Chapter 2
TWO
MISHA
“Misha? What’s wrong? Why are you upset?” My boss, Nico, looked up from where he was portioning out bread dough at the big worktable in the center of the bakery’s kitchen. “Whose ass do I have to kick?”
I sniffled. “No one’s. It was my fault. He’d been waiting, and then I dropped his order, and then there were no more bear claws. He had a right to be angry and rude.”
Nico dusted off his hands and came to stand next to where I’d perched on a stool by the door.
He set a hand on my shoulder and looked out the window into the bakery.
“Is he still out there? Because it’s Valentine’s Day, we’re slammed just like we are every Valentine’s Day, and if he thinks it’s okay to be an asshole because he had to wait a few extra minutes, it’s my job to set him straight.
” Nico pointed at the window, and I stood just enough to peek out.
The alpha with the dark, broody eyes, tattoos, and full lips that looked far too good set in an annoyed scowl was no longer in the bakery.
“He’s gone.”
“Well, if you see him again, let me know.”
“I hope that never happens.” But I wasn’t really sure that was true.
Yes, the alpha had been an arrogant jerk, but he was also very nice to look at.
Where I was from, people didn’t have tattoos, and from what I could see of the alpha’s skin, he had ink everywhere, thick black and gray patterns that ran up his arms and over the side of his neck.
Where I was from, tattoos were forbidden, but I’d always been fascinated by them, so I hadn’t been able to look away from the permanent decorations on the alpha’s skin.
He also had a barbell through his eyebrow and thick silver rings in his ears, and then I’d caught the barest hint of his scent—the bergamot that marked him as an alpha mixed with leather and ink, and my knees had literally gone week, hence the tripping and his ruined pastry order.
I knew without a doubt that he was trouble with a capital T, but I guess the me that was starting over in Key West had a thing for bad boys.
I just wished this particular alpha didn’t have to be a bad boy and an asshole because he was so hot, my cheeks still felt flushed and not just from embarrassment.
Nico frowned. “It’s a small town, and this is the best bakery in Key West. I’m sure you’re going to see him again, unless he was just a tourist passing through.”
I blew out a breath and asked the question that had been circling my mind since Nico had hired me. “Why are you so nice?”
A crease formed between Nico’s brows. “What do you mean?” I tried to shrug and look away, but Nico wouldn’t allow it. “Has an alpha hurt you?”
I shook my head. “No, not really. It’s just that where I’m from, alphas are all arrogant and pushy like that guy out there.
” I jerked my thumb toward the door. “They think it’s an omega’s job to take care of them and pop out a bunch of babies even if that’s not what the omega wants and even if they’re not very nice about it.
I thought moving away would mean escaping all that.
I met you, and you’re an alpha, and you’re, like, one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.
But I guess there are arrogant alphas everywhere, huh? ”
Nico gave me a sympathetic half smile. “Yeah. People can be dicks no matter where they’re from.
Even here. Though I like to think since we’re such a tight-knit community that we have less assholes than most places, but maybe I’m wrong.
” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t let this one interaction change your opinion of Key West, okay? ”
“I won’t. I’ll just make sure I steer clear of the jerks and hope the guy from this morning isn’t a regular. I would be fine never seeing him again.”
Nico went back to his balls of dough. “I know it’s only your third day, and Valentine’s Day is pretty much a trial by fire, but I’m glad you’re here, Misha, and you’re doing a great job.”
His words lit me up inside, and I stood, feeling a thousand times steadier than I had when I’d tucked tail and run into the relative safety of the kitchen. “I’d better get back out there.”
“If you’re ready. Take a minute if you need it. People can wait for cupcakes and muffins.”
“Thanks, Nico.”
He gave me another smile, and I pushed back out into the retail part of the bakery, retaking my position behind the counter and letting Nico’s words bolster me.
I’d only been in Key West for a month, and I’d spent most of that time figuring out my living situation and helping Miss Abbott, the elderly pelican shifter who was renting me a room in her house in exchange for helping her tend her bees.
I was learning so much, and I couldn’t wait for spring when we would take honey and the beeswax products she’d been teaching me to make to the farmer’s market.
It was nice to be learning a skill that I could use to make my own money.
I liked working at the bakery too, but doing something—making something—valuable with my hands felt right.
The arctic hare colony I’d left in northern Alaska was very conservative and very set in what they deemed appropriate behavior for omegas.
The alphas dictated every aspect of our lives, rigid in the mindset that omegas were an alpha’s to control because they provided for us.
If I had stayed, I would have been partnered off with some alpha, likely one who was much older than me, to spend the better part of my days pregnant with his kits and barefoot in his kitchen.
I was lucky I’d made it to twenty-three without being partnered off already.
Most of my omega siblings hadn’t been so lucky, the youngest being forced to marry when she was eighteen.
Her wedding had been on the same day she would have graduated from high school if the alpha council had let her finish school.
Not that there was anything wrong with omegas who wanted an alpha who provided while they popped out babies as long as it was their own choice to live that kind of life.
But I wanted more. I always had.
I wanted to see the world, to stand on my own two feet, to know that I could be a whole person without needing an alpha to tell me what kind of man I was.
So I’d squirreled away as much money as I could collect doing small jobs for smaller amounts of money around the colony, and the second I’d heard my alpha father talking about finally mating me off in the spring, I’d bought the cheapest train ticket I could and started my journey south.
I’d picked Key West as my final destination because it was as far away from home as I could possibly get.
I only knew it even existed because the cashier at the general store near the colony had gone to Key West on her honeymoon and had shown me pictures.
