Page 9

8

Liam

I’d always been a fan of reality TV. It was drama at its finest and really shone a spotlight on human behavior at its best and worst. The audience got to watch real-life people make bad decisions, often followed shortly by a sharp slap of karma. We argued about our favorite contestants and who should get kicked out, and in the end, there was a clear winner. It was the epitome of satisfaction. In the case of a dating show like Lonely Alpha , they were popular because they had the added appeal of tapping into one of humanity’s basest needs—to procreate. Sex sells, and apparently, so did caffeine and sugar.

It had been a steady flow of customers all morning, starting with the early-rising seniors trying to beat the rush, followed by the Sunday late-risers and the after-church crowd. I hadn’t even had a chance to hang out with Dad before he’d headed home to North Salter. By the time lunch rolled around, I’d already sold out of my soft ginger cookies, so I decided to make a second batch.

Aubrey had come in at 11, and she would stay until we closed later this afternoon. She seemed capable of handling the front on her own for a bit, so I left her to watch the counter then headed into the back. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind not having enough time to sit on her phone.

My pops’s ginger cookies were my favorite. He’d gotten the original recipe while on one of his yearly road trips, that time through Virginia. He always came home with some new recipe. Sometimes he’d go into a roadside diner and end up asking to speak to the chef about the pie. Once, he’d made me pull an illegal U-turn just because he caught a whiff of something delicious through the open window, and we’d tracked it down to a cute restaurant in an old red barn. There was room for only four small tables covered in red-and-white-check tablecloths, with antique kitchen utensils hanging on the weathered-wood walls and a view straight through to the kitchen. It was owned by a married couple, and they swore what made their food so good was their loyalty to butter. “None of that margarine bullshit,” the alpha had said.

Over the years, Pops had collected enough recipes that he could’ve published his own cookbook, but that wasn’t why he did it. It was simply the love of good food and good company. Hunger was the great equalizer.

He’d found the original ginger cookie recipe at a museum, but he’d made changes over the years, writing them in pencil along the margins as he worked on giving it his own spin. I was still trying to get the recipe right. I was convinced he’d added a secret ingredient and forgotten to write it down, because I was still missing something, for sure.

I’d been making versions of these cookies for over 20 years, ever since my dad had dropped me off with Pops to watch that first weekend. But now, the molasses only served to remind me of a certain infuriating alpha and his rich brown eyes. It seemed strange, after how quickly things soured, to still be thinking of him in any kind of way. I’d just gotten the briefest hint of what it would feel like to be the focus of Jared’s attention, and it had been all-encompassing. He was so intense, even from across the room, and I had a strong feeling that intensity would carry over into the bedroom. The mental image had me fanning myself.

Gods, is it hot in here or just the oven?

Too bad he’d turned out to be a bit of an asshole. It was like he thought I was some kind of evil villain, out to bankrupt his boss or something, which was just plain ridiculous. If only he’d given me two seconds to talk to him about it, I was sure we could’ve found some middle ground. Called a truce of some kind, and we could’ve sealed the deal with a kiss.

I rolled the balls of dough in sugar before setting them on the baking tray, then slid them into the oven. Now the hard part—waiting.

The entire café quickly filled with the scent of sweet baked sugar and spice, and the customer at the counter took a deep breath as I handed him his coffee. “That smells amazing. Any chance whatever it is will be ready in the next… 30 seconds?” he asked, looking at his watch.

“More like three minutes. Too long?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. I’m already running late. But I’ll be back this way in an hour. Save me one?” he asked, already backing toward the door.

“Consider it done.” I loved getting to share my grandpa’s cookies with the world. Every time someone bought one, I swore I could hear Pops’s satisfied chuckle. It was almost like he was still here.

After the customer left, I headed into the back to finish cleaning up while waiting for the timer to go off. My stomach gave a hungry gurgle, and I patted my surprisingly still-flat stomach. Considering I ate the first cookie out of every batch—for quality control, obviously—it wouldn’t take me too long to put on an extra layer of padding. In lots of time for winter, perfect for a little bit of extra warmth right when I needed it.

Just as I was taking the trays out of the oven, Aubrey stuck her head in the back. “Um, Mr. Turner?” Gods, that made me feel old, but she wasn’t comfortable calling me by my first name.

“Yes, Aubrey? Do you need help out front?”

“Not really? Some rando just came in to use the bathroom, but he was acting super sus. Want me to check that he didn’t trash the bathroom?” She braced for my answer.

I appreciated that she was willing to do it, but I couldn’t ask her to do that. “No, I’ve got it. Thanks for letting me know.” I tossed the oven mitts aside and headed to the back corner where the public bathroom was stashed. I’d worked in restaurants for years, so I was no stranger to patrons behaving badly. No matter how bad it was, I’d likely seen worse. I wanted to believe I was prepared for anything as I pushed open the door, but nope. My jaw dropped.

Aubrey peeked over my shoulder to see what was going on, and that was when she screamed.

“Well, shit,” I cursed, running in to try to contain the insects as they scurried under the stall doors. Most people would’ve stomped on them and been done with it, but besides the ick factor of getting bug guts everywhere, I just couldn’t bring myself to hurt the little critters. They hadn’t done anything wrong, and they were mostly harmless. They were the real victims here. “Come on, guys,” I murmured as I coaxed them off the tile floor one by one, until I'd grabbed a full dozen.

“Get the front door!” I shouted back at Aubrey as I started shoving them into the front pocket of my apron, trying to contain them all.

Aubrey was more than happy to get the hell out of there. She ran ahead of me, squealing and shuddering the whole way, and held the door open as I shuttled the little critters outside onto the street along the curb.

I was so caught up in getting the roaches out that I hadn’t reached the why of the whole event yet, but as I straightened, I just happened to look up at the right moment to catch Jared jogging back to his side of the street, and I swore I heard him laughing. I gasped. “Why, you little jerk!”

I was too shocked to be truly angry yet, but I knew it was coming. The telltale prickle of my brewing temper was just beneath the surface. This was a truly underhanded prank.

I knew what my dad would say. That as an omega, I should turn the other cheek, that I shouldn’t take the bait. But as I glared across the street at Crave Coffee, I drew strength from my bubbling temper, instead of shoving it down deep. I refused to take this lying down. Instead, I thought of last night’s episode of Lonely Alpha , when Clark got even with Marty for his prank. Well, I was about to channel my inner Clark.

This. Means. War .

CreamyJoe: Guys, I am having the worst day. Quick, I need a distraction.

RimJobbins: Want me to send a dick pic?

BottomsUp: Don’t be presumptuous. Maybe he wants an ass pic.

RainbowRob: Dude, talk about presumptuous. Maybe he’s a she. Or a they .

MuffinTop: Um…….. Is this really the kind of chat room that posts nudes? Maybe try something like “I’m sorry to hear that. Anything I can do to help?”

CreamyJoe: Thanks, Muffin. It’s just work stuff. I’ll live.

MuffinTop: If it helps, you’re not alone. I can relate. Would some cliché platitudes make you feel better? I have a ton.

MuffinTop: You’ve got this!

MuffinTop: These things too shall pass.

MuffinTop: Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

MuffinTop: Everything happens for a reason.

CreamyJoe: Okay, okay! Please, no more! lol Mission accomplished. I promise I’m all better.

RimJobbins: Geez muffin, keep it in your pants, would ya.