Page 6 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas (Hollow Haven #2)

Rhett

T he Ford's transmission was being particularly stubborn this morning.

It should have been a straightforward job.

Remove, rebuild, reinstall. Simple mechanical problem with a mechanical solution.

Unlike whatever the hell was happening in my head every time I caught a whiff of jasmine and rain or remembered the way that omega had looked at me like I was both dangerous and exactly what she'd been waiting for.

I'd been doing this work for fifteen years. Fifteen years of early mornings, practical problems, and solutions that made sense. Engines didn't lie, didn't play games, didn't smell like hidden strength or make me want to prove I could take care of things that weren't necessarily broken.

So why was I standing in my garage days later, coffee gone cold, thinking about brown eyes that had looked at me like I might be worth the risk?

The radio was playing some classic rock station that usually helped me focus, but today even Aerosmith couldn't drown out thoughts of that coffee mug incident at Pine & Pages.

The way she'd stood there, clearly fighting every instinct to run, but refusing to back down when I'd challenged her about where she came from.

Most people either tried to impress me with their life story or went out of their way to avoid me entirely. She'd done neither. Just looked me straight in the eye and asked if it mattered where she was from, like my approval was optional rather than something she needed to earn.

I liked that more than I should have.

"Rhett?" Hollis's voice called from the front of the shop. "You got a minute?"

I wiped my hands on a shop rag and headed toward the office, where Hollis was standing with what looked like measurements written on a piece of paper.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, settling behind my desk.

"The bookstore's heating system is acting up again," he said, looking apologetic. "I know you're busy, but—"

"When do you need it fixed?"

"Soon as possible. It's getting cold enough that customers are starting to notice, and I've got..." He paused. "I've got someone working for me now who seems to feel the cold more than most."

Something in the way he said it made me look up sharply. "The new hire?"

"Willa, yeah. I noticed she keeps her jacket on even when the rest of us are comfortable. Thought maybe she was just adjusting to the new environment, but today she looks like she's struggling with temperature regulation."

Temperature regulation issues in an omega was never a good sign. Especially not one who was probably dealing with suppressant side effects and stress from starting a new job in a new town where she didn't know anyone and had to work around alphas she didn't trust yet.

"I'll be by this afternoon," I heard myself saying. "Probably just needs a tune-up and maybe some new filters."

"Thanks, Rhett. I appreciate it. So will she, I think."

After Hollis left, I found myself planning the repair with more care than usual. Not just fixing the problem, but making sure the system would run efficiently and quietly. Maybe upgrading a few components that weren't strictly necessary but would improve overall performance.

Because hypothermic omegas were someone everyone would want to help, and it had nothing to do with the fact that I wanted to do something that would make her more comfortable in her new workplace.

Nothing at all.

By the time I made it to Pine & Pages that afternoon, I'd convinced myself this was purely professional courtesy. Hollis was a good customer who paid his bills on time and referred other people to my shop. Taking care of his heating system was just good business.

The fact that I'd brought pastries from Micah’s bakery was just... neighborly.

I found the heating unit in the basement, and it was immediately obvious what the problem was. Clogged filters, dirty vents, and a circulation fan that sounded like it was on its last legs. Nothing that couldn't be fixed, but it would take a few hours to do it right.

I was about halfway through the filter replacement when I heard footsteps on the basement stairs. Light, cautious footsteps that suggested someone who wasn't sure they wanted to come down here but felt obligated to check on the progress.

"How's it looking?" Her voice was carefully neutral, but I could hear the hope underneath.

"Fixable," I said without turning around. "Mostly just neglect. When's the last time anyone serviced this system?"

"I have no idea. I just started working here yesterday."

"Right." I pulled another filter out of the housing, grimacing at the amount of dust and debris. "Well, someone's been ignoring basic maintenance for at least a year. Maybe longer."

"Is that... expensive to fix?"

