“You keep at him, son, and you’ll be in with luck soon enough.” Barry laughs.
I chuckle as I reach for the bag, but Timber swipes it from him before I have a chance to take it. His scowl grows deeper as I pay, and as soon as we are out of Barry’s earshot, Timber stares me down.
“What was that?” he asks as we walk through the crowd. His hard tone sends another round of shivers through me. “Why were you talking to him like that?”
I hope he’s jealous, because I want nothing more than to see what Timber Holtz is like when he’s really wound up.
“Sometimes you have to flirt a bit to get what you want,” I say.
“What about with me? Is that why you try to piss me off all the time?”
I smirk, choosing not to answer as I grab his hand.
“It’s busy, don’t get lost,” I say as I tug him behind me through the heavy crowd.
He can decide for himself what it means. It’s easier to think of this as one last day with Timber. I’ll let myself have today, like a goodbye before I quit the job, so I don’t have to hurt either of us anymore.
The hour’s drive is worth it, no matter how stony the silence with Timber was. There was a Saturday market on the other side of Nashville where we grew up, and our mom and dad took Luke and me every single week when we were kids, no matter the weather.
Our parents ran their own restaurant until a bad fire took them, but not before they taught us everything we know about cooking. It’s one reason we push so hard with our own business. Except we don’t want to open a restaurant; we want a way to help people on a personal level.
Mom focused on the ingredients, while Dad cared about cooking methods, and they made a perfect team. Saturdays were always an adventure with them. A bustling market feels like home to us. When I’m stressed, there’s nothing like it.
Unless the big ball of stress-inducing muscle comes with me.
Clutching at Timber and pulling him through the crowd fills me with such a sense of satisfaction that my grin grows. The more people jostle us, the more excuses I have to lean back into him, to rub myself on him, and ‘accidentally’ scent mark him. I usually cream up in the car park, but I wasn't going to strip and rub scent blocker all over myself with Timber right next to me.
Other omegas are sizing him up as well, and people who recognize him are giving him starry-eyed looks.
“Excuse me,” a little voice peeps from our left, and we both come to a sudden stop. “Are you the hockey player my dad likes?”
Timber looks down at the kid before he lets go of my hand. He crouches, and even then, he isn’t at his eye level.
“I don’t know, what’s the name of the hockey player?” Timber asks.
“Hm, I’m not sure. He’s just very big. Dad said something about you being a bull that carries people. My dad loves carrying me around as well.”
Timber looks at me with his mouth open, totally floundering, and I snort.
“Well? What do you say to that?” I ask.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” A woman bursts out through the crowd to scoop up her son, who lifts his hands out like he expects Timber to pick him up. “He’s just used to playing that with his dad.”
“It’s fine,” he says gruffly. Timber shakes his head as he stands, and her eyes widen. She’s definitely clocked him, and I’m interested to see how he’ll handle it. Especially considering he isn’t exactly the cheeriest sunflower on the patch.
Three more women and their kids magically emerge and surround him, and I edge away.
My jealousy is rearing its ugly head again, and I don’t want to treat them the way I treated Ash.
I need space to breathe anything but rich and luscious coffee that makes my pussy hot and my mouth water.
“Can I have a carry?” the kid asks before the mom pours out more apologies.
“I’ll just be over there,” I say, pointing to a stall. I don’t want to stand around like a side piece while I wait for him to finish chatting with fans.
As I reach the vegetable stand and pick out everything I need to make Timber’s meals for the week, I keep a watch on him out of the corner of my eye.
My omega side is bristling, and I’m close to hissing as one mom puts her hand on his bicep and squeezes.
