Chapter 7 Beth
Beth
The following Thursday, I'm standing at the trailhead for Lakeview Woods, about a mile past Lakeview General Store, where the paved road gives up and turns into packed dirt before disappearing entirely into a wall of green.
I've been here a handful of times since moving to town, mostly to identify wild specimens for the shop, but I've never arrived to find twenty-three first graders in matching yellow safety vests.
"Mrs. Taylor!" The classroom teacher waves me over with enthusiasm. "We spoke on the phone—I'm Mrs. Brooks, but please, call me Sarah. Thank you so much for doing this on such short notice."
"Happy to help! And please, call me Beth." I adjust the strap of my field bag. "So, where do you want me?"
She points toward the front of the line, where the children are buzzing with energy. I smile, briefly remembering the joy of a school day that doesn't involve sitting at a desk.
"I was thinking we could start walking them through the meadow section," she says. "There should be some nice flowers there. I've got the back of the line."
I head to the front, and a girl with braids and a gap-toothed smile immediately adopts me as her new best friend.
"I'm Sophie," she announces. "Do you know a lot about flowers?"
"I do, actually. I'm a florist."
"Really?" Her eyes beam.
"Yes, I own the flower shop in town. The Wildflower and Vine."
Sophie considers this with the gravity of someone deciding whether to trust me a secret. "My mom said she bought flowers there for her wedding. I had a basket and I threw petals everywhere."
"Did she like them?" I ask, silently praying those petals didn't get pruned from my floral displays.
"She cried that day." Sophie pauses. "She said she was so happy to be with my dad."
This is quite the endorsement, so I take it.
The woods open up after about ten minutes of walking, the trail widening into a meadow that catches the mid-morning sun. Black-eyed Susans scatter across the field in bright bursts, and as we step into the clearing, I catch a thread of something minty and sweet on the breeze.
"Okay, everyone," I say, pitching my voice to carry. "Who wants to learn about wild bergamot?"
Hands shoot up. Nice, I'll take the enthusiasm.
I crouch down near a cluster of purple flowers, their tubular blooms reaching toward the light.
"This is monarda fistulosa, but we call it wild bergamot or bee balm.
See how the petals look like little tubes?
That's because it's designed for pollinators with long tongues, like bees, hummingbirds, butterflies. "
Sophie leans in, her braids swinging forward. "Can you eat it?"
"You can make tea with it. It tastes a little like oregano mixed with mint."
"Can we try it?" A boy asks.
"Let's not eat the wildflowers today," I say gently. "But if you come by the shop sometime, I'll show you some dried bergamot you can smell."
This satisfies them, or at least redirects them, and we spend the next twenty minutes moving through the meadow.
I point out coneflowers, goldenrod in its early green stage, a patch of milkweed that makes me mentally note to collect seeds later for the shop.
The kids ask questions that range from genuinely curious ("Why do bees like purple best?
") to deeply weird ("If I ate enough flowers, would I turn into one?
"), and I answer them all with enthusiasm.
Sarah circulates between the groups, and when the kids scatter to examine a fallen log, she drifts over to me.
"This is wonderful," she says, shading her eyes against the sun. "You're a natural with them."
"I like this age. They're curious about everything."
"And it's even nicer when they're actually paying attention." She laughs. "I had a similar field trip in Pine Hollow last year and my class spent the entire day trying to catch frogs. Didn't listen to a single word I said."
We walk in comfortable silence for a moment, now checking on the kids from the rear. The woods around us hum with spring life, birds, insects, the rustle of small animals in the underbrush.
"So," Sarah says, her tone shifting to something more conversational, "I hear you're packed up with Pack Leroy."
I blink. "Sorry?"
"Mason, Arthur, and Knox." She smiles. "News travelled."
"Right." I try to arrange my face into something neutral. "Yeah. I—um. We're together."
"Well, good for them," she says. "They're such good people. I was really happy when I heard." She glances at me. "I don't know how much they've told you, but they were devastated when their last relationship ended." She shakes her head. "The whole town felt for them."
She lets that hang, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic thud of our shoes on the pavement for half a dozen steps.
"Anyway," she says, her voice regaining its bounce. "I'm glad things are looking up for them. They deserve it."
She wanders off to redirect a child who's attempting to climb a tree, leaving me standing in the meadow with a cluster of black-eyed Susans and a new knot tightening in my chest.
