"This is adorable," Stacey announces. "Like Stars Ridge but with more flannel."
We head for Roasted Grounds, the coffee shop that doubles as gossip central. The bell jingles when we push through the door.
Every. Single. Head. Turns.
Great.
"Is that Jessica Delacroix?" someone whispers.
"With the Sheriff."
"Living with the Negrorio pack, I heard."
Heat floods my face, but I keep my chin up and march to the counter. Nacho stays close enough that his scent wraps around me. Protective. Possessive. Mine.
"Four lattes," I tell the barista. Her name tag says BETHANY and her expression says she has opinions about my life choices.
Stacey leans against the counter. "And one of those giant cinnamon rolls. The one that looks like it could feed a family."
While Bethany makes our drinks, Stacey surveys the coffee shop like a general assessing a battlefield. Three tables of elderly women. Two construction workers. And in the corner, four alphas who keep glancing at Harmony with increasing recognition.
"Don't," Harmony hisses.
"I'm not doing anything."
"You're plotting."
"I'm observing." Stacey accepts her latte. "Those alphas are staring."
"Everyone's staring."
I follow her gaze. The alphas are definitely looking. One pulls out his phone. Types something. His eyes widen.
Oh no.
"We should go," Harmony says quickly. "Now."
"We just got here," Stacey protests.
But the alpha is already standing. Walking over. He's tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a flannel shirt and work boots. Nice looking in a rugged, mountain man way.
"Excuse me." His voice is deep, nervous. "Are you Harmony Blake?"
Harmony goes rigid. "No."
"I think you are." He holds up his phone showing a magazine cover photo of Harmony looking impossibly glamorous. "My sister loves you. Could I get a picture for her?"
"She minds," Stacey interjects. "She's on vacation."
"Just one photo?"
"She said no." Nacho appears beside us, badge visible, expression carved from granite. "The lady wants privacy."
The alpha backs off, hands raised. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bother you."
But the damage is done. Everyone's whispering. Phones are coming out. Within thirty seconds, half of Largo Waters knows there's a celebrity in Roasted Grounds.
"We need to leave." Harmony's voice cracks. "Please."
