Page 28 of Small Town Shy Omega (Applewood Falls #1)

“Not the compliment you think it is, but thanks anyway,” I mutter. Yes, you could put fruit in… a fruit bowl. In fact, many have done just that. In fact, I’ve done that. With this very fruit bowl, in fact.

A grape tumbled out of the bowl.

“Oops,” Dreydon said, dropping down to pick it up.

“See?” I said sweetly. “I do use to for fruit.”

“I wonder what else you could store in here. Mail? Letters?”

“Not helping my confidence level,” I murmured, going to Dreydon. “It’s a bowl, Dreydon. I get it.”

“Well….”

“There’s no well,” I said. “Not but or and either. It’s a bowl, it’s stupid, I know. Big freaking deal, I make bowls.”

Josh’s eyes traveled over to a little device on my windowsill, and he huffed. “You smoke bowls too,” he muttered, spanking my ass.

I snorted, wriggling under the touch. “Different kind of bowls,” and then I swatted him right back.

Josh picked up an urn I was making for Irene. “What’s this?”

“Oh, when Irene’s grandfather passes away, she wants him cremated.”

“WTF?!”

“Morbid,” Blake muttered under his breath.

I shrugged.

“Everyone dies eventually. My friend Bronwyn, who runs the town funeral parlor, seems to be the only one comfortable with this fact.”

“Is she the one with the emerald-green hair, always scurrying around with someone’s ashes under her arm?”

“Soon, she’ll carry Irene’s grandpa’s ashes under her arm. He’s getting up there in age, and he’s bed bound.”

Josh made a sad face, understanding. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“Well, it’s not my grandpa,” I snorted. “Sorry to be so blunt, but… I just make the glass. Death isn’t really my specialty.”

“If I ever need a good cry,” Josh joked out, “I’ll be sure to go to you.”

“Yeah, I’m not great with tears either. I mean I cry a lot, but then I need comforting.”

Dreydon smiled, rubbing my back, then pulling me in for a bear hug.

“You’re an introvert, Layla. You make stunning creations, and you should have a website, your own shop, and a client list a mile long. Tell me, what do you do for entertainment while blowing glass?”

“I blow bowls, mainly.” Of weed.

Josh rolled his eyes. “When you’re not getting your pothead on, what do you do?”

“Hey, I’m a small-town Omega, and this isn’t a Hallmark movie. We smoke in small towns. After what they did to this country, you’re lucky I’m not smoking meth.”

“Who is they ?” Blake queried, shooting me a look. “And what did they do?”

“Whoever killed all the factory jobs,” I shrugged.

“Private equity,” Dreydon huffed, shaking his head. “Wrecking American livelihoods. Anyway baby, I’m glad you found an escape from the struggle. You make wonderful creations, and we want to help you get the word out.”

“Word of mouth is my main marketing strategy,” I shrug, rubbing my head against Dreydon’s chest.

“And why not have a website? Why not open a shop in town, expand the franchise?”

“What franchise?” I furrowed my brow.

“You could put on glass-blowing lessons,” Dreydon said excitedly. “Workshops, summer camps, courses. You’d be able to come out of your shell and really make a name for yourself.”

“And create more competition for myself? I think not,” I drawled.

“A rising tide,” Josh began.

I cut him off. “A rising tide isn’t good if you’re the only boat and you just introduced a million news boats into the harbor. You wanna be the only boat with a rising tide. You always wanna be the only boat in business. Low tide or high tide.”

“We’ve got a little monopolist on our hands,” Dreydon muttered, jabbing Josh.

Josh shrugged. “I’m just saying. You could make a name for yourself. Right now, you’re known as the chick who never leaves her cottage. Reclusive. Antisocial.”

“And?” I said sweetly.

“And, you could change that,” Josh said encouragingly. “You could start fresh, Layla. Create a new identity. A new version of you. People wouldn’t even remember that you used to coop yourself up in a run-down cottage with clogged gutters.”

“Hey,” I snapped, “the gutter guards Grandpa had installed were supposed to keep the dirt out.”

“Well, gutter guards are a scam,” Josh joked back. “The detritus still gets under the guards.”

“Your gutters were filled with sludge,” Blake told me.

I crossed my arms. “No, they weren’t.”

“Were you up there on the ladder? Yes, they were.”

“No, they weren’t.” I decided to double down.

My three Alphas shared a look, then shared a huff.

“Does not take criticism well,” Blake singsonged under his breath.

“You already knew that,” I teased, squeezing Blake’s wrist. “Come on, don’t be like that. Don’t be… so uncool.”

“You’re the uncool one here. I’m the epitome of cool.” Blake tried to hide his tube socks.

I peered down at his tube socks.

“Tube socks?” I drawled, trying not to roast my man, but what choice did a girl have?

Blake hid his socks behind my kiln. “The store was out of ankle cut.”

“Oh, so you went with the tubes?”

“What choice did I have?” Blake grumbled back.

We all shared a moment to gaze around my studio. A band of light tumbled in, illuminating a violet vase. I had no fresh flowers in my studio, though maybe I had to change that.

