I close the door behind him, suddenly very aware that my scent is probably announcing every single emotion I'm havingright now. Panic. Attraction. Shame about the state of my hotel room. Confusion about why he's here.
"I've got the situation under control," I say, which is a complete lie, and we both know it. My hotel room is covered in papers. Empty coffee cups line the desk. There's a half-eaten sandwich from yesterday that I should probably throw away.
He looks around the room, taking in the mess. Then he looks at me. His warm brown eyes drop down to my coffee-stained sweater and back up to my face. His dimple appears and disappears as he tries not to smile.
"Right," he says. "Totally under control. Your scent smells like a strawberry panic attack wrapped in wildflower desperation."
I flush immediately. Of course he noticed. Alphas always notice. It's one of the things about them that's both terrifying and weirdly comforting. They notice everything. They see past the lies you tell yourself.
He moves further into the room, looking at the spreadsheets scattered across the desk. He picks up one page and scans it. Then another. He's standing over my work like he's trying to understand the scope of the disaster.
My stomach rumbles. Loudly. Right there in front of him.
I want to die.
"When's the last time you ate?" Jett asks, not even looking up from the papers.
"I had coffee this morning," I say defensively. "And maybe some of a sandwich yesterday. Or was that the day before?"
He turns to look at me. Really looks at me. His warm brown eyes are serious now. Not cocky. Not playful. Just serious in a way that makes my heart do that weird jumping thing again.
"We're going out," he says. It's not a suggestion. His tone doesn't leave room for argument. "There's a bakery a few blocksfrom here. We can grab food, sit, talk about the wedding. But first, you're eating."
"I can't," I say immediately. "I mean, I could, but I probably shouldn't. I've been stress eating since I got here, and I could really stand to lose a few pounds. Ben used to always—"
I stop. I didn't mean to say that out loud.
Jett sets the papers down carefully and turns to face me fully. His jaw tightens. His scent shifts. Cedar gets sharper. Gunpowder becomes more pronounced.
"Ben used to always what?" he asks quietly.
I shrug, trying to play it off. "He'd mention that I was gaining weight. That I should probably cut back on carbs. That I'd look better if I was smaller. You know how he is."
Jett crosses the room in a few strides. He's suddenly very close to me. Close enough that his scent completely surrounds my strawberry panic and turns it into something else. Close enough that I can see the intensity in his warm brown eyes.
"You're perfect the way you are," he says, and it's not like he's trying to be smooth or charming. It's just a statement. A fact. Like he's telling me the sky is blue. "Your size. Your shape. The way you take up space. It's all perfect. And if Ben couldn't see that, then that's his problem. Not yours."
I stare at him.
He doesn’t look away from me, not even for a second. “I mean it,” he says, and then he hooks a finger under my chin and tips my face up. His touch is gentle, but there’s nothing gentle about the way he’s looking at me. “Your curves are beautiful, Sharon. All of them. Your hips, your thighs, the way your body moves when you walk. You’re an omega. You’re meant to be soft. You’re meant to have a body that feels like this.” He brushes his thumb along my jaw, slow and certain. “Ben making you feel otherwise just proves he never understood a damn thing.”
My scent shifts. Less wildflower panic. More honey sweetness. My throat gets tight.
"I don't know what to say to that," I admit quietly.
"Say yes to food," he says, stepping back slightly but still holding my gaze. "Say yes to croissants and brownies and whatever else Pine Hollow bakeries have to offer. Say yes to not starving yourself because some asshole made you feel like you needed to be smaller to be worthy."
He's vulnerable now. I can see it underneath the gruff exterior. He cares about this. About me. And that's terrifying in a way I don't want to examine too closely right now.
"Okay," I say quietly. "Okay, let's go eat."
His dimple appears as he smiles. A real smile. Not cocky or charming. Just genuine.
"Good," he says. "Because your stomach's going to stage a full mutiny if you don't feed it soon."
My stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble again, and despite everything, I laugh. It's slightly hysterical but it's genuine.
"Come on," Jett says, moving toward the door. He grabs his jacket from where he set it and turns back to me. "Let's go get you some carbs. Lots of them. The good kind that Ben said you shouldn't eat."
