Chapter 15 Market Day Madness
Market Day Madness
~HAZEL~
Saturday markets in Oakridge: where vegetables meet voyeurism and everyone's business becomes public property.
The morning air bites with October's teeth, but the farmer's market is already alive with controlled chaos by the time I finish setting up my booth.
Six AM starts are brutal, but the early bird gets the good spot, and the good spot gets the customers who actually have money left before they blow it on Mrs. Chen's overpriced orchids.
My table is a monument to anxiety baking—apple turnovers that took three attempts to get right, cinnamon rolls glazed to pornographic perfection, pumpkin bread that could make grown men weep.
Everything arranged with the kind of obsessive precision that definitely doesn't scream "I'm trying not to think about three different Alphas who want to date me. "
Totally normal. Nothing to see here. Just a regular omega having a regular mental breakdown via baked goods.
The market sprawls across Town Square like a patchwork quilt made by someone with questionable taste but good intentions.
Mrs. Chen's flower stall explodes with chrysanthemums that cost more than my weekly groceries.
Theo's coffee cart sends steam signals of caffeine hope into the morning air.
Araminta Vale haunts her herbal remedy booth, probably selling love potions that are definitely just overpriced tea.
"Morning, sunshine!"
Theo appears with a coffee that's more sugar than bean, exactly how I secretly like it despite pretending to be a serious baker who appreciates coffee "notes" and "undertones."
"Morning, Theo. Good crowd today?"
"The best. Everyone's here for the—" He stops, grins. "Well. You know."
"I don't know."
"Sure you don't." He winks, moves on to his next delivery.
What does that mean? What does everyone know that I don't?
The day flows in waves of customers, gossip, and barely contained chaos.
I sell out of apple turnovers by nine, cinnamon rolls by ten.
The pumpkin bread holds strong until Mrs. Patterson buys six loaves because her son is visiting and she needs to prove she "supports local businesses" which is code for "show off to her city-dwelling offspring. "
The sun tracks across the sky, October painting everything in shades of gold and rust. My feet ache, my face hurts from smiling, and I've consumed enough sample-sized pastries to put myself in a sugar coma.
But it's good. Normal. Safe.
The sun is starting its descent, casting long shadows across the market, when I begin packing the last batch of goods. Only a few sad cookies remain, the ones with imperfect icing that I couldn't bring myself to throw away.
That's when I see him.
At first, I think I'm hallucinating. Stress-induced psychosis brought on by too much butter and emotional complexity.
But no.
Korrin Delacroix stands twenty feet away, looking like he stepped out of a magazine about assholes who vacation in the Hamptons.
No. No no no. He can't be here. This is MY town. My safe space. My—
Our eyes meet across the market, and time does that thing where it slows down and speeds up simultaneously. His expression shifts from shock to something worse—that smug, possessive smile that used to make me feel owned.
He starts walking toward my booth.
Run. You should run.
But my feet are frozen, rooted to the spot by three years of conditioning that says don't make a scene, don't embarrass the Alpha, don't be difficult.
"Well, well, well."
His voice is exactly how I remember—smooth surface over sharp edges, honey over broken glass. He stops at my booth, whistling low and mocking.
"So the rumors are true. My defect came all the way to this forsaken town of wasted hopes and dreams to be an ugly baker selling crap for chump change."
Defect. He always called me that when I disappointed him. His little defect.
The woman beside him laughs, high and tinkling like breaking champagne flutes. She's everything I'm not—tall, blonde, wearing clothes that cost more than my monthly rent. Her nails are perfect. Her hair is perfect. Her sneer is definitely perfect.
"This is Alexis," Korrin says, like he's presenting a prize. "Our pack's new omega."
Our pack. The pack I was never really part of. The pack that watched him hurt me and called it love.
"How... nice," I manage, hands trembling as I pretend to organize cookies that don't need organizing.
"Nice?" Alexis laughs again. "That's what you call this... situation? Nice?" She gestures at my booth, my clothes, me in general, like I'm a particularly unfortunate museum exhibit. "I'd call it tragic, but that implies there was height to fall from."
The rest of Korrin's pack materializes like they've been summoned from the seventh circle of Alpha hell.
Malcom, his brother, still built like a brick shithouse with a personality to match.
