Chapter 1 #2
The patio gives way to a stretch of lawn that slopes gently toward the lake, and I walk far enough that the party noise softens into a muffled hum behind me. The water laps against the dock. The first stars are coming out over Lake Vienne.
I lean against the railing and let myself breathe for the first time in two hours.
A little less than two years ago, I thought my life was finally starting. Grant, the move, the flower shop. Everything felt inevitable, like I was finally getting the story I'd been waiting for after years of false starts and almost-but-not-quites.
And I do love being a florist. I really do. The early mornings at the flower market. The way a good arrangement can turn someone's whole day around... But I just don't know if this is the right place to do it anymore.
But since he left, most conversations seem to come with a side of pity, and without his salary propping up the apartment, I eventually had to move out.
I've been looking for a new place ever since, but somehow every listing in this town is wildly out of budget.
Hence the couch-surfing and the guest room rotation.
Yup, my "perfect life" didn't exactly stick the landing.
A heavy sigh from behind me breaks the silence. I spin around.
"Sorry, it's a bit dark, I didn't realize this spot was taken."
Arthur. The black-haired bartender from pack Leroy.
In the moonlight, his face has that unfairly photogenic quality some people are blessed with: warm green eyes, roman features, the kind of handsomeness and charm that definitely gets him good tips at the bar.
I mean, I totally tipped him extra one time.
He's holding two glasses of whiskey and looking like he wasn't expecting to bump into anyone.
"Arthur, right?" I say. We've technically crossed paths a few times, but we've never had an actual conversation.
"That's me." He lifts a glass in a half-salute. "And you're... the flower girl. Beth."
"Florist," I correct automatically. "And yeah."
He considers me for a moment, then holds out one of the glasses. "Want one? I grabbed two because I didn't want to have to go back in too fast, but you look like you could use one."
"Is there's a cloud of doom visibly hovering over my head." I take the glass anyway, catching a trace of a vague, yet pleasant alpha scent drifting off. The first sip burns on the way down. "Seriously, is there?"
"Nah." He moves to the railing a few feet away, looking out at the lake. "And regardless, I've been told I look like I've seen better days myself, so we're in good company."
I glance at him skeptically. "You? Someone actually said that to you?"
"Mrs. Patterson. About an hour ago." He takes a sip. "Her exact words were—" he puts on a passable impression of an older woman's voice— "'Such a shame about your situation, dear. Everyone thought your pack was doing so well.'"
"Yeah, I heard about your breakup. I'm sorry."
"Yeah." He shrugs, but there's something tight in his jaw. "Guess you can relate."
I instinctively flinch.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay." I exhale slowly, steadying myself. "It's not like I don't know everyone knows. You can't exactly hide in a town this size."
"Tell me about it," he takes another sip.
We drink in silence for a moment. The lake laps at the dock. The party noise swells faintly all the way from here.
"You know what the irony of it is?" I say after a while.
He tilts his head toward me. "What?"
"My nine-to-five."
He furrows his brow. "You mean arranging flowers?"
"Arranging love flowers." I take a sip. "Wedding bouquets. Anniversary centerpieces. 'Will you marry me?' arrangements with the ring hidden in the roses. Meanwhile I'm mentally calculating the pawn value of my own engagement ring."
He stares at me for a beat. "That," he says, "sounds like a very specific kind of hell."
"It's like selling tickets to a destination I've been permanently banned from." I take another sip.
His expression softens, a gentle understanding passing over his features. Then he gestures with his glass toward the venue behind us. "For what it's worth, the flowers you did tonight are incredible."
A smile finds its way to my lips before I even realize it’s there. I hold his gaze for a beat, unexpectedly touched by the compliment, before drifting back to the moonlit water. For a few seconds we just... stay there.
Until I hear my name from somewhere across the lawn.
Faint at first. Then again, louder. Urgent.
I look over and see a figure cutting across the grass toward us. Fast.
Luna.
She reaches us flushed and breathing hard, one hand pressed to her side.
"Luna?" My chest tightens. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
She holds up a finger, catches her breath, then straightens.
"Beth," she says. "I need to talk to you."
***
I rush past Luna and rush back inside, my heart already pounding.
The audacity. The nerve.
The party is at its peak, but all of that falls away the second a vague iron scent hits me. It cuts through the champagne like a blade, making my skin crawl.
Then, I hear a voice soar over the ambient noise, and I see him.
Grant.
He's standing near the center of the venue, holding court like he's headlining his own talk show.
Tanned. Fit. Not a single strand of his perfectly styled ash-blonde hair out of place.
Glass of scotch in hand, gesturing with the easy confidence of someone who has never once questioned whether they belong somewhere.
Six months. I haven't seen his face in six months.
The last time was at our kitchen table, on a Tuesday morning. I remember because I'd just come back from the flower market with two buckets of ranunculus and a pretty good mood, and he was sitting there with his hands folded over a glass of soy milk.
He told me he needed space. That he felt "disconnected from who he really was", that he wanted to go somewhere new. Reset. Find himself... and that he was calling off our wedding.
I sat there with my coffee going cold, ears ringing, while the man I'd uprooted my entire life for tried to dump me gently.
And then came the kicker. The part where he leaned forward, dropped his voice into that low, earnest register he always used right before suggesting something completely unhinged, and proposed that we could still see each other. Occasionally. For emotional and "physical" support.
I grabbed the first thing within reach, turns out it was his glass of soy milk, and threw it at his face.
It was clumsy and most of it ended up on his shirt, but enough caught his face that it dripped down his chin.
I remember he had the audacity to look offended. Sat there for a full three seconds with soy milk dripping onto his shirt, mouth open, like I was the unreasonable one. Then he wiped his face with the back of his hand, stood up, and walked out without another word.
I heard he took a plane abroad the next day.
And now here he is. Standing in the middle of my best friend's engagement party like the last six months never happened.
I know he was invited before everything fell apart, but I didn't think he'd come. He knew I'd be here.
"I literally just landed three hours ago," he says, shaking his head with a charming, weary smile. "Running on fumes, honestly. But I told myself, I couldn't miss Ben and Harper's engagement party. Had to push through."
Oh, please.
Then a woman steps into the circle beside him. Her hair is dark and curly, falling past her shoulders. She gives off obvious omega vibes and—
Wait.
Why is he wrapping his arm around her like—
Are they kissing?
My heart hammers against my ribs. My fingers go cold.
Hold on, hold on, hold on.
I squint my eyes and... isn't that... his coworker? Jessica or something?
I stare, trying to make the math work. He literally just got back from his trip. He's been gone for six months. And now he's—What the fuck is going on?
"There you are." Luna catches up to me, breathless. "Beth, don't worry, I'll get Maren and together we'll—" A beat of silence. "Oh my god, Beth, I'm so sorry. I didn't know he brought someone—I—"
I barely hear her.
Grant shifts his grip, and Jessica rests her palm against his chest, beaming up at him, the overhead lights catching something on her finger.
A diamond.
A massive, fucking diamond.