A loud ruckus reached out ears.

Meow, the kitty sounded out, and a paw scratched at my window.

“No,” I snorted, preemptively stopping my Alphas from letting Whiskers in. “She’s a bull in a china shop in here.”

“Come in, Whiskers,” Blake cooed, going to the window. “Awww, don’t let your mama hurt your feels.”

“Blake,” I whined, really not wanting my cat in here.

Blake opened the window… and Whiskers immediately flicked her tail, knocking over a vase. Crash.

“Damn,” Blake hissed.

Whiskers looked down, a smug expression on her face.

“Devil cat,” I muttered, scooping Whiskers into my arms. “Honestly, she’s really not allowed in here. She lacks tail control.”

“And you lack attitude control,” Blake huffed, scratching Whiskers’ ears. “Your mama’s being a meanie pants, baby. Don’t listen.”

“A meanie pants?” Oh no he didn’t.

Should I snap? Why do people snap when they get sassy?

I snapped my fingers.

Dreydon snapped right back. “Oh yes he did.”

“We are so not doing this,” Josh groaned and luckily we all agreed to stop.

After depositing Whiskers outside—my heart swelled when I watched him scamper off, doing a twirl in a clover patch—Blake swept up the broken vase.

“Sorry,” he muttered, depositing the shards in the bin. “I’ll listen to you next time.”

“At least she broke my vase,” I snorted, going to my weed pipe on the windowsill, “and didn't spill my bowl.”

I fumbled around for my lighter, but Josh stopped me.

“In here? Really?” He didn't sound pleased.

“What?” I snatched my Bic, flicking it a few times. “Is there a problem?”

“It’s just that…”

“There’s no ventilation,” Dreydon muttered, eyeing the closed window.

“Ventilation, shmentilation,” I muttered.

Josh frowned. “It cannot be good to inhale weed smoke for hours on end.”

“Days, sometimes,” I drawled, wishing my lighter would work. “I pass out over my kiln… and then I just keep on smoking.”

Dreydon gently took the pipe from my hands.

“Baby,” he said sweetly, “just say no.”

“It’s natural,” I begged, clawing after my pipe. “Gimme.”

“It’s naturally… neurotoxic,” Dreydon drawled, sliding my pipe into his back pocket. “Mine, now.”

“Hey,” I grunted, “you stole my Mary Jane.”

“I conquered it,” Dreydon drawled, waggling his brows.

“You can’t conquer my weed, man.” This freaking guy.

“Rule of the strongest,” Dreydon said brusquely, and Josh snorted in agreement.

Deciding not to smoke my weed right now, we all watched me blow some glass. Ever blow bubblegum as a kid? Well, it wasn’t really like that, but it sorta was.

Lighting up my fuego, I blew up a big ball of pink glass. Magical and mystical, it captured everyone’s attention.

“Whoa,” Dreydon said, eyes wide.

I transferred the ball into a cold-water bath. “Watch it crack now.”

The glass ball didn't crack, though all my Alphas leapt back in shock.

“Ha,” I snorted, cooling my pink ball. “Gotcha.”

“That’s a big ball,” Josh said impressively.

“You’d know all about that, don’t you,” I said passive aggressively.

“I have an eye for… big balls.”

I waggled my eyebrows at Josh, my gaze dipping to his jeans. “Anytime you wanna show me yours, I’m game.”

We closed the door to my she-shed studio.

Just then, a cracking sound ripped out and the roof caved in.

My entire glassworks studio poofed in on itself, sawdust and glass fibers shooting into the air. It was a natural disaster. Dis-glass-ter.

“You almost died,” Blake gasped, leaping back in the nick of time. My pink ball nearly rammed his face off.

“Crap,” I huffed, crossing my arms. “Now how am I gonna make Irene’s grandpa’s urn?”

“You’re not,” Dreydon joked, and we all watched the dust settle.

Damn… just damn.

“I’ve spent so many years in there,” I said sadly.

“Yeah,” Josh drawled, “losing braincells.”

Blake got his hands on my shoulders. He kissed my neck, and I moaned as softness barreled through me.

“Baby,” Blake said confidently, “do you believe in signs?”

“I believe in signs,” I said in response.

“This is a sign from the universe, sweetie. Fate is telling you to get out of your she-shed.”

“First, it’s called a glassworks studio. Get it right.”

“Imagine where you’d be if me, Josh, and Dreydon hadn’t showed up when we did. Your ‘quaint’ cottage was falling apart. And clearly your studio faced some structural issues. The universe is calling you to be stronger, Omega. To get out of this solitary life you’ve been living.”

“My weed is all gone,” I sniffed.

“We can get you some more weed, baby. And, we’re also going to get you a brand-new studio.”

“Oh, you’re gonna build me another she-shed?” I smiled.

“No, baby,” Josh growled, his voice deep and low. “There’s an empty retail space right next to Betty’s Bakery in town. It’b be perfect for a new studio.”

“That’s your dream, Josh. My dream is just to stay on my plot of land, make vases and bowls, and read.”

Blake got down in front of me, yes on his knees.