“It isn’t easy. It’s just true.”
For a moment, neither of us talks. Emrys looks down, and I can see him working through something, deciding whetherto say it or tuck it back behind the careful little defenses holding him together. “Thank you,” he pushes out. “For taking it seriously. I know that sounds like the lowest possible bar, but I kept trying to tell people, and it was like my words were going somewhere else before they reached anyone. I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t walked in,” he says.
“I know.” I keep my voice quiet. “Try not to live there too long if you can help it. I’m not saying don’t think about it. I know that’s useless. Just don’t let that be the only version you replay.”
He nods slowly. “Priya said something like that, except with more threats and a soup plan.”
I lean back a little, taking the first sip of my coffee. It’s way better than anything at the station, though if I come here again, it won’t be for the caffeine. It’s been a long damn time since I’ve had an easy conversation with someone who didn’t expect anything of me. That and Emrys’ scent is really starting to fuck with my rationality.
If I were following protocol, I would keep my distance from both EmrysandKade but that thought ticks me off so I bury it.
“Em? Em! Oh, there you are. Hey, oh—when you’re back from your break, can you help me with the dough? It’s not cooperating.”
Emrys lets out a small giggle before catching himself. “Oh, that’s Priya.” His gaze darts over to her and then back to me. “I should go before she decides I’ve been emotionally overextended near a window.”
He pushes to his feet, the full range of his scent filling my lungs. I swallow the noise threatening to get out, heat spreading through me so fast my head spins. If I had any reservations that this adorably traumatized Omega was mine, I don’t now.
Still, I refuse to act on it. I just keep telling myself it’s unprofessional.
Emrys stands there a beat longer, tears welling up in his eyes. The urge to pull him into my chest comes out of nowhere, so I grab my mug and chug half of it, immediately regretting the burn running down my throat. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say before he can say anything and before I think better of it, I add: “I promise I’ll clear Kade’s name, okay? He’ll be back at his apartment before you know it.”
That puts another smile on Emrys face, the Omega softly patting my arm before disappearing behind the counter. It takes all of my self-control not to bury my nose in the vanilla now wafting off my fabric.
Emrys
After spending two days wallowing in my apartment, I showed up at Ardor, Priya worried that I still wasn’t ready. I blew it off but by the end of my shift, I’ve convinced myself I’m almost normal, which is bold considering Clarence knocks his elbow into the display case at three in the afternoon and I nearly lose an entire tray of honey rolls.
Clarence is seventy-two, mostly deaf when it benefits him, and incapable of telling a story without using both arms. He’s been coming into Ardor since before Priya owned it, and everyWednesday he buys two lemon loaves, complains they were bigger in 1998, and eats one at the front table while pretending he’s checking quality. Today, he gets too invested in explaining why the city should start publicly shaming landlords who don’t fix radiators, gestures too wide, and catches his elbow against the glass hard enough to rattle the macarons.
The sound cracks through me before I can stop it. My hands jerk, the tray tips, and six un-iced cinnamon buns slide toward the edge. I catch them against my apron with both forearms, my breath stuck high in my chest as Priya’s head snaps up from the register.
“Okay,” I say, too quickly, staring down at the rolls. “No casualties. Everybody stayed on the tray. Mostly.”
Clarence freezes with one hand on his elbow and the other still clutching his paper bag. Priya’s face goes tight before she smooths it out for me. The bakery gets quiet for half a second, long enough for me to notice, and then Clarence clears his throat.
“I didn’t hit it that hard,” he says.
Priya closes her eyes. “Clarence, I love you dearly, but if that’s the first sentence you’re going with, I’m banning you from lemon loaves until Friday.”
His hand drops from his elbow. “Friday is two days away.”
“I’m glad the calendar still works.”
I slide the rolls back onto the tray and make myself breathe like I didn’t almost throw them at a customer. “He can have supervised loaf access if he stops fighting the furniture.”
Clarence looks at me, then at Priya, and decides his loaf is worth retreat. He takes his paper bag to the corner table without another word. Priya moves the trays herself while pretending it’s about counter space, and I let her because my hands still aren’t steady enough to turn this into pride.
The afternoon gets better because work keeps moving whether I’m fragile or not. The bell still catches me once or twice, and a laugh near the register makes me drop a stack of napkins, but nobody makes it a thing. Priya gives orders. The ovens breathe heat. Customers come in damp from the rain and leave with bags held close to their coats. By eight, I’ve only checked the front windows three times, which I decide counts because Priya hasn’t threatened to make me sit in the office for at least an hour.
My mind wanders through it all to the two men I can’t possibly have even if my body wants more of their scent, their presence, theirtouch.I bury that last bit because no world seems to offer me that kind of luck. It’s bad enough that I’m secretly pining for an Alpha who was framed and the officer investigating the case.
When the last customer leaves, Priya locks the front door and flips the sign with a snap. “I’m walking you out.”
I’m wiping the same section of counter for the third time, so I don’t have the moral ground I’d like. “You’re not.”
“I didn’t ask, Em. I made a statement.” She comes around the counter but stops a few feet away, far enough not to crowd me. “I’m not trying to take anything from you. I know you need to do normal things again. I also know it’s been two days, and I can put on a coat.”
“If you walk me home tonight, you’ll walk me home tomorrow. Then the next night. Then you’ll start bringing soup in a thermos and pretending you were already in the neighborhood.” I drop the cloth into the laundry bin and look at her properly. “It’s six minutes. I need to know I can do six minutes.”
