Chapter 1 #2
“Anyway. What about you? Business or pleasure?” The question comes out sounding unintentionally flirtatious, and I mentally kick myself.
“Let’s just say it’s complicated.” He answers with a small smile that does absolutely nothing to minimize his appeal.
“But I live in Whispering Grove.”
“Oh,” I say again, eloquent as ever.
I want to ask what he does, but that would suggest I’m interested in conversation, which I’m definitely not.
Instead, I reach for my water bottle, unscrewing the cap with perhaps more force than necessary.
“So, what’s your story?” he asks, ignoring my obvious attempts to end the conversation.
“You don’t seem like the typical tourist heading to Whispering Grove.”
“What’s a typical tourist?” I counter.
“Retirees, honeymooning couples, outdoor enthusiasts with more gear than sense,” he lists, that almost-smile playing at his lips again.
“You don’t fit the profile.”
“Maybe I’m an axe murderer scouting the area,” I suggest drily.
His mention of honeymooners twists something in my chest. This trip wasn’t supposed to be solo.
A full smile breaks across his face, and it’s like watching the sun emerge from behind storm clouds, sudden, dazzling, and slightly disorienting.
“If you are, you might want to work on your cover story. The puffy eyes and general aura of heartbreak aren’t very intimidating.”
I blink, caught between offense at his directness and surprise at his perception.
“I could be devastated about all the people I’ve murdered.”
He chuckles, a rich sound that seems to reverberate in my chest. “Fair point. I’ll sleep with one eye open once we reach Whispering Grove.”
The plane suddenly drops, my stomach lurching as we hit an air pocket.
I gasp, both hands immediately white-knuckling the armrests, including the one his arm occupies.
My fingers inadvertently dig into his forearm, and I feel solid muscle beneath my panicked grip .
“Sorry about that, folks,” the captain’s voice comes over the intercom.
“We’re experiencing some light turbulence. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”
Another stomach-dropping lurch, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to control my breathing.
I hate turbulence. Absolutely hate it.
It’s irrational but persistent, this fear that the plane is seconds from plummeting from the sky.
“Hey,” Atlas’s voice is low and steady near my ear.
“It’s just air currents. Think of it like driving over small bumps on a road.”
“Small bumps don’t drop you a hundred feet in half a second,” I mutter through clenched teeth, eyes still firmly shut as the plane shakes once more.
“Look at me, Emma.”
It’s a gentle command that bypasses my brain and speaks directly to my Omega instincts, making me open my eyes.
His face is closer than I expected, that midnight gaze holding mine with calm assurance.
“Breathe with me. In,”—he takes a deliberate breath—“and out.” He exhales slowly.
I find myself mimicking him, my breathing syncing with his without conscious thought.
His scent envelops me, somehow both stimulating and calming, and I feel my death grip on his arm loosen slightly.
“There you go,” he murmurs.
“The plane is designed to handle turbulence much worse than this. We’re completely safe. ”
The rational part of me knows he’s right, but another part, the part currently drowning in woodsmoke, maple, and toasted sugar is just responding to the steady confidence in his voice.
It’s infuriating how effective it is, how quickly my panic recedes under his attention.
I become acutely aware that I’m still clutching his arm and force myself to let go.
“Sorry,” I mumble, embarrassed by my overreaction.
“Don’t be.” He grins.
“You can use me as a stress ball anytime.”
There’s a subtle flirtation behind his words that sends a completely inappropriate tingle through me.
I narrow my gaze.
“Do you practice that in the mirror? The whole calm, reassuring Alpha routine?”
Instead of being offended, he laughs, a sound so genuine it takes me by surprise.
“Is it working?”
Despite myself, I feel a reluctant smile tugging at my lips.
“A little too well. It’s annoying.”
“I’ll try to be less effective next time,” he promises solemnly, but his gaze is dancing with amusement.
God, he’s charming. And that makes him dangerous.
Chad had been charming, too, at first. All sweet words and attentive gestures until he’d secured me.
Then came the subtle undermining, the casual dismissals of my work, the not-so-subtle hints that I should be grateful an Alpha like him was interested in an Omega like me.
Classic manipulation that I, with all my education and supposed intelligence, had fallen for hook, line, and sinker.
