Page 1 of Small Town Shy Omega (Applewood Falls #1)

Layla

I settled under my blanket, a spring shower falling outside my window.

It was cozy in my nest, very safe and snug.

My homemade apple blossom-scented candle flickered sporadically, painting shadows on the wall.

Outside my cottage, rain fell and clouds gathered.

The weather station said the shower would last all afternoon, but here I was safe.

I loved my nest, I thought as my big paperback spilled out across my lap. I flipped through the pages lazily, a relaxed sigh escaping me.

I turned twenty-seven last week, and I was content being single. I was content being almost thirty, not having a pack to serve.

The few packs I had dated hadn’t really respected me, and in my cottage? I worried about nothing.

These Alphas were so much better, I thought greedily, reading my thirtieth novel of the week. It wasn’t even my heat yet, but I couldn’t stop turning the pages.

The light notes of Thalia’s latest single wafted through my nook, and I sighed, sipping my hot raspberry tea and eating sherbet cookies. I was a good baker, though I seldom baked for others. Why bake for the friends I didn’t have?

Even before I presented as Omega, I was a shyer girl. If I grew to be an old, single Omega with multiple cats, I was okay with that.

“I’ve made my peace,” I said as my blankets surrounded me.

A meow sounded out, and I laughed as I lazily reached down, petting my cat, Whiskers.

Whiskers often read books with me in my nest, and when she behaved I fed her bites of my cookies.

Warm fuzz pressed against my face as she wriggled beside my pillow.

When was the last time I’d felt so cozy?

“I don’t need Alphas, and besides, they scare me. ”

The Alphas in my pastel-covered romance novels brought me joy. They never sparked fear in my heart.

I had a sensitive heart, one that was tender and shy, and needed to be protected. Protected there in my nest, where the only thing I feared was if my sherbet cookie stash ran low.

Me, my books, my nest, and the coziest, snuggliest blankets on the planet. And my homemade candles, of course.

The vases, bowls, and mugs I handcrafted in my glassworks studio brought me great joy, though I doubted I’d ever make serious money from my art. So why try? My small annual income I received from my grandfather’s estate sustained me, and I didn’t want for more.

I had everything I needed: a little bank account, a cozy cottage, and shelter from the rain.

I saw a squirrel outside, darting through the spring showers as it sought to find dry ground. “Poor baby,” I whispered, my fingertips ghosting against the windowpane. I wished to help that squirrel, but there was nothing I could do in my nest.

My candle flickered down, and I spent all my afternoon buried in the book. Soothing indie music reached my ears, and I made a note to buy my tickets to Thalia’s latest concert. She was like a local Taylor Swift, though obviously not as talented.

My eyelids grew heavy, and a blanket of rest draped over my shoulders. I snuggled against a pillow, and soon I was snoring.

Dreaming of the book I had just finished, the handsome Alphas who were so gentlemanly and refined.

They had tact, sensibility, and they weren’t growly or feral, like the Alphas I typically met in real life.

One was shyer, and he had a soft spot for poetry.

If only I met an Alpha like that, I thought as the ferryboat of sleep took me to dreamland, I’d happily open my nest, spread my blankets for him.

Only a kind, sensitive Alpha like that could ever be my mate.

My candle burned softly, flickering to the wick.

I lived in Applewood Falls, the quaintest Omega-friendly small town in the Midwest. Applewood Falls was known for its cozy farmers’ market, beautiful cobblestone paths, and the May blossom festival.

I liked going to the festival, pink blossoms swirling through the air.

Our skies were often a washed-out blue, and Applewood Falls always smelled like earth after a rainstorm.

We received lots of rain, and for as long as I could remember, I loved stormy weather.

As a girl, my grandfather would often take me to a hill on his farm, and lightning would flash overhead.

I harbored a romantic love for storms, and I was never happier than when I was twirling through a terrible tempest.

My favorite activities were reading, admiring songbirds, and blowing glass.

I was the only glass artist in Applewood Falls, and though I only created my wares in a tiny shed on my property, my works were praised around town.

Mrs. Lane of the City Council purchased two of my vases, and my friend Bronwyn commissioned a custom urn for her funeral parlor.

Pride filled me whenever I laid eyes on my glassworks in public, and I knew part of my soul resided in the glass.

I enjoyed walking down Applewood Falls’ cobblestone streets, always with my parasol in case of a chance shower.

