“Cara, honey.” She smiles. “Coffee?”
“Please. Large. Whatever’s strongest.”
“That kind of morning?”
“That kind of week.”
She’s already reaching for a cup. I glance back at the woman with the clipboard, who’s now scowling at a box of heart garlands.
“What’s all this?”
“Valentine’s Day auction. Charity event—local alphas volunteer to be bid on. Dates, yard work, handyman stuff.” Maeve sets my coffee on the counter. “That’s Tessa Lang running the show. Does all the town events.”
“She looks... intense.”
“She’s a perfectionist. Runs herself ragged every year.” Maeve shakes her head fondly. “Someone ought to take care of that girl, but she won’t slow down long enough to let them.”
Tessa is currently inspecting the wooden arch someone brought in, running her hand along the carved edge like she’s checking for splinters. She nods once—approval, apparently—and immediately pivots to bark at the alpha on the ladder about the banner placement.
“Cara Donovan!”
Mrs. Patterson materializes at my elbow. Purple cardigan, knowing smile, zero concept of personal space.
“Mrs. Patterson. Hi.”
“I thought that was you.” She peers over her glasses. “Settling in alright? Your grandmother must be thrilled.”
“She’s been welcoming.”
“I’m sure.” Her gaze slides to the auction decorations. “You should come to the auction. Good cause—community center needs a new roof.” Her smile sharpens. “Lots of eligible alphas participating.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Nate Thorn signed up this year. Tessa finally wrangled him into it.” She ticks them off on her fingers. “Theo Holt. Dr. Price.”
My stomach drops.
All three of them. On stage. Being bid on by every unmated omega in Honeyridge Falls.
“That’s... nice,” I manage. “For the roof.”
“Mm-hmm.” Mrs. Patterson is still watching me. “They’re quite popular, those three. I expect the bidding will be very competitive.”
Of course it will. They’re gorgeous, successful, unmated alphas in a small town. Any omega with eyes and a functioning nose would want them. I wanted them once. I had them once.
And then I left.
“I should get going.” I reach for my coffee. “Thanks?—”
“Oh, don’t rush off. Maeve, get this girl a pastry.”
Maeve slides a chocolate croissant across the counter before I can protest. “On the house.”
I take it just to escape. The cold air outside hits my lungs, and I exhale slowly.
It doesn’t matter who bids on them. It doesn’t matter who wins. I’m here to apologize, not to?—
It doesn’t matter.