The memory of Chad’s betrayal is like a bucket of cold water, dousing the warmth that had begun to build.
I turn away, pulling out my notebook again.
“Sorry,” I say, not looking at him.
“I should really use this time to work.”
I sense his slight surprise at my abrupt shift, but he simply nods.
“Of course.”
The turbulence gradually subsides as I pretend to write, pen hovering over paper without producing anything coherent.
It’s how I brainstorm ideas…
old school pen and paper, but right now, I can’t concentrate.
My mind keeps circling back to the Alpha beside me, to the ease with which he’d calmed me, to the way his scent seems to bypass all my defenses.
A week after discovering my boyfriend of a year had been cheating on me with my friend, I’m sitting next to an Alpha who embodies everything I’ve ever written into my fictional heroes.
It’s not fair that his scent makes me want to lean closer while my brain screams to keep my distance.
It’s not fair that men like Chad exist in the world, pretending to be decent until they get what they want, while men like Atlas probably do the exact same thing but are just better at disguising it.
“Would you like something to drink?”
I jolt back to awareness, realizing the flight attendant, a different one, thankfully, is looking at me expectantly .
“Um, water, please,” I manage, and she gives me a small bottle.
“And for you, sir?” She’s practically batting her eyelashes at Atlas.
“Coffee, black. Thank you.”
Once the attendant leaves, I check the time.
We’ve been in the air for nearly an hour, which means we’re almost halfway through this ordeal.
“So, what do you do for a job?” Atlas asks, catching me off guard.
“Oh.” I tap my pen against the page.
“I write fantasy books. Nothing you’d have heard of.”
“Try me.” There’s a challenge in his tone.
I sigh, relenting, deciding to select my young adult series as I find men react strangely when I say I write romance books.
“The Moonlight Chronicles? It’s about a young Omega who discovers a hidden magical world and—” I stop as recognition flares in his expression.
“Wait, you know it?”
“Emma Collins,” he says, his expression shifting.
“You’re that Emma Collins?”
I blink, startled.
“You’ve heard of my books?”
“My goddaughter is obsessed with them. She made me read the first one so I could understand her world,” he admits, and a reluctant smile tugs at my lips despite myself.
“I ended up reading all four. They’re good. Really good.”
A warm flush of pleasure courses through me at the unexpected compliment.
Having a guy like Atlas admit to reading and enjoying my books is.
.. disarming .
“Thanks,” I mumble, suddenly shy, my cheeks burning up.
“The fifth one is giving me trouble.”
“Writer’s block?”
“Something like that.” I don’t mention that my creativity has been strangled by Chad’s constant subtle undermining of my career, his dismissal of my books as cute little stories despite their commercial success.
Atlas studies me with those perceptive eyes.
“Your protagonist, Brienne, she reminds me of you.”
“How would you know?” I challenge.
“You’ve known me for all of an hour.”
His mouth quirks up at one corner.
“Strong-willed. Brave. Protective of others, despite her own vulnerability. Am I close?”
I stare at him, unsettled by how accurately he’s described not just my character but the parts of myself I try to channel when writing her.
“Lucky guess,” I mutter.
He shrugs those impressive shoulders.
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re easier to read than you think.”
Before I can formulate a response that doesn’t involve telling him exactly where he can put his insights, the plane drops again, harder this time.
My water sloshes dangerously in its cup, and Atlas’s coffee nearly spills before he steadies it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re experiencing some moderate turbulence,” the captain announces.
“Please remain in your seats with your seatbelts fastened.”
My heart rate immediately spikes, and I grip one armrest again, knuckles white, while setting the water bottle on the open tray in front of me.
I know turbulence is normal, but my fight-or-flight instincts don’t care about statistics.
Atlas sets his coffee down and, without asking permission, places his large hand over mine on the armrest.
“Focus on my voice,” he says quietly.
“Tell me about the fifth book. What’s giving you trouble?”
I shoot him a glare, knowing exactly what he’s doing, distracting me from my fear, but I’m desperate enough to play along.
“My editor wants more romance,” I say through gritted teeth as the plane shudders again.
“But I don’t feel like writing about love when it’s all a lie, anyway.”
His eyebrows rise slightly.
“All of it?”
“The magical connection, the perfect understanding, the happily ever after,” I list, my voice bitter even to my own ears.
