Page 4 of These Shoes Weren't Made for Stalking
I watched him read my message out loud before setting his phone aside. He lifted his lavender latte to his lips with mock delicacy, taking a theatrical sip. “Pretty cryptic, if you ask me.”
I traced the rim of my coffee cup with my thumb, avoiding his knowing gaze. “I saidmysteriousalpha.”
“Isn’t that synonymous with hot?”
I gulped another mouthful of coffee instead of dignifying that with a response. The rich chocolate-hazelnut blend couldn’t mask the cotton candy sweetness of Penny’s omega scent, which always intensified when he thought he’d caught the scent of juicy gossip.
“So, spill. What happened last night… you know,otherthan Wilson’s getting vandalized?” His lucky penny necklace caught the morning light, the silver chain throwing tiny rainbows against my weathered workbench. The leather cushion squeaked as he stood, his cotton candy scent swirling through the air like a sugary fog.
I fiddled with my tools, arranging them in their familiar pattern across the scarred wooden surface, each one polished by years of use. “Something felt off. Expensive suit but wearing tennis shoes. Carrying a duffel bag. The way he moved...”
“Like?”
“Like he was too aware of everything. He moved with too much precision.”
“Don’t most alphas strut around like they own the place?” Penny swaggered toward me, chest puffed out like a peacock, his pink hair bouncing with each exaggerated step.
His spot-on imitation of alpha posturing made me chuckle despite myself. His flawless swagger—complete with an exaggerated alpha head-tilt—reminded me of every self-important alpha customer who’d ever waltzed into my shop expecting royal treatment. I shrugged, unable to pinpoint exactly what triggered this feeling in my gut. Was I reading too much into things?
“So what did this mysterious alpha look like? You know, for investigative purposes.” Penny’s eyes sparkled with mischief, his lucky penny necklace swaying as he leaned forward across my workbench.
I focused on buffing the leather of a worn dress shoe. “Older than us by a decade. Distinguished. Salt and pepper at histemples.” My hand stilled on the shoe. “The kind of presence that fills a room without trying.”
“Oh, Daddy material then?” Penny waggled his eyebrows at me.
“Penny!” I brandished my polishing cloth at him like a weapon. A flush crept up my neck, and I focused harder on the shoe in my hands, pretending the leather needed extra attention in one particular spot.
“Fine.” Penny sighed, innocently propping his chin on his hands. “Go on.”
“Custom tailored three-piece suit in charcoal gray. Probably Italian.” My fingers traced the edge of the shoe, remembering how the suit had draped over broad shoulders, each piece cut to emphasize his build without being ostentatious.
“Did this three-piece suit have a name?” Penny leaned closer, his voice laced with curiosity.
“Dominic Steele.” The name rolled off my tongue like honey, and I busied myself with arranging my polishing brushes in perfect alignment.
“Even his name sounds sexy,” Penny sighed, fanning himself with a vintage silk handkerchief he’d pulled from his pocket.
Heat crept up my neck. “But those tennis shoes really threw me off.” I said, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“Mhm. And his face?”
I knew better than to think Penny would let the subject drop.
“Sharp features. He had these steel-gray eyes that seemed to...” I cleared my throat and grabbed the shoe’s mate. “Look, it doesn’t matter what he looked like.”
“Oh honey, it absolutely—” A cheerful chime from Penny’s phone cut him off mid-sentence, the sound sharp in the quiet shop. He pulled it out, then froze. “Leo...”
My own phone buzzed against the workbench. The neighborhood watch group chat exploded with messages, each notification making my screen light up like a frantic firefly.
Mrs. Henderson
Did you hear? Wilson’s Bakery was vandalized!
Mr. Gates
Windows smashed, graffiti everywhere
Mr. Tang