Chapter two
Mitch
That is the last time I stick my dick in honeycomb. You try to do something fun and spontaneous for your partner and you end up with sticky fur from sheath to crease because someone can’t control himself around sweets.
Okay, maybe that was the goal. My Alpha mate, Clay, has been in a worse mood than I’ve seen in a long time. He’s a sourpuss most days, but after our last foray into finding the Omega for our little pack, it’s been tough to get him to crack even the barest of smiles.
I understand where he’s coming from, to some degree.
Wolven packs work best with three beings.
The Alpha, the Beta, and the Omega. For eons, it was thought that three was a sacred number because that is how the gods destined us to form relationships.
Nobody really follows that dark age shit anymore, but that doesn’t mean we’ve evolved out of all our instincts.
As a Beta, my hindbrain is telling me to bury my snout into my Alpha’s buttery warm pastry scent and rub myself all over him until he feels better. I want Clay to know we’re alright, just the two of us. We have been since before we even moved to Hallow’s Cove twenty years ago.
What was supposed to just be a gap year between high school and college had turned into presenting as a mated pair.
We’d gone from best friends to lovers over the course of a summer and never looked back.
This café happened to be looking for a baker’s apprentice as the old troll was ready to retire.
Clay had taken the position right away, and I did whatever odd jobs I could find around town until we were ready to buy the lady out.
We’ve had twenty amazing years together.
But fuck, we’re almost forty and still haven’t found our Omega. There are matchmaking services, but I think if my mom slips one more of those pamphlets into one of her weekly letters, Clay’s going to burn the post office down.
I had always sort of believed that when the time was right, our mate would walk through the doors to our little coffee shop, and I’d do some heroic action move, jumping over the counter and diving nose first into their crotch.
You know, romantic stuff.
Instead, I'm standing in front of our grinder, counting coffee beans and trying not to adjust my junk. We're nearly done for the day, thankfully, meaning I can snag the industrial soap from the kitchen and run upstairs while Clay closes up. A hot shower is calling my name.
Only a few tourists linger around, and a couple of locals too.
Since school has started up again, the crowds have dwindled.
We get a few DINKs, some retired couples, but already I know we're going to have to tighten our belts until the ski season starts and we can start sending fresh baked pastries to the fancy-pants clientele up there.
The vintage bell over the door jingles as Mayor Louise walks in, speaking loudly with a weird tone of voice that I don't recognise. I’d thought I’d I'd seen all her mimics by now.
“Cool Beans has the best wifi, my lady. You can order anything you need here. And…”
Sweet blueberry jam.
My tail begins to wag uncontrollably as my lips part. Omega. Omega. Omega. My brain loses all function when I smell them.
Our Omega.
Stepping in behind the mayor is a gorgeous, plush human with brown hair and curves that I can just picture sinking my filed claws into. She's definitely an out-of-towner, and the way she holds herself reminds me of the skiers who holiday at the resort.
Elegant, poised, and like she's never had to work a day in her life.
Oh, shit.
As they approach, I reach behind my back and grab my tail. Absolutely not going to show any emotion until I know what type of person she is.
What the fuck was fate thinking? How are we going to live up to any of her expectations? I’m a barista! I know I look nice enough, but I’m not living the high life by any means.
“Mitch, this Lady Rowena Darrington,” Louise announces overly loudly. “She's going to help us revitalise the Arts Centre this autumn.”
Oh no. Up close, she's even more beautiful.
I'm barely paying any attention to what the mayor's babbling on about.
I can't pull my focus away from our Omega.
She's got white wispy pieces of hair that frame her flushed cheeks, and I think I see tattoos sticking out from under the collar of her shirt and around her wrists.
Definitely not what I would have pictured a lady looking like.
“Please, just call me Roan,” she insists in a soft, low British accent that makes my tail jerk in my hand. “No need for the titles here.”
As she turns, so do I, both of us staring at the town's kinda-sorta-elected figurehead.
“Sure, of course. I won't say anything else,” Louise says, making a show of turning her lips into a zipper and closing it.
“Sorry to bother you.” Roan turns back to me. “Could I possibly steal some of your WiFi until I can get the dial-up box working at the Arts Centre? I need to order a few things, and—”
“Steal anything you like,” I blurt out. My wallet, my pants, my heart. No, wait. I need to slow down. My ears flatten as embarrassment rushes through me. “The password is Password2 , uppercase P. We had to change it recently.”
The mayor gives me a weird look, but I'm not about to tell her I just gave the newcomer my home WiFi password. Roan should at least have access to a line that isn’t crowded by half the town.
Just because I’m trying not to rush head first into our fated mate’s lap, that doesn’t mean I can’t share our nice internet with her.
“I really appreciate it.” She smiles and my heart flutters. The smell of blueberries wafts through the air, and I smile back. “What are your hours, just so I know?”
“5:30 a.m. to 2:00 p.m.”
“Wow, that's early, right?”
“Yeah, but who can say no to fresh pastries first thing in the morning?” I ask.
“You’ve got me there.” She tucks some of her hair behind her ears, resting her weight on one side so her voluptuous hip catches my attention.
“Oh, we need to head back to the motel. I need to properly introduce you to Connie,” Mayor Louise says with mouth still shaped like a zipper.
There’s a small dip in Roan’s shoulders, but she takes a deep breath, and that same poise from early comes back over her.
“Thank you, Mitch. I'm sure we will be seeing a lot of each other.”
Is she trying to flirt with me? My dick is acting like she is, but I honestly can't tell with her accent.
She gives a small wave before she turns to leave, the mayor following right behind her and blocking my view of her round, perfect ass.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.