Page 7 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas (Hollow Haven #2)

Willa

O ne week into working at Pine & Pages, I was starting to think I might actually be able to do this. Build something that looked like a normal life in a place where people seemed determined to be kind despite my obvious reluctance to let them.

The heating system was working perfectly thanks to Rhett's repairs yesterday, which meant I could finally take off the jacket I'd been using as armor against both the cold and curious looks.

Hollis had complimented my work with the weekend inventory, and even the customers seemed to appreciate that I could recommend books without trying to oversell them on things they didn't want.

It felt almost... peaceful. Like maybe I could disappear here in the best possible way, becoming part of the background instead of constantly having to perform or defend or explain myself.

Which, of course, was exactly when Mrs. Vaughn decided to make her presence known.

I was organizing the new releases display when she approached, moving with the kind of purposeful energy that suggested this wasn't a casual book browsing visit.

She was an older omega, probably in her seventies, with silver hair pulled back in a precise bun and the kind of clothes that suggested she'd been the height of fashion sometime in the 1990s and saw no reason to change now.

"You must be the new girl," she said, looking me up and down with obvious assessment. "Ida Vaughn. I've been coming here since Hollis opened the store."

"Willa," I replied, forcing a smile. "Can I help you find anything?"

"Oh, I'm not here for books today. I'm here for information."

The way she said it made me immediately wary. In my experience, people who announced they were collecting information rarely had benign intentions.

"What kind of information?"

"About you, dear. You're quite the topic of conversation around town. New omega, living alone. People are curious."

I felt my carefully constructed composure start to crack. "I'm sure they are."

"Now, don't get defensive. It's natural for a community to want to know about newcomers, especially young omegas who might be... in need of guidance."

"I'm not in need of guidance," I said, keeping my voice level with effort. "But thank you for the concern."

"Of course, dear. Though I have to say, living alone at your age, working instead of focusing on pack formation and proper nesting behaviors... it's quite unconventional."

"Unconventional isn't illegal."

"No, but it's not healthy either. Omegas need structure, dear. Community support. The kind of guidance that comes from older, more experienced members of our designation."

I could feel my temper rising, but I forced myself to stay professional. This was my workplace, Hollis's business, and I wasn't going to cause a scene just because some busybody omega thought I needed to be managed.

"I appreciate your concern," I said again, moving back toward the counter where I'd feel less trapped. "But I'm doing fine on my own."

"Are you, though?" Mrs. Vaughn followed me, clearly not picking up on my signals that this conversation was over. "Because from what I've observed, you seem quite isolated. No bonds, no creative outlets, no proper nesting space. That's not healthy for someone your age."

"What makes you think I don't have creative outlets or a nesting space?"

"Well, do you?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge. I could feel her watching me, waiting for an answer that would either satisfy her curiosity or provide more ammunition for whatever point she was trying to make.

"I'm still settling in," I said carefully.

"Of course. Though you know, there are wonderful opportunities for omega creative expression right here in Hollow Haven. Art classes at the community center, photography groups, crafting circles. The kind of activities that help young omegas develop proper skills and social connections."

Photography groups. The words hit me like a physical blow, and I had to grip the counter edge to keep my expression neutral.

"Photography?" I managed.

"Oh yes, very popular among artistic omegas. Such a lovely way to document family life, pack milestones, community events. Much more fulfilling than..." She gestured around the bookstore. "Service work."

"I'm not particularly artistic," I lied.

"Nonsense. All omegas are artistic in some way. It's part of our nature. You just need to find the right outlet, the right guidance. I could introduce you to some lovely people who could help you explore your creative side."

"That's very kind, but—"

"No buts, dear. Community is essential for omega wellness. You can't just hide away in a bookstore forever, avoiding proper socialisation and creative expression. That's not how healthy omegas live."

The condescension in her voice was finally too much. "And how exactly do healthy omegas live?"

"With purpose, dear. With bonds and creative outlets and the kind of community support that helps them thrive instead of merely survive."

"Maybe I'm thriving just fine."

"Are you?" She tilted her head, studying me like I was an interesting specimen. "Because you seem quite... guarded. Defensive. Like someone who's been hurt and is now too afraid to trust anyone enough to build proper relationships."

The accuracy of that observation felt like a slap. I stared at her, momentarily speechless, while she continued her assessment.

"That's not thriving, dear. That's surviving. And omegas are meant for so much more than that."

"I need to get back to work," I said, desperate to end this conversation before I said something I'd regret.

"Of course. But think about what I've said. This community wants to support you, help you find your place here. All you have to do is let us."

She gathered her purse and headed for the door, pausing to call back over her shoulder. "I'll be in touch about those photography groups. You might be surprised what you discover about yourself."

I was still standing behind the counter, hands shaking with a combination of anger and something dangerously close to panic, when I noticed that someone else was in the store.

A man in an expensive-looking coat stood near the history section, clearly having entered during the final minutes of Mrs. Vaughn's interrogation.

He was probably in his early thirties, with dark hair and the kind of polished appearance that screamed money and city living.

Everything about him looked out of place in Hollow Haven, from his Italian leather shoes to his perfectly tailored coat.

His scent signature marked him as alpha, but unlike Wes, Elias, or Rhett, there was no pull, no instinctive omega response.

Just neutral recognition of his designation without any of the awareness that seemed to crackle around the other three alphas I'd met.

He approached the counter slowly, his expression genuinely concerned.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice carrying real worry. "I came in toward the end of your conversation with that woman. I wasn't sure if I should interrupt, but she seemed to be upsetting you quite a bit. Are you all right?"

The genuine concern in his tone caught me off guard. Most people would have pretended not to notice or awkwardly avoided getting involved.

"I'm fine," I said automatically, then realized how unconvincing that probably sounded given that I was visibly shaking. "She just had some... strong opinions about how I should be living my life."

"Ah." His expression shifted to understanding. "Let me guess, unsolicited advice about what's best for you, delivered with absolute certainty that she knows better than you do about your own needs?"

Despite everything, I found myself almost smiling. "That's exactly what it was."

"People love to do that, don't they? Especially when they're convinced they're helping." He moved closer to the counter, maintaining respectful distance but clearly wanting to offer support. "I'm Cassian, by the way. Cassian Black."

"Willa Rowan." I studied his face, noting the genuine sympathy there. "Thank you for checking on me. You didn't have to get involved."

"Seemed like the right thing to do. Besides, I know what it's like to have people tell you how you should be living your life." Something in his tone suggested this was more than casual frustration. "Family expectations can be... overwhelming."

"You sound like you speak from experience."

"More than I'd like." His smile was rueful. "People who think they have your life figured out and can't understand why you won't just follow the script they've written for you."

I felt some of the tension in my shoulders ease. Here was someone who understood what it felt like to have your choices questioned by people who claimed to know what was best for you.

"That sounds complicated," I said carefully.

"It is." He was quiet for a moment, then seemed to shake off whatever he was thinking. "But enough about my family drama. Are you sure you're okay? That conversation looked pretty intense."

"I'm better now, thank you. Sometimes it helps to be reminded that not everyone thinks they have the right to manage other people's lives."

"Definitely not." He glanced around the bookstore, taking in the cozy atmosphere.

"Actually, since I'm talking to you, maybe you could help me find something?

I'm looking for books about local history.

Information about the area's environmental significance, maybe some background on the communities who lived here originally. "

The shift to something practical was exactly what I needed. "Of course. Hollis has an excellent section on regional history. Let me show you."

I led him toward the local interest shelves, grateful for the distraction from Mrs. Vaughn's implications about my life choices. Cassian followed quietly, his presence somehow supportive without being overwhelming.