“It’s all fantasy and not the good kind.”
“Sounds like someone did a number on you,” he observes, his thumb absently stroking the back of my hand, sending warmth spiraling up my arm.
“Someone always does,” I reply, trying to ignore how comforting his touch is.
“Alphas are great at promising the world, then taking everything.”
Instead of defending his designation as most Alphas would, Atlas nods thoughtfully.
“There are certainly enough bad examples to justify your cynicism. But dismissing an entire designation based on one person’s actions seems a bit...” he pauses, searching for the word.
“Rational?” I supply.
“Self-protective? Completely justified?”
His lips twitch.
“I was going to say limiting .”
“Let me guess… you’re not like other Alphas, right? You’re one of the good ones?”
To my surprise, he laughs.
“I wouldn’t presume to classify myself. I just think people are individuals first, designations second.”
“That’s exactly what a privileged Alpha would say,” I point out.
“Probably,” he concedes with a good-natured shrug.
“But it doesn’t make it less true.”
I’m suddenly aware that the plane has stabilized, the turbulence passing while I was distracted by our conversation.
Atlas’s hand still covers mine, large, warm, and far too comforting.
I pull away, tucking my hands into my lap.
“Thank you,” I say stiffly.
“For the distraction.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming those serious features again.
“Anytime, Emma.”
“Listen,” I say, more sharply than intended.
“I’m not... I’m not looking for anything, okay? I’m just trying to get through this flight and this vacation without any more complications. So maybe we could just...” I gesture vaguely between us.
“Not.”
Atlas studies me for a long moment, his expression thoughtful rather than offended.
“Not what, exactly?”
“Not... this.” I wave my hand again, accidentally knocking over my half-empty water bottle.
I lunge to catch it, somehow managing to bash my elbow against the armrest in the process.
Perfect. Real smooth.
I right the bottle with as much dignity as I can muster while my funny bone screams in protest.
“The whole Alpha-Omega chemistry thing,” I continue, rubbing my elbow.
“The scent thing. The... whatever this is. I’m not interested.”
His mouth curves into a smile that makes my stomach flip traitorously.
“Are you sure about that?” he asks, his voice dropping a register.
“Because your scent tells a different story.”
Heat floods my face.
“That’s… that’s biological. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“If you say so.” His tone is light, teasing, but there’s something in his eyes, a knowing look that makes me want to simultaneously slap him and drag him into the tiny airplane bathroom for entirely different reasons.
“I do say so,” I insist, leaning against the window.
“Trust me, you’re doing yourself a favor. I’m pretty sure I’m cursed when it comes to...” I trail off, suddenly aware I’m veering into overshare territory.
“Let’s just say my track record isn’t great. So, really, this is for your benefit.”
His expression softens, curiosity replacing the teasing light in his eyes.
“A curse, huh?”
The simple question catches me off guard.
Once again, he’s zigged where I expected him to zag, showing genuine interest rather than pressing his advantage .
“We can just be two strangers sharing a row, if that’s what you need,” he offers, and this time there’s no hidden challenge or flirtation in his tone.
The kindness in his voice makes my eyes sting traitorously.
I blink rapidly and turn back to the window.
“Thank you.”
We fall into silence, but it’s somehow less tense than before.
I glance down at my notebook in my hand, flipping to a blank page and attempting to channel my emotional turmoil into something useful for my next book.
My pen hovers over the paper as inspiration strikes.
Dark-haired Alpha hero.
Mysterious summer job.
Eyes like midnight over the ocean.
Voice like velvet-wrapped steel, smooth but unyielding.
..
I frown at the page.
Too safe. Too bland.
My publisher is always pushing me to turn up the heat in my romance novels.
Well, fine. Let’s see where this goes.
Alpha businessman meets Omega on a crowded flight.
Cramped seating leads to accidental touches.
Turbulence throws them together.
His scent overwhelms her suppressed instincts.
Bathroom small but not impossible.
Mile-high Knot Club definitely not going to happen in real life, but makes for excellent fiction.
..
My cheeks are burning as I scribble frantically, aware that I’m channeling my inconvenient attraction into increasingly explicit scenarios.
I shift in my seat, hoping he can’t somehow read my thoughts, or worse, catch a whiff of my changing scent as my imagination runs wild.
