Page 6

Chapter 6

Freya

The phone’s shrill ring tears through blissful sleep. Only my third decent night’s sleep after months of tossing and turning.

“One more night. I just wanted another full night’s sleep.” Dr. Miller was right about ditching the scent blockers. Since I came off them three days ago, I finally doze off each night and wake up feeling energized.

I fumble for the phone, my growing baby belly making every movement a challenge.

I swipe and groan, “Hello.”

“Ms. Rose? This is the building management. I have to inform you there’s a fire on Madison Street. And—”

My heart stops. “My bakery? Is my bakery—”

“The entire building is affected, but the fire department has already responded. We’re hoping some shops will survive the blaze. Yours might be saved.”

“Oh my God. I’m on my way,” I say, already swinging my legs over the bed, cursing under my breath.

“Ermm. You should let the fire department deal with it. There is nothing to do but find your insurance documents.”

“Thank you.” I disconnect, go to the bathroom, and have a quick pee.

After washing and drying my hands, I stare at myself in the mirror for a few seconds. My pink pajamas stretch tight across my stomach. And I know I should dress in something civil, but I’m not getting changed. It’s the middle of the night, and I don’t have the time or the inclination. Every second counts.

I rush from the bathroom, grab my car keys from the kitchen counter, and rush toward the front door, where I slide my feet into the ratty sneakers. The ones I keep by the door for quick grocery runs.

“Stupid elevator.” I glare at the out-of-order sign as I push on the door to walk down the stairs.

For six weeks it’s been out-of-order.

For six weeks I’ve hauled my pregnant belly up and down these steps.

The baby kicks me, protesting at the sudden activity and the speed I’m finding from somewhere. Today, I am exceptionally quick.

“Please don’t let my bakery be burned down. Please—” The words spill from my lips as I waddle-rush down the stairs.

“I turned everything off, right?” I always check the ovens three times. “The coffee makers were unplugged...”

I’m sure I did, but Harlow came to visit again and distracted me with her constant chatter of the baby—or more specifically—the future dad.

I did turn everything off.

I’m sure I did.

By the time I reach the bottom, sweat beads my forehead, and my breathing is coming in quick gasps.

I slam my hand on the wall and lean over, and suck back air before I dash to my car.

“I know, little one. Mommy’s sorry.” My hands shake as I unlock the door.

The drive takes minutes, but feels like hours. And when I am close by, red and blue lights paint the pre-dawn sky ahead.

My throat tightens, hoping the fire hasn’t reached my workplace.

“Not my bakery. Please, not my bakery. That's all I have.” Tears blur my vision as I stare ahead. “It’s how I’ll take care of you, baby. We can’t lose it.”

I have nothing else.

I pull up to the scene, the smell of smoke swirling through the air, mixes with the sharp tang of burned wood. Normally, the only smells around here are my cakes.

Firefighters swarm around the two-story building that runs down the block. Some are shouting orders, but their voices are muffled beneath the roar of hoses and burning embers.

I jump out of my car, leaving it running, and rush toward the nearest fireman.

“Please,” I plead, my heart racing. “I need my things from the bakery! My ovens, my mixers—”

He turns to me, a weary look on his face. “Ma’am, your life is more important than some equipment.”

“But it’s professional equipment and it cost me a fortune. Can you get them for me? Or let me be quick. My shop isn’t on fire.”

He narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “No.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He holds my gaze. “You can’t go in there. It’s not safe.”

My breath hitches as I glance back at my shop, which is further down the block. “I can’t lose this place. It’s everything to me.”

“Let us handle it,” he says, then motions toward his crew. He turns back to me. “Please let us do our job.”

I sigh as I step back toward my car, watching the firemen tackling a blaze four shops away from mine.

My bakery isn’t on fire, and it’ll be some time before the fire makes it there—if it does.

I waddle to my car and reverse to the end of the row of shops on the opposite side of the road.

I turn off the engine and dash across the road—at least as much as my belly will allow me to.

At the end of the row of shops, I press my back against the wall and creep toward my bakery, ignoring his warning. My fingers clasp around the key.