Something in her tone made me glance back at her. She was standing on the bottom step, hands wrapped around a coffee mug like it was providing essential warmth, wearing a jacket that looked too big for her frame. Like she was trying to disappear inside it.

"Nope. Just parts and labor." I shrugged. "But it’s Hollis’s problem, you don’t need to worry about it."

"I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant." I turned back to the heating unit, mostly to avoid looking at her. "You meant you're worried about being the expensive employee who requires special accommodations. You're not."

"You don't know that."

"I know Hollis. He doesn't hire people he can't afford to keep comfortable."

She was quiet for a moment, processing that. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller, more uncertain.

"The pastries upstairs... was that for me?"

"It's for whoever wants it." I installed the new filter with more force than necessary. "Figured you might be hungry as well as cold."

"I am cold. Have been cold since I got here, actually. I thought it was just... adjustment."

"Probably is. But working in a properly heated building won't hurt the adjustment process."

I could feel her watching me work, and it should have been distracting.

Usually was, when people hovered while I was trying to concentrate.

But something about her presence was oddly calming.

Like she understood that fixing things required focus and wasn't going to interrupt unless it was important.

"Can I ask you something?" she said eventually.

"Shoot."

"Yesterday, when I asked if it mattered where I came from... did you mean that? That it doesn't matter?"

I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her directly. Really look. She was still standing on the bottom step, still wrapped in that oversized jacket, but her posture was different. Less defensive. More... curious.

"I meant it," I said. "People end up in small towns for all kinds of reasons. Most of them are running from something or looking for something. Either way, what matters is what you do here, not what you left behind."

"What if what you left behind was terrible?"

"Then you had good reason to leave."

"What if what you're looking for doesn't exist?"

"Then you build it."

The simplicity of that answer seemed to surprise her. Like she'd been expecting something more complicated, more conditional.

"You make it sound easy."

"Didn't say it was easy. Said it was possible."

She was quiet again, thinking. I went back to work on the circulation fan, but I could still feel her watching me. Not with suspicion this time, but with something that felt like assessment. Like she was trying to figure out if I was the kind of person who said things I didn't mean.

"The heating system," she said eventually. "How long will it take to fix?"

"Couple more hours. Maybe three if I replace the circulation fan."

"Should I leave you alone to work?"

"Up to you. You're not bothering me."

"I feel like I'm bothering you."

"You're not."

"Okay," she said, like she was testing the word. "I'll stay then. If that's all right."

"It's all right."

And it was. More than all right, actually. Having her there, quiet and thoughtful, asking the occasional question about what I was doing but mostly just... being present. It felt comfortable in a way I hadn't expected.

Like maybe she was the kind of person who understood that silence could be companionable instead of awkward. That watching someone work could be interesting instead of boring. That sometimes the best conversations happened when you weren't trying to fill every moment with words.

By the time I finished the repairs, the heating system was running better than it probably had in years. Quiet, efficient, and warm enough to keep anyone comfortable, even someone dealing with suppressant-related temperature regulation issues.

"There," I said, packing up my tools. "Should be good for another year, minimum. Probably longer if Hollis keeps up with the basic maintenance."

"It's already warmer down here," she said, unwrapping herself from the jacket for the first time since I'd arrived. "Thank you. Really. I know this was supposed to be about customer service, but it feels personal."

"Maybe because it is personal."

The admission slipped out before I could stop it. We stared at each other for a moment, the weight of that acknowledgment hanging between us.

"Rhett…"

"I’m all done for the day," I said, cutting her off before she could say whatever she was planning to say. "I should head back to the shop."

"Of course. Yes. Thank you again, for the heating and the pastries and..." She gestured vaguely. "Everything."

I gathered my tools and headed for the stairs, hyperaware of her following behind me. At the top, I paused, hand on the door handle.

"Willa?"

"Yeah?"

"Welcome to Hollow Haven. For real this time."

I left before she could respond, but I caught the small smile that crossed her face. Like maybe, for the first time since she'd arrived, someone had made her feel like staying might not be the worst idea she'd ever had.