And if Mrs. Patterson knows about the books, it’s only a matter of time before someone tells the guys that their ex-omega has been writingvery detailedromance novels featuring three alphas who bear a suspicious resemblance to them. I need to explain. Apologize. Something. Before they find out from the Honeyridge Falls gossip network instead of from me.
The thought makes me want to throw up.
But seeing Theo last night... seeing that polite, distant nod where there used to be warmth...
This is the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do. But I owe them the truth. Even if they hate me for it. Even if they slam the door in my face.
Step one: shower. Step two: figure out how to approach three alphas who probably hate me.
Easy. Totally easy. I’ve got this.
I do not have this.
I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom with the hideous floral wallpaper. The hot water helps. Steam loosening the tension in my shoulders, washing away some of the anxiety-stink.
By the time I’m dressed in jeans and an oversized sweater, I smell almost normal. Still nervous, but not “flee on sight” levels.
Small victories.
I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear it.
The scrape of a shovel against concrete.
My stomach drops. It snowed last night. And Grandma told me yesterday that Nate shovels her driveway after every storm.
Which means...
I reach the kitchen window and look outside.
Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Deputy’s jacket visible under a heavy coat. Moving with efficient, economical motions, clearing the snow from Grandma’s walkway like he’s done it a hundred times before.
Nate Thorn.
I knew he’d grown up. Of course he’d grown up. It’s been ten years. But knowing it and seeing it are two very different things.
He was always good-looking, even at eighteen. Strong jaw, serious eyes, that quiet intensity that made me feel like the center of his universe. But now? Now he’s filled out in ways that make my mouth go dry. Broader. Harder. The kind of alpha who looks like he could throw you over his shoulder without breaking a sweat.
Not that I’m thinking about that.
My stomach does a slow flip. Then another.
Five minutes ago, I was ready. I was going to be brave. I was going to talk to them, explain, apologize.
And now Nate Thorn is fifteen feet away, and I want to hide under the kitchen table.
“Oh good, you’re up.” Grandma appears behind me, coffee mug in hand. “Enjoying the view?”
“I’m not—” I step back from the window. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
“I did warn you. Yesterday. I said he comes by after every storm.”
“You didn’t say he’d be here at dawn!”
“It’s seven-fifteen, not dawn. And I didn’t realize I needed to provide an itinerary.” She peers over my shoulder at the window, tilting her head like she’s appraising livestock. “He’s filled out nicely, don’t you think? Very broad. Your grandfather had shoulders like that.”
“GRANDMA.”
“What? I’m old, not blind.” She sips her coffee. “That uniform doesn’t hurt either. Very authoritative.”
