Chapter 14
Coffee And Confessions
~ROWAN~
Five AM is when the world belongs to insomniacs and idiots who think suffering builds character.
Stop. Focus. Lift.
But the video plays on repeat in my head as I push through my routine. Levi feeding Hazel cookies. Her laugh bright enough to power the town. The way they looked at each other like the rest of the world had dissolved.
You have no right to be jealous. No claim. No promises.
Doesn't stop the feeling from eating at me like acid.
By 5:45, I'm showered, dressed, and standing outside Ember's stall at the Maddox ranch. My horse—technically their horse, but she only tolerates me—snorts her greeting, probably wondering why I'm here instead of the twins.
"Couldn't sleep," I tell her, running my hand along her neck. "Needed to think."
She bumps my shoulder with her massive head, nearly sending me into the wall. Horses: nature's therapists with attempted murder tendencies.
"Saw a video," I continue, because talking to a horse is marginally less pathetic than talking to myself. "Levi and Hazel. They looked... good together. Happy."
Ember snorts again, stamps her foot.
"I know. I'm being an idiot. We agreed no competition." I grab a brush, start working through her coat. "But seeing them together, seeing how easy it was for him to just... be with her. Fed her cookies like it was nothing. Made her laugh without trying."
Meanwhile, you almost kissed her and then abandoned her for a fire call. Smooth, Cambridge. Really showing that romantic prowess.
"I'm better at emergencies than emotions," I tell Ember. "Always have been. Save people from burning buildings? Sure. Tell a woman I've been in love with her since high school without sounding like a stalker? Apparently impossible."
The horse whinnies, probably laughing at me. Fair.
By 6:30, I'm reviewing training schedules at the station, trying to focus on work instead of the way Hazel's lips had parted when we almost kissed, the way her scent had gone sweet and wanting—
Enough.
I check the clock. 6:45. She'll be at the bakery by now, probably elbow-deep in dough, humming something while she works. The thought of her there, creating things that make people happy, makes something in my chest go tight and warm.
Just go see her. Stop being a coward.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm walking across the street. The October morning is crisp, fog rolling through downtown like a horror movie that got lost. The bakery windows glow warm against the grey, and I can see her silhouette moving in the kitchen.
I knock, probably too loud for this early, but she appears at the door with flour already in her auburn hair and a smile that makes my knees weak.
Pathetic. You're absolutely pathetic.
"Rowan? You're early. Even for you."
"Couldn't sleep," I admit, following her inside where warmth and sweetness assault my senses. "Thought I'd see if you needed... anything."
Smooth. Very specific. Definitely not desperate.
She's humming as she returns to her work station, and I recognize the tune with a mix of horror and fondness.
"Is that 'Monster Mash'?"
She freezes mid-knead. "No."
"It's definitely 'Monster Mash.'"
"It's October. Seasonal humming is encouraged."
"It's been stuck in your head since Levi sang it, hasn't it?"
Her face goes pink. "He ruined that song forever. Now it's just associated with basement panic and terrible singing."
She's kneading dough with the kind of violence usually reserved for mortal enemies, flour clouding around her hands. Her hair is piled on her head in what she probably thinks is a messy bun but looks more like a bird's nest that got ambitious. There's what appears to be chocolate on her cheek.
She's fucking perfect.
This. This is what I want.
The domesticity of it hits like a physical blow. Mornings with her, the smell of baking bread, her voice filling my space. Coming home to flour in her hair and frosting on her fingers. Building something real and solid and—
"You're staring," she says without looking up.
"You have chocolate on your face."
"Where?" She swipes at the wrong cheek, making it worse.
"Here, let me—" I reach over, thumb brushing her cheekbone, and we both freeze.
Her eyes are more green than brown in this light, flecked with gold that catches the kitchen fluorescents. Her scent spikes—vanilla and cinnamon and that underneath note of want that makes my Alpha brain short-circuit.
"Got it," I manage, voice rougher than intended.
"Thanks," she whispers, then shakes herself. "Do you want anything to eat?"
"Only if you're joining me."
"It's early, before the shop opens, and I haven't—" Her stomach chooses that moment to growl like an angry bear.
Her face goes crimson. "That was—"
"Adorable."
"I was going to say mortifying."
"That too."