When I reach the shop, I turn, press the key into the lock, and push.

The glass door swings open with a creek; inside is eerily quiet compared to the chaos outside. The air feels thick and stale already, but there’s no fire in my shop, but I know I have to be quick.

My heart pounds in sync with my footsteps as I scan for the most valuable items to take.

I grab a mixer from behind the counter—my favorite pink one—the one my dads bought me when I first set up the shop. It’s not the most valuable thing in the shop, but the most precious.

It’s a struggle as I haul it to the door and when nobody's looking, I rush toward my car parked on the opposite side of the road. And then I shove it into the trunk beside the car seat, waiting to be used for my little one.

More equipment awaits me in my shop; and every second counts. This time, I’ll pick something lighter, but valuable.

I rush back to my shop as fast as I can, holding up my enormous bump with both hands. I can do this, though this time I’m not so stealth-like when I dash across the road.

But as I step back inside the shop, the heavy smoke from outside rolls in with me. I slam the door to stop it, but it still creeps through the cracks.

With no time to spare, I pick up the order book and diary as smoke comes from nowhere.

My chest tightens as mild panic sets in.

I need to get out of here.

I rush back to the door as a loud bang reverberates through the shop. It sounds like the ceiling from the shop next door fell to the ground.

I crouch on the floor and shuffle until I’m under a table. With a plan to crawl table to table until I’m at the door.

But smoke stings my eyes and makes me cough with its acrid scent.

“Who’s in here?” A voice cuts through the chaos.

Damn!

“Me. My name is Freya and I own this bakery. I was just…” I sigh. “I’m sorry for not listening.”

And suddenly there’s a massive fireman beside me, wearing full protective gear, a safety hat and an oxygen mask and he’s staring at me, still wearing my pink pajamas like I’ve lost the plot.

I think I have.

Baby brain—no doubt.

He scoops me up effortlessly in his strong arms before I can even protest.

I wrap my arms around his neck, and his muscles tense as he carries me outside where I gulp desperately for breath.

Behind us, there’s a deafening crash. And when I glance over my shoulder, I watch as a section of ceiling in my shop collapses.

Dust fills the air as debris rains down like confetti onto the floor and the table. I was just under seconds ago.

I gasp. “Oh my God.” My throat burns as I speak. “Thank you.”

He strides to the fire truck and sets me on a step while he fumbles with an oxygen mask, sliding it over my head.

“Breathe,” he instructs gently as he fits it over my nose and mouth.

I suck back a breath and my heart pounds against my ribcage as I watch flames lick hungrily at my bakery from a distance. Everything I’ve built is going up in flames right before me, and all I can do is sit here and watch it disappear.

Sitting on the fire truck’s steps, my shoulders sag as I stare at the floor. My blood is racing so fast it is pounding in my ears. But my heart feels like it stops beating and now it’s sinking so low, I think it’s going to plunge all the way to the ground.

The fireman hovers nearby. I glance up at him, his eyes locked on me. Surprise, no doubt that I dared to defy his boss’ order.

My hand lifts the mask to tell him I’m sorry.

“Keep that mask on,” he growls, his voice deep and commanding. “You need to breathe properly.”

I glance up at him, about to argue, but the words die in my throat.

When he removes his helmet, he reveals tousled bleach blond hair that looks soft enough to run my fingers through. His jaw is sharp but has dark stubble over it that my fingers are itching to touch.

He has beautiful green eyes. Darker than mine. In fact, his eyes are so dark they are like storm clouds ready to unleash something fierce.

I can’t believe how gorgeous he is.

I want to take off my mask and breathe him in, smell him, but the second I reach for it, he steps closer.

“Leave it,” he orders. His voice is soft but has a firmness that makes me want to obey him. “You need it more than you think.” His eyes lower to my belly. “Your baby needs the oxygen too.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes me agree without question.

His nostrils flare and his eyes close slightly.

I sigh, probably the smoke.

Or maybe it’s my scent.

Inside me, excitement flares like a lit match.