Their cousins, Tyler and Wade, who used to think it was hilarious when Korrin would lock me in rooms "for my own good. "
They array themselves around my booth like they're claiming territory, and my scent spikes without permission—burnt sugar and anxiety, shame creeping in like fog.
"Your little hobby is... cute," Korrin says, picking up one of my imperfect cookies with two fingers like it might be contaminated. "Doing well for someone who couldn't handle a real pack."
Couldn't handle. Like I was the problem. Like wanting to be treated as human was too much to ask.
"She always was too fragile," Malcom adds, that cruel smile I remember too well playing at his lips. "Remember how she'd cry over the smallest corrections?"
"The smallest corrections like being locked in a closet for burning dinner?" I want to scream. But my voice is gone, stolen by memories of making myself smaller, quieter, less.
"And now look," Alexis preens, pressing against Korrin's side. "She's selling cookies at a farmer's market. How the mighty have... well, you were never mighty, were you?"
They laugh, all of them, the sound washing over me like acid rain.
I used to imagine this moment. Meeting him again. Being strong, confident, and showing him I survived. But I never imagined it here, in my safe space, surrounded by people who've only known me as Hazel-the-baker, not Hazel-the-failure.
"Nothing to say?" Korrin leans closer, and his scent—pine and pepper, but wrong now, tainted—makes me want to vomit. "You always did go quiet when you were overwhelmed. Like a little mouse."
I want to speak. Want to tell him to fuck off, that I'm better without him, that I've found Alphas who actually care. But my throat is closed, my voice trapped behind years of trained silence.
"Cat got your tongue? Or should I say, Alphas got your—"
"Sorry I took so long, sunshine."
The voice cuts through my panic like a knife through butter. Then arms wrap around me from behind—warm, solid, safe—and the scent of molasses, gingerbread, and dark coffee floods my senses like a benediction.
Luca.
He's hugging me, actually hugging me in public, his chest solid against my back, his presence changing the very air around us.
"Delivery of treats to the other side of the fair took forever," he says casually, like we do this all the time, like his arms around me are normal and expected. "The kids were losing their minds over the cookies. Nearly had a riot."
I lean back into him, unable to help myself, looking up to meet his storm-gray eyes. They're soft, concerned, asking silent questions. My eyes go glassy with relief and residual anxiety, tears threatening to spill.
Instead of showing the anger I can feel thrumming through his body, his gaze gentles further. Then—
He kisses me.
WHAT.
His lips are soft against mine, careful but claiming, and he tastes like coffee and something darker, sweeter. It's barely a kiss, just a press of mouths, but it rewrites the entire atmosphere.
"What's wrong, our sweet honeybug?" he murmurs against my lips, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Missed us that much? Sorry for taking so long. Should have left Levi here, but you know how tedious he gets about security."
Our. Us. Claiming words. Pack words.
He positions himself so he's practically wrapped around me, a living shield, before slowly turning his attention to Korrin like he's just noticed him.
"Oh, customers." His voice is pleasant, mild, but there's something underneath that makes the hair on my neck stand up. "Want to buy the remaining batch? Last of the day, very exclusive."
"We wouldn't buy this trash if—" Malcom starts.
"Trash?"
Levi's voice arrives before he does, sunshine turned sharp. He appears at the booth's side, flannel sleeves rolled up, looking like a farmboy who could cheerfully commit murder.
"The baked goods that went viral on three separate social media platforms? The ones that have brought more traffic to this fair than anything in the last decade? Those trash goods?" He tilts his head, all fake confusion. "That's rather contradictory, if you ask me."
He moves to my other side, and suddenly I'm bracketed by Maddox twins, their combined scents creating a wall of protection.
"Besides," Levi continues, that dangerous smile playing at his lips, "what's an elite group of cocky fuckers doing at our little farmer's market? Slumming it? Lost? GPS malfunction?"
Our market. Our town. Our omega, the subtext screams.
"Levi," Korrin says slowly, like he's seeing a ghost. "Luca. What are you—"
"Oh good, you're all here."
Rowan's voice is authority incarnate, cutting through everything else. He's still in uniform from the public safety demo, looking every inch the fire captain who could bench press a car and probably has.
Korrin's face goes through several expressions—shock, confusion, something that might be fear.
"Rowan? What the fuck? These are your packmates now?"
