"Are you the owner?"
“I am,” I answer, brushing my sweaty palms on my apron. I put on my breeziest smile, which he doesn’t bother to return. “How can I help you?”
His eyes skim my body from the top of my messy bun to my feet and back to my face. He takes a step closer, and when his eyes lock with mine, I freeze. They are not blue. They are a mix of ocean waves and a cloudless sky. Beautiful. Framed by long charcoal-colored lashes, so thick he almost looks like he’s wearing liner. I don’t need his scent to know he’s an alpha. Alphas rarely visit florists, no my domain is too frilly and feminine for an alpha to ever truly relax in this space. But here he is; the question is why.
The ache in my belly picks up. Low. Slow. It doesn’t care about his reasons. I try to ignore it. It’s just the pre-heat cycle percolating at the most inconvenient time possible. I glance at the clock; another demanding alpha arrives in an hour. I can’t handle two. His business needs to be quick so he can leave.
He reads my name tag. "Star." His lip curls on the ‘r’ as if my name physically hurts him. I glare. I’ve known people like him my whole life. His voice has dropped a register. "I’m here to file a complaint. I ordered a bouquet and specifically requested no eucalyptus leaves. Guess what I received?"
My forehead furrows. I don’t recall the order he’s referring to. But Mother’s Day was a few weeks ago, and we were swamped. I walk over to the register and it's file of invoices. “I’m sorry for the mistake. We stand behind our deliveries. One hundred percent satisfaction is our promise. I’m happy to issue a refund. What was the account name…”
“I could have placed my order with any florist in the city."
There it is.Any florist in the city.I freeze, stop mid-stride to glare. I’m five feet six inches and barely come up to his biceps, but I’m not going to let him stand inside my shop explaining my own replaceability to me. “I understand that, and we appreciate your business and will make every effort to correct it.”
"And if you can’t."
"If you didn’t think there was a remedy, then you wouldn’t be here. So why don’t you just tell me what I can do, and we can both quit wasting each other’s time."
Color moves under his skin. Not a blush — he's too controlled for that. A restraint. The effort of a man who is not used to being corrected, putting his face back under management in real time. Just the once. Then it's done, and he is smooth again, and his eyes are cold, and I'm sure that somewhere in that head of his, I have just been added to a list. Who cares? As soon as I get his name, I'll add him to my list as well. I'll have to start it first, but he's already worth the effort.
He has not moved further inside. He has also not left. “Did you bring an invoice? Maybe there was a mistake when you ordered.”
"Did you think I would come without proof?Idon’t make mistakes." I roll my eyes becauseIdon’t give a damn if he sees me. He speaks to me with the voice of a man who will win this argument if it takes all afternoon. Except I don't want to argue, I just want him gone before the next asshole shows up.
"Everyone makes mistakes." When I come out from behind the counter, I realize I’ve made one.
My knees stutter. They falter between what I told them and what they're doing. I put my hand on the worktable to brace without making it look like bracing. But my hand is not steady.
His head tilts.
I feel it before I smell it.
A pulse from the base of my spine, rolling up through my ribs, landing in my throat. My eyes fill. Every hair on my arms stands up. Not just stands up, they curl, each and every damn one as if straining towards him. The ache in my belly picks a name. Oh no.
Ohno.
Not today. Not here. Nothim.
I look up. His nostrils flare. Once.
"Star." No hard ‘r’ this time. His voice is low and wrong — wrong for a Friday, wrong for a business transaction. Just wrong. "I think you need to ask me to leave."
"I—"
His scent floods me in a tsunami wave that I can’t turn back.
Or escape…
Cedar. Thyme and cardamom thread through all of it. My mother explained the unexplainable when I presented as omega. I had so many questions, and she tried her best to answer until she finally gave a final, unsatisfactory answer.You will know it,she said.You will not have to think about it. It will just be right.A scent you won’t be able to describe until you meet it. That belongs to you, only you.
I have been waiting for this since I was fourteen years old.
I pictured it differently. I pictured the scent as a glass slipper and my alpha as a prince, not an asshole.
"Please leave my shop," I say. Not at the right volume. Not even close.
He does not leave.
