They bristled. I swallowed my smile, folded the receipt, and slipped it into his hand. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He lingered. “You working Saturday?”
I nodded. “All day.”
He left with a promise to bring a “sample harvest,” which I was ninety percent sure was code for another round of bad flirting. The bell jingled behind him, and I watched through the front window as he loaded the bag into his truck and drove off, dust trailing behind like a comet tail.
For a long minute, I just stood there, clutching the countertop. My skin tingled where he’d touched me. I wanted to replay the whole conversation, dissect every word, but the customers kept coming.
By noon, the only evidence that Burke had even been there was the faint, lingering trace of pine and leather.
I missed it instantly.
The rest of my shift passed in a slow crawl. At lunch, I hid in the back room, scarfing a protein bar and scrolling through the text thread on my phone. Still just the one message from me. I considered sending another, maybe something witty this time, but the words knotted up in my head.
Instead, I read through the earlier forum post again, the one about being “scent-stuck.” It made me feel better, knowing I wasn’t the only omega in the world who couldn’t get an alpha out of their system after a single meeting.
The doorbell rang again at three, a quick double-jingle. I glanced up, expecting a delivery guy or maybe Mrs. Hurley and her perennial list of unfindable screws.
It was Dennis.
He took up the entire entrance, shoulders set wide, jaw clenched like he’d chewed glass for breakfast. He didn’t look at me right away—he was too busy glaring at the old guy blocking the battery display. When he finally spotted me, he crooked a finger, and I knew better than to pretend not to see.
“Break room,” he said, not loud, but in a way that carried. A couple customers looked up. I nodded, set my scanner down, and followed.
Inside, the stench of instant coffee and moldy bread was almost enough to make me gag. Dennis waited until the door clicked shut, then spun on me.
“You got something you wanna explain?” He pointed at my arm, where my sleeve had ridden up just enough to show last night’s bruise. “People are asking questions.”
I flexed my hand, making a fist to cover the mark. “It’s nothing.”
He stepped closer, and I went cold. “You making me look bad in front of this town?” He jabbed a finger at my chest. “You know what happens when you run your mouth.”
I kept my gaze down, but something had changed. Maybe it was the residual courage from Burke, or maybe I’d just run out of fear. “I didn’t say anything,” I said, steady as I could.
He grunted, satisfied, and backed off. “Good. Keep it that way.” He cracked open a Coke, slurped half of it in one go, and left me alone.
I sat on the sagging couch and waited for my pulse to slow. In the faint reflection from the microwave door, I saw myself—trembling, but upright. Still breathing.
When my shift ended, I caught a glimpse of Burke’s truck parked two blocks down, half-hidden by the library sign. He hadn’t left. He was waiting.
I hesitated by the crosswalk, caught between two worlds. On one side: Dennis, home, predictable pain. On the other: Burke, unknown, risky, but warm in a way that made me feel almost safe.
He saw me, rolled down the window, and flashed that grin again. “Need a lift?” he called out.
For once, I didn’t think twice.
I climbed in, and the scent hit me—pine and leather, yes, but also something gentler underneath, like sun-warmed wheat or fresh bread. It wrapped around me, a shield against the cold outside.
We didn’t talk much. Burke drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting easy on the gearshift. Every so often, he’d glance over, checking if I was okay. I was. For the first time in a long time.
“That your brother?”
I knew who he was referring to without him asking. “Dennis. He’s a couple of years older than me.”
Burke was quiet for a few more blocks before asking, “He leave those bruises on you?”
I didn’t answer.
