I’m just doing what omegas do, she points out.
That's fair.
"One more," Silas says. He takes the chocolate glazed from Graham and holds it out to me himself. Like that's going to make it harder to refuse. It does.
I take it. For research purposes.
"Good girl," Silas says quietly.
My omega preens. I pretend I don't.
We wander a little farther down the street after that, weaving through the crowds until Saint slows near a booth stacked with burlap sacks and glass jars filled with dark coffee beans.
The vendor behind the table is grinding beans with a small hand grinder. The rich smell of fresh coffee drifts into the air and Saint steps closer almost unconsciously, his nostrils flaring.
For a second his whole body changes. Shoulders dropping. Jaw unclenching.
The man running the booth notices. “Want to try a sample?” he asks, already pouring a small cup.
Saint glances back at us, then accepts it. He takes a careful sip, thoughtful. “Good,” he says.
The vendor brightens immediately and offers a second blend. Saint tries that one too. This time his expression shifts just a little.
“There’s something in this,” he says slowly. “Almost… nutty? And chocolate?”
I glance at Silas. Silas glances back at me. Neither of us says anything.
The vendor’s grin widens. “Almond and dark cocoa.”
Saint nods once, clearly approving.
For a minute or two he and the vendor talk quietly about roasting temperatures and bean sources while Silas, Graham, and I stand nearby sipping our own samples. Saint seems almost relaxed for the first time all day.
Then Silas clears his throat. Saint blinks and looks back at us like he’s suddenly remembering our date. The faintest hint of embarrassment crosses his face before he thanks the vendor and rejoins us.
Silas waits exactly half a second before clapping a hand on Saint’s good shoulder and steering us toward the row of festival games.
“Alright,” he says. “Let’s see what this thing can do.”
Ahead of us stands one of those old carnival strength testers, the kind with the tall metal tower and the sliding marker that shoots upward when you slam the giant hammer down.
Silas cracks his knuckles as we approach.
Yes, yes, yes!
My omega loses her mind completely at the thought of Silas winning a prize for us.
She has absolutely no standards when it comes to them. They could do anything and she’d be happy. But there’s a little blue bear with a navy necktie and green patches for his feet that would look perfect in my nest. So maybe she’s notallwrong.
Silas rolls his shoulders once before stepping up to the platform. Then he pushes the sleeves of his plaid shirt up to his elbows.
My breath catches a little.
With his broad back, heavily muscled arms, worn jeans hanging exactly right on his lean hips, dark ink curling over his forearms, and that thick beard that I just want to run my fingers through, he looksevery inch the mountain man. He should be chopping down trees somewhere in the wilderness, not standing at a festival game.
Except right now he’s very clearly planning to win me a stuffed animal.
My omega melts.