My cottage, with its dozen acres, sat a mile from town, and so getting to town required quite a walk.

Sometimes I’d return home utterly tired, collapsing in my garden and not even making it to my nest.

My nest, like all Omegas, was my pride and joy, and burrowing under my collected blankets brought me great peace. In my nest, the rainstorms of life did not faze me. I was at peace, and while deep in restful sleep, I remained free.

But lately…

My next heat would be upon me soon, and my pink raspberry scent that would start perfuming soon would make me very attractive to Alphas.

My eyes, which were mauve with sparkles, would be irresistible to packs with their blown pupils, despite my glasses.

If I wasn’t careful, I’d wind up with a new pack, and that was the last thing I wanted.

My ideal way to pass my heat was to settle in my nest, and comb through my paperback romance collection.

Most of my books had pretty pastel covers, and I preferred the ones that concealed what I was reading.

A pack in my life would mean the death of my solitude.

They’d require me to cook, clean, and they most certainly wouldn’t take care of me.

Oh, all Alphas claimed they cared for their Omegas, but we Omegas knew what really transpired.

Once a pack of gorgeous Alphas roped you in, you were at their beck and call.

They enslaved you in the kitchen, commanding that you prepare their meals.

They hardly cooked for you, and when they managed to do their own laundry, they demanded thanks and praise.

Unbonded Omegas were often frowned upon, but I viewed them as sages.

Why on earth would I ever return to a pack who would only disrupt my solitude?

Everything I needed, I possessed in the cozy, yet slightly dilapidated cottage Grandpa left me in his will.

And because my monthly allotment granted me independence, I had no real need for financial support.

Though my pink raspberry fragrance that would start to perfume the closer I got to my heat would make me very attractive to Applewood Falls’ Alphas, I was convinced that a pack was the last thing I needed.

Beautiful .

The word came out so suddenly, I almost thought I imagined it.

To others, I was Layla: an unbonded, very shy purple-haired Omega. The glassworks artist. The recluse who lived in a solitary cottage, hardly sharing her presence with anybody.

When he called me beautiful under his breath , I listened.

Turning my head up, I laid eyes on the most handsome Alpha I’d ever seen.

He was cutting peaches, his wide, muscular arms on full display. He worked diligently, swiftly sorting the fragrant peach slices into plastic cups, with small spoons.

His brown locks fell to his cheeks, and I instantly sensed there was something different about him. Different from all other Alphas in town.

He looked like a farmhand. An Alpha who worked the fields, selling his wares at the market every weekend.

Pushing up my glasses, I regarded him with a confused air.

“Are you talking to me?”

The Alpha muttered something, swiftly hiding his knife under cloth.

“Beautiful,” he purred, and instantly the smells of cinnamon and sugar reached my nose. Something masculine radiated off this man, even though the peaches he sorted contained a softness, almost like a soft palm that surprises you when touching a very suntanned arm.

The Alpha was charming, his dark blue eyes light with life. He looked to be about my age, though slightly older.

“I’m not looking for a pack,” I said by way of apologizing, not wanting to give the Alpha the wrong ideas.

“Baby, you are the most beautiful Omega I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not on the market.” While I was at the market, specifically the farmers’ market, I had to lay down the law.

“Your name, Omega?”

“Layla.” I didn't think it was wrong to tell him my name.

“Blake,” he purred, and something broke inside of me.

Something just… snapped, the way it does when you finally give in to that holiday movie you’ve been wanting to watch all autumn, one lonely night unable to resist its spell.

Blake… a poet’s name, and truly the way he gazed upon me was poetically enrapturing.

Beautiful.

I never forgot the way he said that one word, as if I was so beautiful it simply slipped out. Unbidden, unprompted, and… unstoppable.

He just saw beauty… and his Alpha had to express it.

Me: the twenty-seven-year-old bookish Omega, who read far more than she socialized. Who rarely left her cottage, specifically her nest.

I went home that day. I did not give in to fair Blake’s advances, though visions of him cutting peaches swirled through my mind.

I donned my coziest oversized sweater, then slid into my nest.

I poked my nose out, my breath fogging my nook window. Outside, a light rain fell.

Was Blake outside gathering peaches? Was he tilling a plot of land, gathering the freshest fruit by hand?

Brown curls, pale cheeks, radiant smile.