the academy’s board. I’m sure they’d give him anything he wants.”