I find myself staring at the patch without really seeing it, turning the same question over in my mind: Would they take Jessica back if she came running?
It's not a useful thought. It's not even really my business. But it sits there anyway.
Would I take Grant back?
Sophie runs up to me, breathless and delighted. "I found a caterpillar!"
"That's great." I smile, and it feels almost normal. "Let's go show Mrs. Brooks."
***
By the time evening rolls around, my lower back has filed a formal complaint and my calves are staging a quiet mutiny. The nature walk with the kids was worth every aching muscle, but I still had to go straight from the trail to the flower shop, because arrangements don't make themselves.
So when Luna appears at my apartment door at seven o'clock sharp for our night out, I answer with all the grace and posture of a woman who's been on her feet since sunrise.
"Hi Sunshine," she says, breezing past me and scanning the apartment. "So there's a new bar that opened like two months ago. Let's go check it out!"
"Or," I say, "and hear me out—we stay in. I have tea. I have that throw blanket you like. We could just—"
"No." Luna holds up a hand. "Absolutely not. If I let you sit down on that couch, you will fossilize there, and Maren and I will have to chisel you out in the morning. We're going. She's already on her way to the bar."
She's not wrong. I can already feel the gravitational pull of the cushions.
"Fine," I say with great effort, then I glance down at myself. "Should I change first? If the place is fancy-ish, I've got this blouse that's less—"
"Nah, you look great."
The walk takes less than ten minutes, and by the time we arrive, Maren is hovering near the entrance with a tote bag on her shoulder.
"I brought cardamom scones," she says by way of greeting.
Luna pulls her into a hug. "You angel. You absolute angel." Then she steps back, one hand still on Maren's arm. "How are you? You look gorgeous."
Maren laughs and waves her off. "I look like I've been elbow-deep in flour since four a.m., but thank you."
I take my turn, wrapping Maren in a squeeze. "Hi. I missed you."
"Missed you more." She gives me an extra pat on the back before letting go. "Now—shall we?"
"We shall," Luna says, and pushes through the door.
Inside, the bar has that particular Thursday-night warmth. It's busy enough to hum, not so packed you can't hear yourself talk. String lights drape from exposed beams, and someone has built a playlist that threads the needle between indie folk and classic rock.
We slide into a corner booth, and a guy, a beta I vaguely recognize slows at our table, beer in hand. "Hey—you're Arthur's omega, right? The pack's?"
I take a beat. This is the first time someone has asked me so bluntly.
"That's right," I say, and it comes out steady. Natural, even.
He nods, satisfied, and moves on, like I've just confirmed the weather.
Luna's eyes are wide. "That was smooth."
"Guess I'm learning," I say.
Maren slides the scones across the table. "Okay, now try these. I need to know if the cardamom's too aggressive."
"Cardamom is never too aggressive," Luna says, already reaching.
I bite into one, and the flavor is immediate, warm, fragrant, with just enough sweetness to keep the spice from turning sharp. "Maren. Come on."
"What?" She leans forward. "Is it bad?"
"It's delicious," I reply with a grin.
She exhales like she's been holding her breath since she walked in. "Thank god, a win, finally. I've been feeling kinda stressed since my suppliers jumped their costs overnight. By twelve percent."
I hold up the scone like a piece of evidence. "This is your new bestseller. Twelve percent won't matter when people are lining up for these."
Luna takes another generous bite and speaks through the crumbs. "Put me down for a standing weekly order."
The corner of Maren's mouth lifts. "Anyway. How are things going for you and pack Leroy?"
I set my scone down and brush the crumbs off my fingers. "Things are going good. Better than I expected. We're—figuring it out."
"Figuring it out," Luna repeats, grinning. "Is that what we're calling it."
"It's what I'm calling it," I say.
"Uh-huh." She tips her scone at me. "Because from where I'm sitting, you look remarkably settled for someone who's just 'figuring it out.'"
"I live in a house with three alphas who keep raiding my tea stash," I deadpan. "'Settled' might be a stretch. Though I have to say, they do replace what they take now."
"So what word would you use?" Maren asks.
I think about it. "Cohabitative."
"I'm not sure that's a word," Luna says.
"Fair enough, though." Maren tilts her head, her eyes narrowing with interest. "So, Beth—is now the time you walk me through the whole pack thing? I understand the broad strokes of what's going on, but I feel like I'm missing pieces."