1
EASTON
I am not a stalker.
I am not a stalker.
I amdefinitelynot a stalker.
I chanted the phrase to myself as I wound through the aisles of Mariposa Market, stealing covert glances at the dark-haired beauty on the other end of the aisle.
I’d looked it up—the definition of stalking. This definitelydid notqualify. Stalking required a pattern of repeatedunwantedattention or harassment.
I wasn’t harassing her, and how would I even know it wasunwanted? Okay, she might have turned me down when I asked her out on a date—twice—but I wasn’tstalkingher. It just so happened that the adorable lighthouse keeper and I were often at the market at the same time. Like today, I’d had an urgent need for baking soda.
Urgent.
I’d seen a video about how baking soda could deodorize your fridge. How was I supposed to last another minute without it after hearing that?
I jolted when I realized she wasn’t in the aisle anymore. She was heading to the checkout.
Olive.
The first time I heard someone in town speak her name, it felt like the clouds had parted and sunlight was streaming down on me. A great achievement since it had been pouring down rain, but that was the power of Olive. She was sunshine on a rainy day, and I needed to be by her side forever.
I just had to figure out how to win her over first.
I slipped in behind her in line, a bright orange box of baking soda clutched tight in my fist.
The cashier, an idiot teenager named Jack, smiled at her. I coughed to cover the rumble of a growl in my chest. Olive deserved all the smiles in the world.Ijust wanted to be the one to give them to her.
To give her everything.
“Your name is Olive, right?” Jack asked.
“Umm, yeah,” she responded.
There was a slight frown on her luscious pink lips. A little crease between her big, brown eyes.
Jack chuckled as he scanned her first item. “So, does that mean your parents are olive farmers?” He paused his scanning as if waiting for uproarious laughter.
She fixed him with what could only be called a withering stare, and my heart pounded with excitement. Olive was shy and quiet, but sometimes she let out her snarky side, and it always delighted me.
“I don’t know, Jack. Were your parents super into changing tires?”
“Umm… what?”
“Or growing magic beans?” she deadpanned.
Jack blinked, looking totally lost, before busying himself with scanning the rest of her items. I, on the other hand, coughed again, this time to cover my laughter. My girl was so fucking funny.
She turned towards me. Our eyes met, and the world slowed. Her beauty was the kind that made it hard to breathe. The way her bangs fell across her forehead was so cute I could hardly stand it. She was wearing a forest green sweater that draped gently over the luscious curves I wanted to bury myself in.
Just then, the market door opened and Hank—Starlight Grove’squintessential cranky old man and bookstore owner—walked in, sporting a deep frown as he leaned heavily on his cane. The noise distracted Olive and she looked away. My jaw clenched against the urge to beg her to look at me again.
Hank’s interruption did bring one good thing—a gust of wind that blew into the market through the open door, catching Olive’s hair and ushering her scent in my direction. My irritation vanished as I inhaled deeply. She smelled like a pumpkin spice latte, all warm and comforting and sweet with an edge of bitter coffee. My cock stiffened immediately, and I shifted my stance. This was why I tried to resist breathing around Olive. I didn’t want to scare her off by sporting a hard-on every time I was around her but fuck, it was pretty much impossible. She wore a sort of deodorant to mute her scent, but the faint whiffs I got were enough to feature in my dreams. I wanted to roll around on her adorable chunky sweaters, wanted to drown myself in her. Maybe the wind would blow little particles of her scent onto my shirt, and I could curl up in bed with it later.
My scent, however, was out full-force, declaring to all in the vicinity that I was completely obsessed with this omega. Olive stared straight ahead, but I thought I caught a tinge of pink on her cheeks. It gave me a tiny spark of hope that she wasn’t as unaffected by me as she acted.
