I hesitated for a moment, then pulled the shirt over my head, leaving myself in just my tank top. I handed the ruined fabric to Marley, fighting the urge to cross my arms over my chest, feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with the amount of skin I was showing. She examined the tear with a practiced eye, her fingers running along the edges of the rip, testing the fabric's strength. Her expression didn't change—still that same sharp, assessing look—but something shifted in her posture, a subtle relaxation that I might have imagined. She turned the shirt over, examining the patches I'd already made, the uneven stitches holding the worn fabric together.
"You did these?" Her voice was different now—still sharp, but with a thread of something underneath. Curiosity, maybe. Or respect. She held up one of the patches, tilting it toward the light from the window, her brown eyes flicking between the stitching and my face with newfound interest.
"Yeah." My voice came out rough, uncertain, and I had to resist the urge to apologize. My hands twisted together in front of me, nervous energy I couldn't quite contain, my nails digging into my palms. "I know they're not great. I never really learned how to?—"
"They're not bad." Marley cut me off, her voice matter-of-fact, her sharp eyes meeting mine with surprising warmth that softened the hard lines of her face. She set the shirt down on the cutting table and reached for a spool of thread that matched thefaded blue fabric, her movements quick and sure. "Uneven, sure. But solid. You've got decent hands."
I didn't know what to say. Compliments weren't something I knew how to handle—they always felt like traps, like the setup for some cruel punchline. Marley didn't seem to expect a response. She was already working, her needle moving through the fabric with quick, precise stitches that looked almost magical in their efficiency. I watched her hands, fascinated by how sure they were, how easily she made the torn edges come together like they'd never been apart.
"You're from Longhorn Ranch." It wasn't a question. Marley didn't look up from her work, her voice casual, almost offhand, her fingers never pausing in their rhythm. The afternoon light caught the silver threads in her gray hair, making it gleam like polished metal.
I tensed, my whole body going rigid, my heart kicking against my ribs. How did she?—
"I can smell it." Marley glanced up at me, one corner of her mouth quirking in something that might have been a smile, her sharp brown eyes dancing with knowing amusement. Her needle paused mid-stitch as she studied my face, seeing more than I wanted her to see. "Those Alphas. Their scent is all over you." She went back to her sewing, her voice dropping into something almost teasing, a warmth creeping into her tone that hadn't been there before. "Multiple Alphas, if I'm not mistaken. Interesting."
My face went hot. I could feel the blush spreading across my cheeks, down my neck, probably all the way to my chest, and I had to fight the urge to bolt for the door.
"It's not—" I started, my voice strangled, cracking on the words. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my shoulders hunching up toward my ears. "They're not—we're not?—"
"Relax." Marley's voice was dry, amused, her eyes crinkling at the corners with what looked like genuine enjoyment. Shetied off her thread and snipped it with a small pair of scissors, the tiny sound sharp in the quiet shop. Then she held the shirt up to examine her work, turning it this way and that in the light. "I'm not judging. Those are good men, all of them. Known Reid since he was a boy." She handed the shirt back to me, her expression softening almost imperceptibly, something almost gentle creeping into those sharp brown eyes. "You could do worse."
I took the shirt with trembling fingers, still too flustered to speak. The tear was gone—not just mended, but nearly invisible, the stitches so fine and even that you'd have to look closely to see them at all. I ran my finger over the repair, marveling at the craftsmanship.
"How much?" My voice came out rough, unsteady, and I had to clear my throat before continuing. I was already dreading the answer, already calculating how much of my meager savings I could afford to part with. My fingers tightened on the fabric.
"Nothing." Marley waved a dismissive hand, turning away to tidy her work area, her movements brisk and efficient. She began organizing spools of thread into neat rows, her voice matter-of-fact, like she was stating something obvious that shouldn't require explanation. "Consider it a welcome-to-town gift."
I stared at her, my mouth opening and closing, no words coming out. People didn't just do things for free. There was always a catch, always a price, always something they wanted in return.
"Why?" The word came out before I could stop it, rough and suspicious, my eyes narrowing slightly despite my best efforts to seem grateful. My grip tightened on the shirt, knuckles going white, ready to throw it back and walk away if I had to.
Marley turned to look at me, her sharp brown eyes meeting mine with a directness that was almost uncomfortable. Shestudied my face for a long moment, her gaze traveling over my features like she was reading a book written in a language only she understood.
"Because you look like you could use a break." Her voice was softer now, the sharp edges worn down to something almost gentle. She leaned back against the cutting table, her arms crossing over her chest again, but the posture was relaxed now, open. Her expression was thoughtful, considering. "And because those Alphas at Longhorn have been waiting a long time for someone to look at them the way you probably don't even realize you do."
I didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to respond to someone who saw through me so easily, who offered kindness without demanding anything in return.
A noise from the back of the shop made me tense—footsteps, heavy and masculine, the creak of floorboards under significant weight. A moment later, a man appeared in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, with graying dark hair that curled slightly at his temples and kind eyes the color of warm coffee. Alpha—I could smell it immediately, that unmistakable musk—but his scent was... settled. Calm. Like a fire that had burned down to warm coals, comfortable and safe rather than threatening.
"Mar, have you seen my—" He stopped when he saw me, his eyebrows rising slightly, surprise flickering across his weathered face before settling into friendly curiosity. His voice was deep, warm, carrying a gentle rumble that reminded me of distant thunder—powerful but unthreatening. He filled the doorway with his bulk, but there was nothing aggressive about his posture. "Oh. Hello there."
"Trent, this is—" Marley paused, looking at me expectantly, one eyebrow arched in that way she had that demanded answers. Her head tilted slightly, waiting.
"Aster." My voice came out small, wary, barely above a whisper. My body automatically shifted toward the door, my weight moving to the balls of my feet, my eyes tracking the Alpha's movements even as I tried to appear calm. I calculated distances, mapped exits.
"Aster." Marley nodded, like she was filing the name away for later, tucking it into some mental drawer for safekeeping. She gestured between us, her movements brisk and efficient, one hand flicking toward Trent and then toward me. "Aster, this is my husband, Trent. He's mostly harmless."
"Hey now." Trent's voice was mock-offended, a playful whine creeping into the deep rumble, but his eyes were warm, crinkling at the corners with good humor. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, palms out, his whole posture deliberately non-threatening—shoulders rounded, head slightly bowed, giving me space. "I'm at least occasionally useful."
"Occasionally." Marley's voice was dry as desert sand, but there was affection underneath it—a deep, comfortable love that showed in the way she looked at him, the way her body angled toward his without conscious thought, the way her sharp edges seemed to soften in his presence.
Something in my chest ached at the sight of it. The easy familiarity. The trust. The way they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle that had found each other after years of searching.
"I should go." The words came out too fast, too desperate, tumbling over each other in my rush to escape. I clutched my mended shirt to my chest like a shield and edged toward the door, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. "Thank you for—for fixing my shirt. I really appreciate it."
"Come back." Marley's voice stopped me at the door, firm but not unkind, carrying a weight that made my feet freeze mid-step. I turned to look at her, and she met my eyes with that sharp, knowing gaze, her chin lifted slightly, her expressionserious. "I could use some help around the shop. Nothing fancy—sorting buttons, organizing fabric, that kind of thing." She paused, her expression softening almost imperceptibly, something vulnerable flickering behind those sharp brown eyes. "And I could teach you. How to sew properly, I mean. If you wanted to learn."
I stood there, frozen, my hand on the door handle, the metal cool against my sweating palm. It was too much. Too kind. Too good to be real.