She laughs, the sound filling the kitchen better than any music. "Maybe something sweet and coffee would work?"
"Your sweet things are dangerous."
"Flatterer."
"Realist."
She plates two fruit tarts—glazed strawberries arranged like art, custard that probably has more calories than my entire workout—and pours coffee that smells like heaven had a baby with caffeine.
We sit at her small kitchen table, the one she probably uses for recipe planning, and the intimacy of it makes my chest tight. This feels like something. Like more than just coffee and tarts at dawn. Like possibility.
"About the video," she starts, then stops, face flushing again. "Did you—"
"See it? Yeah." I take a sip of coffee to hide my expression. "Levi's a good Alpha."
She blinks at the non sequitur. "I... okay?"
"No, I mean it. He's one of the best men I know. Him and Luca both." I set down my mug, needing to do something with my hands. "You asked about our pack, how we work. We're not traditional."
"I gathered that from the lack of Alpha posturing."
"We don't posture. Much. Okay, we definitely posture, but not at each other." I lean back, remembering. "I met them five years ago. I was still in the city, working downtown. There was a ranch accident—one of their horses got loose, ended up on the highway. Multi-car pileup."
"I remember that. Three people died."
"Could have been more. Levi and Luca were first on scene, before us, before medical. They just... acted. Levi kept pressure on an arterial bleed for twenty minutes, singing to keep the kid conscious. Luca organized the walking wounded, turned chaos into order with just his presence."
"They saved people."
"They saved people who weren't theirs to save. No obligation, no training, just... instinct to help." I smile at the memory. "When I got there, covered in gear and authority, they just looked at me and said 'Tell us what you need.' No ego, no Alpha measuring. Just 'how can we help?'"
"That's when you became friends?"
"That's when I knew they were different. The friendship came later, after I moved back. After—" I stop, not wanting to bring Korrin into this morning.
"After I left," she finishes quietly.
"Yeah."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you should know who they are. Really are, not just the surface stuff.
Levi's sunshine, but he's also the guy who'll sit in a basement singing off-key to stop someone's panic attack.
Luca's all sharp edges and silence, but he fixes broken things without being asked because he can't stand seeing anything hurt. "
She's looking at me strangely, tart forgotten. "Are you... giving me permission to be with all three of you?"
"I'm saying you deserve Alphas who see your worth. All of it."
"The idea of me being your omega doesn't make you cringe?"
Cringe? The idea makes me want to howl at the moon like a fucking wolf, claim her in front of god and everyone, build her a nest made of Egyptian cotton and promise her the world.
"Hazel." I lean forward, need her to understand this.
"Whoever has you as an omega should be privileged.
Should be proud to walk beside someone so determined, who works this hard, who makes people happy just by existing.
You deserve Alphas who'll cherish you on a throne and worship you in every way possible. "
Her mouth parts slightly, and I can't help myself.
"I want to be first in line though," I admit. "I'm the jealous type. Seeing you with them... it's good. Right. But it also makes me want to throw them through walls sometimes."
"Rowan—"
"I know. We agreed no competition. And I meant it. But I can't pretend I don't want you to choose me, even if choosing means all of us."
The confession hangs between us like a living thing. She's so red now I'm concerned about blood pressure.
"I'm scared," she whispers. "After Korrin, after everything, starting over feels like standing at the edge of a cliff and being asked to jump."
"You don't have to jump. We can build a bridge."
"That's very metaphorical for this early in the morning."
"I have hidden depths."
She laughs, but it's watery. "I think I'm ready to start. Slowly. Because I'm also trying to love myself again."
"What do you mean?"
She looks out the window where Main Street is starting to wake up. "I feel lost sometimes. But being back here, working in the bakery, seeing everyone striving toward goals and dreams and even hobbies... I want that. I want to remember who I was before I became just his omega."
"You were never just anything."
"I was though. For three years, I was just Korrin's omega. Just the baker's wife. Just surviving." She turns back to me, eyes bright with unshed tears. "I want to love you. All of you. Properly. But that requires loving myself first too."
Love. She said love.
"So if you don't mind taking things slow," she continues. "Maybe some actual dates. Getting to know each other when we're not covered in flour or fighting fires or fixing doors... I'd be up for the challenge."
I reach across the table, can't help myself, thumb finding that stubborn streak of flour on her other cheek.