My heart pounds as I search his face for any hint of recognition—something that tells me he senses it, too. The omega in me perks up at the possibility I have finally, at twenty-fucking-eight years old and pregnant with another alpha’s baby, found my scented mate.

It was not my baby’s father.

How did I get it so wrong?

He does it again. Inhaling slowly, deliberately.

I catch my fingernail under the mask, the opposite side to where he stands, and lift it slightly.

I catch a whiff of smoke mixed with an underlying scent that sends warmth flooding through me. Tears sting my eyes, and it’s not smoke. It’s the knowledge that coming off scent blockers and this fire has brought him to me.

He must feel it.

“Put the mask back on,” he barks, reaching for my hand, snapping the mask onto my face again.

My stomach plummets as I wonder if he can smell me too, but he doesn’t like the look of me and he wants to pretend this isn’t happening.

I am about to drop another alpha’s baby, wearing pink pajamas and acting slightly deranged.

I sigh. Just my fucking luck.

But it is happening.

This is the first time an alpha has given me something more than a casual brush-off; this feels significant somehow.

I lift my hand to pull off the mask again—just one sniff! But before I can reach it, he catches my wrist gently.

“Keep it on,” he insists again as he rests on his haunches in front of me. There’s a hint of shyness covering his alpha tone, and that surprises me. “I don’t want you inhaling any more smoke than you already have. Do it for me.”

I smile. He cares.

I nod. My stomach flips. Then flips again, but not in a good way when his gaze drifts down to my belly. And I swear I see him sigh.

I want to scream that I’m a single omega looking for an alpha who I know just inhaled my perfume for a reason.

My eyes wander over his ear and down to his neck where I spot burn marks puckering his beautiful skin. A remnant of something darker—

I want to kiss it better.

He lifts his collar and turns slightly. While I hold back every urge bubbling within me to purr for him.

Fuck! No way.

Our eyes lock once more.

The fireman remains on his knees before me, his eyes steady on mine. He seems to have forgotten the chaos around us, but I can’t forget that I’m a walking disaster around alphas, so I try to act calm and sophisticated.

Sophisticated? Calm?

I laugh and shake my head.

I don’t know why I laugh. I am so out of his league, it’s not funny.

His boss strides over, sweat-soaked and weary, surveying the scene. “Everything’s contained,” he says, shaking his head. “But you—” He points at me. “What were you thinking? You can’t just run in there. That was reckless.”

My cheeks heat up. “I needed to save my stuff.” My voice comes out weak and defensive, like I need to justify my actions. “My business for the next few months is here.” I hold up the diary.

The fireman’s hand rests on my knee, grounding me. His warmth spreads through me, cutting through the panic swirling in my chest.

“Reckless,” his boss repeats, folding his arms across his chest as if trying to contain a storm of frustration. “What if you’d gotten hurt? We’re not here for your bakery.”

I fight back tears.

Then it hits me—an intense pressure low in my belly.

No, no, no. Not now.

I will the feeling away as if the sheer force of my hopes will stop this from happening.

But my body betrays me again; another wave crashes through me. My breath catches in my throat as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Breathe,” he urges softly, still crouched before me, and I feel him draw closer, protecting me.

“Freya?” His voice is firm, but still so tender.

I pull the mask back. “It’s fine,” I manage between breaths that come faster now.

His gaze narrows as he studies me closely. “You don’t look fine.”

Suddenly warmth rushes down my legs—a trickle that steals my breath away.

“Oh god.” Panic floods through me as realization hits me.

The other fireman notices instantly; his expression shifts from concern to alarm. “Fuck—that’s all we need.”

“I’m not giving birth here,” I protest, voice trembling as I lean forward slightly, desperate to hide this from everyone around us—especially him. “I need to go home!”

“You need the hospital.” His boss is already moving into action mode while still staring at me in disbelief. “Take her.” The command leaves his lips with an authority that leaves no room for argument.

I stare at the fireman with his big hand still on my leg, and all I can focus on is the warmth as he turns it over and shows me his palm. “Give me your keys.”