I sneak another glance at Atlas, only to find him watching me with that maddeningly knowing look.
I slam my notebook closed so fast, I nearly catch my fingers in it.
Great. Now, I’m writing airplane smut about the stranger sitting next to me.
This trip is already a disaster, and we haven’t even landed yet.
“Working on something interesting?” His voice slides over me like warm honey.
“Just... notes.” I tuck the notebook firmly into the seat pocket in front of me, as if putting physical distance between us and my inappropriate fantasies might somehow neutralize them.
“Nothing worth reading.”
“I doubt that.” There’s genuine interest in his tone, not just Alpha flirtation.
“I’ve always admired people who can create something from nothing. Just... pull worlds out of thin air.”
I risk looking at him again.
He’s watching me with something that feels uncomfortably like respect.
Great. Now, I feel guilty about mentally undressing him.
“It’s not as magical as it sounds. Mostly, it’s staring at blank pages and stress-eating snacks.”
He laughs, and the sound vibrates through me, setting off little tremors of pleasure that have no business existing between strangers.
A flight attendant interrupts, leaning over with a trash bag.
“Any garbage to collect before landing?”
I fumble with my empty cup and napkins, somehow managing to drop half of them on the floor between us.
Atlas and I both reach down at the same time, our heads bumping with a dull thud that sends my already scrambled thoughts into complete disarray.
“Sorry!” I gasp.
His pupils dilate slightly, midnight eyes growing darker as he hands me the fallen napkins, our fingers brushing with deliberate slowness.
“No harm done,” he murmurs.
My skin prickled. Every nerve on high alert.
I’m drowning in the quiet, aching awareness between us.
“Deep inhales and exhales. It helps with the pressure change.”
But it’s not the altitude making my ears ring or my pulse race.
It’s him. His proximity.
The subtle notes of his Alpha scent.
The captain’s voice crackles overhead, announcing our descent.
I almost jump, my breath catching in my throat.
I’ve never been so grateful for an interruption in my life.
As the plane begins its descent, I find myself oddly reluctant for the flight to end.
Despite my initial hostility, Atlas’ calm presence has been strangely comforting.
He hasn’t tried to hit on me, fix my problems, or mansplain anything.
He’s just... been there.
A solid, steady presence that somehow makes the jagged edges of my pain a little less sharp.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our final descent into Mistcrest Regional Airfield,” the captain announces.
“Local time is 2:17 p.m., and the temperature is a pleasant 74 degrees. Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for arrival.”
I gather my scattered belongings, tucking my notebook back into my bag.
The notion that I’ll never see Atlas again after we land creates an unexpected pang in my chest. Which is ridiculous.
I don’t know this man, and I certainly don’t need another Alpha complication in my life.
“Do you have plans for your stay in Whispering Grove?” Atlas asks as we begin our descent.
“Solitude, wine, and possibly some angry writing,” I reply honestly, and we fall silent.
Finally, the plane touches down with a slight bump, tires screeching against the runway.
We’ve arrived, and with that, my brief interlude with a captivating Alpha is coming to an end.
When the seatbelt sign dings off, Atlas stands and retrieves his bag from the overhead compartment.
Then, without being asked, he gets mine, too.
“Thanks,” I say, accepting my carry-on.
“You’re welcome.” His eyes meet mine, and for one disorienting moment, I feel like I’m falling into them.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for in Whispering Grove.”
Something about the way he says it feels significant, weighted with meaning I can’t quite grasp.
Then he’s moving down the aisle, his height making him easy to track as he exits the plane.
I wait until most passengers have deplaned before standing.
As I make my way toward the exit, one of the flight attendants, the blond from earlier, gives me a knowing smile.
“Lucky you,” she says with a sigh.
“If an Alpha like that sat next to me, I would have been all over him.”
I open my mouth to say something but decide it’s not worth the effort.
Instead, I offer a noncommittal smile and continue into the terminal.
Whispering Grove awaits and with it, two weeks of solitude, healing, and, hopefully, inspiration.
I’ve survived a heartbreak, a betrayal, and a flight seated next to the most distractingly attractive Alpha I’ve ever encountered.
Whatever this small mountain town throws at me next, I can handle it.