An extraordinarily vivid sex dream featuring a certain muscular, gruff alpha with a man bun had dragged me from sleep at five this morning, which was exceptionally rude, not only because it was basically the middle of the freaking night but also because I’d been desperate for an alpha who wasn’t here.
The alpha who had driven me back to town a couple of days ago in total silence.
He’d made me feel safe and cherished, but that was probably because he was a firefighter. It was his job to take care of stranded, woefully unprepared campers. I was the one who had spun our time together into a romantic fantasy.
My nest, usually so soft and cozy, felt like sandpaper against my hypersensitive, overheated skin. I’d been at it forover an hourand still felt just as unsatisfied as when I’d woken up. I rolled over to avoid the damp patch on the sheet beneath me.
You can’t cry overunsatisfying orgasms, Lucy.
I threw my dildo with its large silicone knot across my mattress.
I’d taken an extra suppressant pill after Wilder dropped me off, but pharmaceuticals didn’t stand a chance against him, which must be why these vivid dreams had woken me up for the past few nights. Well, that and I had secretly stolen one of his flannels from his laundry basket and couldn’t stop pressing my face against it, breathing in his smoky, woodsy scent.
I was a glutton for punishment, but anytime I thought about removing the shirt from my nest, my omega lost her mind.
The only solution was to drive up the mountain and throw myself at the alpha.
Wait. No.
Drive up the mountain to bring him cookies to apologize for…everything. Especially the nonconsensual cuddling. The only problem with that plan was that I didn’t have a car or a license. Well, that and showing up at his door might be categorized as creepy, stalkerish behavior.
An idea sparked and I sat up, throwing off my blanket. What if I dropped cookies off at the fire station? Wilder’s next shift started today, and bringing cookies there was less intrusive than showing up at his home, especially since he probably never wanted to see me again.
I winced as I got out of bed. My ankle was still swollen and throbbing. I hopped on one foot to my dresser, threw on a baby blue sweatpants suit, slid my feet in a pair of slippers, and headed downstairs. I scowled at the sunrise. It should be illegal to be awake this early. All of my friends were early risers. At least Ivy and Summer had the excuse that their jobs required it, but Olive got up early voluntarily so she could swim in the freezing cold ocean.
No one was perfect, I supposed.
I limped across the street to Summer’s bakery. Opening day was still a couple of weeks off, but she’d officially moved in to the apartment above the bakery and spent her early mornings perfecting her recipes before doing her accounting job with Harry, Stanley’s husband, in the afternoons. She was working too hard, but she said sheneeded the extra money and she also didn’t want to abandon Harry during tax season.
I knocked, hoping she wasn’t listening to the new Blissa Nova album too loudly in her big headphones. As I waited, I studied the new logo on the door—two dancing bánh mì wearing sunglasses and bikinis. It was over the top, ridiculous, and completely perfect.
A shadow moved inside and then Summer’s panicked expression met my gaze through the glass. Shoot. Seeing me conscious at six in the morning was enough to make anyone think disaster had struck.
She opened the door, grabbed my arms, and dragged me inside. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Her voice was hushed as she ushered me back to the kitchen.
“Why are you whispering?”
“I don’t know! Maybe you’re being hunted by a monster with supersonic hearing.”
“You’ve been reading too many of Olive’s shifter romances.”
Summer pinched my arm and I squealed, jumping away from her. “What was that for?”
She shot me a withering stare. “What was that for? Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe because you disappeared this weekend, have been hiding away in your shop ever since, barely answering our texts, and now you’re awake and dressed before eleven in the morning!”
I grimaced. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I didn’t have service for a while this weekend, and once I got home, I just needed some time to myself.”
Summer huffed and washed her hands before returning to the stainless-steel countertop. A scowl was still fixed on her face when she shoved a scone into my hands.
“Here. I’m testing a new flavor.”
Phew. I hadn’t upset her too much if she was still sharing food with me. One time a couple of years ago, I’d borrowed her lip gloss without asking, which would have been fine except that I’d lost it. She had cut me off from baked goods for three whole days. Torture.
I sat down on a stool and took a bite. The scone melted in mymouth and I hummed. “Getting up early might be worth it if it means getting more of these.”
“Great, you can be my assistant.”
I wrinkled my nose. On more than a few occasions, Summer had texted at four in the morning after waking up, and I had responded by saying “Goodnight.”
