Page 1

Chapter 1

Alina

“Miss Alina, darling, can I bother you for a refill?”

“You can bother me for just about anything, honey,” I respond automatically, grabbing the fresh pot and gliding down the bar to where Old Betty is perched with her usual cup of over-sugared coffee.

“How come you’re always flirting with my wife?” jokes Old Joe beside her, shooting me a wink.

“Don’t be jealous! You know I flirt with both of you.”

The older couple cackles as I twirl away again. Betty and Joe are two of West Pond’s most beloved residents, and for good reason. They’re always sweet, always generous, and never tolerant of bullshit. Even when I first met them a decade ago, they were referred to as “Old”, an important designation to make considering their son and daughter are named after them. Young Betty and Young Joe are nice, too, but they aren’t regulars at The Diner like their parents are.

I gaze around the busy space. Table three is still waiting for their food, but Danah is already harassing Josh in the kitchen about it, so I mind my business. Table seven is in need of refills. Two thick-bearded men named Roy and Cory are sitting there who drink more diet sodathan what can possibly be considered healthy, but Caitlyn is already on her way toward them, ever the watchful waitress.

Table nine, tucked in the back corner of The Diner, is occupied by my son. It’s Noah’s usual spot whenever he gets out of school before my shift ends. He hops off the bus, dashes inside with a chirped hi Mom! and makes himself comfortable in the back with a comic book. Today, I slid him a pre-dinner strawberry milkshake because he got an A+ on his math test.

Basically, everyone who could possibly need something at the moment is taken care of. Which means that I have nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs behind the bar for the next hour.

Even though West Pond is a peaceful place ruled by the aging, pacifistic Whiterose Pack, I can’t help keeping a watchful eye on my son while he’s in here. Nobody in this town knows who his father is—nobody alive does, other than the man himself—but Noah is looking more and more like him every day.

It’s in the eyes, I think. Mine are brown, round, and a little too big for my face, while Noah’s are bright blue and sharp as ice. Just like his father. He’s got his thick hair, too, though it’s not quite as dark as I remember Rowan’s being.

I flinch outwardly. I’ve tried to make a habit of not even thinking about his name after all these years, but sometimes it slips through.

Soon enough, Noah is going to hit his tenth birthday. He’ll hit puberty and have a growth spurt.

He’ll experience his first shift.

Of course, he knows what he is. He knows what we are. He knows what will happen to him around the age of twelve or thirteen.

It’s what he’ll be capable of that concerns me, especially considering who his father is. Noah’s scent has remained dormant for the past nine years, but once he starts shifting… the Whiteroses are going to start wondering how an Alpha’s son with Greenbriar blood ended up in West Pond.

But I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I come to it. It’s not like I think the Whiterose Pack will cause trouble over it. That doesn’t mean they won’t spread the word, though.

We’ll probably have to move. I’ve already been saving up for that unfortunate possibility.

Honestly, I like West Pond. I like the life that I’ve made for myself here. It’s a hell of a lot better than the life I would have lived back home.

“Earth to Alina? Hello?”

I snap out of my reverie to find Zahra, my closest friend, standing across the bar from me. She’s leaning forward on her elbows, peering at me with a furrowed brow.

Glancing down at my hands, I realize I’ve been polishing the same pint glass for the past five minutes.

“Hey. Sorry.”

Zahra is still frowning at me. “You okay? You look a little…flushed.”

Honestly, I am pretty warm. It’s a chilly February day, but The Diner can get hot inside when we’re bursting with customers and Randy insists on cranking up the thermostat.

I shrug. “I’m fine.”

“You look like you just walked out of a sauna.”

Sure enough, when I swipe the back of my hand across my forehead, it comes away damp with sweat.

“I’m working hard,” I deflect. “You should try it.”