Until I’d seen those pictures on her phone, I hadn’t known water could be so blue or the sun could shine so brightly, and I knew it was exactly where I wanted to end up.
And I’d gotten here all by myself. I’d made my own way, and while I knew I would stumble as I learned how to be the Misha I wanted to be, I also knew with a surety I felt in every atom of my being that I’d made the right choice.
There had only been one thing I hadn’t considered in choosing Key West as the place where I’d start my new life and reinvent myself.
I hadn’t thought about the weather. Having never left Alaska, I’d had no frame of reference for the south Florida climate, and it had been more than a little bit of a shock.
I was an arctic hare shifter. I was born for the cold, and even in February, Key West was balmy and warm, but just like living on my own and providing for myself, I would adjust to the heat.
I would figure it out. I had to because there was no way I was going back now, not when I’d already come so far both figuratively and literally.
And soon, I would get my very own tattoo which would mean my former colony wouldn’t want me back anyway, even if I wanted to go back.
If alphas weren’t allowed to have tattoos, it was unthinkable that an omega with ink would be welcomed back into the fold.
Maybe that was part of why I wanted it so badly.
I never wanted to go back there, and I knew I could make it on my own.
My first tattoo would just be a reminder I could look at daily to remember that I was stronger than I looked.
I couldn’t wait until I was done at the bakery so I could swing by the library and check my email.
I was saving up for a phone, but for now I made do with the library computers and the email address I’d set up for myself the second I’d settled in town.
Nico had suggested I reach out to his friend Tucker who owned the tattoo shop in town, and while it had taken me a little while to work up the courage, I’d finally done it.
I’d sent him a generic email about wanting to get a tattoo done, and I’d honestly thought he’d suggest something small and generic, but he hadn’t.
Instead, he’d asked me about myself and the things I liked, and I’d ended up telling him way more of my story than I’d ever intended.
He’d sent me a few photos and we’d started tweaking a design.
That was more than a week ago, and after daily emails back and forth, Tucker knew more about me than anyone else in Key West. Even over email, he made me feel so comfortable, and I couldn’t wait to finally meet him in person.
When the bakery was locked up for the day and I’d helped Nico with the prep work for the following morning’s bakes, I finally made it to the library.
I waved to Nadine, my favorite librarian, and made a beeline for the computer I almost always used.
My heartbeat picked up as I opened my email, excitement dancing through my veins as I saw I had a new email from Tucker.
It had an attachment, and a giddy giggle slipped past my lips, earning a raised brow and stern look from an old man reading a magazine in one of the chairs near the bank of public computers.
“Sorry.” I mouthed the word silently, and he gave me another sour look before returning his attention to his National Geographic.
I let the cursor hover over the bold subject line. Somehow I knew the attachment would be the final design, the mark of my new life that I’d have forever etched onto my skin. My sweaty palm slid on the mouse as I opened the email.
Hi Misha,
I think this might be it. Take a look and see what you think.
I’m keeping space in my schedule open for you, so if you like the design, we can get you on the books.
If the spots I have open don’t work, we can definitely find another time.
I’m really excited about this piece and everything it means to you.
Looking forward to hearing from you soon.
Tucker
I read the short email over and over again before taking a big breath and clicking on the attachment.
I couldn’t hold back a stunned gasp that made National Geographic guy harumph as I studied the design.
It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. It was Tucker’s idea to have the tattoo wrap around my forearm, and the image he’d sent was a flat version of the design and then a mockup of what it would look like wrapped around my arm.
The bottom of the image was a wildflower field full of northern Alaska’s heartiest and most resilient blooms—bright pink fireweed, purple and blue lupine, cheerful yellow dryas, and pale periwinkle alpine forget-me-nots.
In the center of the field was a small group of three hive boxes.
Tucker had suggested using three hive boxes to symbolize my past, present, and future, and he had added tiny bees all moving from the box on the far left to the one in the center with just a few heading to the box on the far right.
The way Tucker had wrapped the tattoo around the arm in his mockup, the wildflowers would be on the outside of my arm and the hive boxes and bees would be on the inside.
I loved that. He’d thought of everything, making the art even more significant to me than what I’d originally thought would be possible.
Tucker had taken my hodgepodge of ideas and turned it into something beautiful I couldn’t wait to wear on my skin forever.
My fingers shook with anticipation as I typed my response.
Hi Tucker,
I love the design, and you’re right. This is it! It’s so perfect I can’t even believe it! You are an amazing artist! When can I come in to have this piece done? I can’t wait to meet you.
Misha
I hit Send and waited, hoping Tucker would get back to me before my time on the library computer was up. I compulsively hit the refresh button on my inbox, and a few minutes later I was doing a happy dance in my seat as a new email popped up and I immediately clicked it open.
Misha,
I’m so glad you like the design. This has been one of my favorite projects to work on. How about this coming Monday at 5:00? If that doesn’t work, tell me when you are free and I will make time for you. I can’t wait to meet you either.
Tucker
I kicked my feet and tried to bank the smile stretching across my face, but there was no way I could contain my joy. I replied saying that Monday worked great for me, and I nearly floated out of the library and back to Miss Abbott’s little pink bungalow.
As I walked, I wondered what Tucker would be like in real life.
He’d been so sweet over email, that I had to admit I was already harboring a little crush, and in my head he was tall, dark, and handsome with lots of his own tattoos and maybe a few piercings.
The image that came to mind brought me up short, and I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
The image of Tucker I’d created in my mind looked suspiciously like the alpha from earlier at the bakery.
But there was no way the alpha from the bakery could be the sweet guy I’d been emailing with, not when he’d been such a dick in person. I shook the thought away and made my feet carry me home to Miss Abbott and my bees.