Moving from the counter, I settled into one of the chairs in the waiting area. I opened the tri-folded letter and pretended to read it, but my gaze lay on the female across the way. She nodded at something the secretary said, her cheeks puffing with an exhale.
My chest constricted thinking about her being disappointed.
What a weird reaction. I didn’t know this woman’s name or who she was, but every movement, everything about her caused a reaction from me and my wolf.
Alphas could scent their omegas and know they were a match. Every pack, every alpha wished for the very rare scent match. I’d heard of some packs taking on a compatible omega and then finding their scent match. What a horrible thing to go through for the pack, but mostly for both omegas.
I wouldn’t want to be caught in that conundrum, not for a second.
The female filled out some paperwork, shoulders bunched and a worry line creasing forehead.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Jessica asked, gaze flitting between me and the omega leaving the area.
“No. That’s all. Thank you.” I nodded then took three rapid steps into the hallway, expecting to see the female, but she was gone.
My wolf snapped his teeth inside me. He wanted me to give chase. Seek out the omega.
Not creepy at all.
Chapter Three
Harper
I knew I should be grateful to have a job at all, and I was, really.
Unfortunately, this particular girl and this particular position might not have been a good fit. Something it did not take long for me to recognize. Growing up in our pack, I had done a lot of jobs, cleaning, gardening, cooking, even, but only of the most rudimentary type. As in: forget about scratch. Hamburger helper, the cheapest white bread, boxed mac and cheese, frozen meals… Mealtime was anything but something to look forward to.
Probably why I had been so delighted when I spotted the help wanted sign in the bakery window. In town for less than a day, I’d been walking the streets looking for some sort of employment, not really sure how to even go about getting a job. So, the sign seemed like the answer to a prayer. And when the woman behind the counter hired me without any references or experience, my eyes teared up. “I won’t do anything to make you sorry about this.”
Now, I was ready to eat my words. Certainly nothing I’d baked was edible.
Mostly, I manned the counter, which I could handle fairly well, but I’d been hired to train in the kitchen and my boss, bless her, was determined to make a baker out of me. On this particular day, we had a big order for a community function, and I was assigned to help make dinner rolls. Amanda stood beside me while I added yeast, warm water, honey, salt, and flour to the giant mixer then turned it on to mix and then to knead. All of that looked good, and after the first rise, she showed me how to break off pieces, weigh them, and roll them into balls. “Youjust set them on this tray for the next rise.” She spoke with such confidence in me, giving a few more directions, and then going off to handle other projects.
Simple enough, she said, and it certainly looked like it when Amanda rolled that bit of dough under her palm. The scale was useful to me with my lack of experience. Foolproof. I rolled the big mixer bowl over to the counter and tipped out the mountain of dough. The other attempts had been for more complicated baked goods, and I appreciated the opportunity to do something I thought I could handle better.
It was hypnotic. Break off a piece, weigh, roll, place. Over and over while my mind traveled elsewhere. Being in the back of the bakery was by far the best spot for me. My old pack didn’t generally come in this direction—a big part of why I chose the town—but it wasn’t beyond possible that one of them or someone they knew might end up here. So, learning to bake, becoming good enough that I wouldn’t be asked to be in the front of the shop, was important.
While I plucked, weighed, and rolled, I kept one eye on the pass-through, always wary. Always afraid. It sucked to feel this way, but it was quite an improvement over the previous situation.
“Harper, what are you doing?” Amanda’s voice shrilled from behind me. “We can’t sell these. They are all different sizes and not at all round. Flat. No rise left in them.”
Snapping out of my thoughts, I looked at the tray. Every one was indeed different and not in a good way. “Oh no. I don’t know what I did.”
“Well I do.” Amanda shook her head, taking in the mess I’d created. “You weren’t paying attention. Your mind was a million miles away.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but she was right. Years of defending myself in a panic against those charged with caringfor me was a habit I would have to shed. If I was right, I would certainly speak up, but if not, I was safe admitting my flaws. Amanda could fire me if she chose, but that was the worst she could do. I sure hoped she wouldn’t. “You’re right. I apologize.”
Her mouth hung open as well. Employees, me included so far, were more likely to come up with an excuse than to take blame. Silence lay between us, echoed by the pause in action from the other bakers. Finally, she said, “We have to redo these now, and I don’t know if there is time. We may have to refund the payment for them.”
Her calm tone, a realization of what my distraction had cost the bakery, had tears flowing down my cheeks. She didn’t yell, after her first sharp comment.
“There’s no excuse. You relied on me, and I let you down. Again. Do you want me to leave?”
She shook her head slowly, tsked. Brushed some flour off my apron. “After all the time I’ve put in teaching you, you think I’m just going to throw you out the door?”
“I probably would, in your shoes.”
“Just goes to show which of us is more stubborn. I want you to go to the bathroom and wash your face. Get it together because we’re going to make those rolls again. Together.”