Rowan shrugs, one shoulder, dismissive. "What are you doing in our small town, Korrin? Thought you hated anything little and inexpensive."
He takes in the scene with those amber eyes—me pale and shaking, his friends positioned protectively, Korrin's pack arrayed like invaders.
"Actually, nevermind," Rowan says, and his voice has gone to full Captain mode. "I'm not even interested in your explanation. This booth's closed. Find somewhere else to be."
The authority in it makes everyone in a thirty-foot radius stop and stare. The market's gone quiet, that special small-town quiet that means everyone's pretending not to watch while absolutely watching.
"You can't just—" Alexis starts, her perfect face flushing with embarrassment.
"I can. I am. Move along."
"This is ridiculous," Korrin sputters. "She's just—she was my—"
"Was," Rowan emphasizes. "Past tense. Now she's under our protection, and you're trespassing on our territory. Leave."
Our protection. Our territory.
Are they... are they claiming me? All three of them?
The standoff lasts another heartbeat before Alexis tugs on Korrin's arm, hissing something about embarrassment and scenes. His pack retreats, but not before Korrin throws one last look over his shoulder—poisonous, promising this isn't over.
The moment they're gone, my knees buckle.
Luca catches me, steady and sure. "I'm taking you to the car."
"My booth—"
"We've got it," Levi says, already starting to pack things with efficient movements. "Go."
Luca guides me through the market, his hand on my lower back, his presence a shield against the stares and whispers that follow our wake. The sun is setting properly now, October light painting everything in shades of ending.
His truck is parked at the edge of the square, and he helps me into the passenger seat like I'm made of spun glass. Then, instead of closing the door, he crowds in, blocking out the world.
"Hazel—"
The sob breaks free before I can stop it, ugly and raw. He doesn't say anything, just pulls me against his chest, and I break apart in the circle of his arms.
He smells like safety and gingerbread and something essentially Luca, and he doesn't judge the tears soaking his shirt or the way I'm shaking or the pathetic sounds I'm making. He just holds me, one hand in my hair, the other rubbing slow circles on my back.
"I'm sorry," I gasp between sobs. "I'm so sorry, I don't know why I'm—"
"Shh." His voice rumbles through his chest. "Don't apologize. Never apologize for feeling things."
"He made me feel so small," I whisper into his shirt. "Still makes me feel small. Like I'm nothing. Like I was always nothing."
His arms tighten. "You're not nothing. You're everything."
"You don't have to—"
"Hazel." He pulls back enough to look at me, thumbs brushing tears from my cheeks. "You're everything. To us. To this town. To everyone whose day gets better because of what you create. He's nothing. He's the small one."
"You kissed me," I say, because my brain is apparently broken.
His mouth quirks. "I did."
"In front of everyone."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because he needed to know you're ours now. Protected. Claimed, if you'll have us." He pauses. "And because I've wanted to kiss you since you fell against my back, covered in flour, and made terrible jokes about coffee."
"That was last week."
"Longest week of my life."
A laugh bubbles out through the tears, watery but real. "You're ridiculous."
"We all are. Haven't you noticed?"
Rowan and Levi appear at the truck, my booth apparently packed in record time. They pile in—Rowan driving, Levi in the back with my boxes, me still pressed against Luca like he's the only thing keeping me tethered to earth.
"Your place or ours?" Rowan asks quietly.
"Mine," I whisper. "Please."
The drive is quiet except for Levi's hand reaching forward to squeeze my shoulder, Rowan's occasional glances in the mirror, and Luca's steady breathing against my hair.
Three Alphas. My alphas, maybe. Protecting me from the past, offering me a future.
"Thank you," I manage as we pull up to my apartment above the bakery. "All of you."
"Always," they say in unison, and for the first time in three years, I actually believe it.
The night settles around us, October darkness soft and complete, but I'm not afraid.
Not anymore.
Could this be what it’s like to be saved? Not a dramatic rescue, but a quiet presence. Not grand gestures, but showing up when the monsters from your past try to drag you back.
"Stay?" I ask, not sure which one I'm asking, maybe all of them.
"Always," they answer again, and we go inside together, leaving the ghosts of the market behind.
Tomorrow, there will be gossip, questions, and probably a Dottie James newsletter special edition. But tonight, I'm safe. I'm protected. I'm theirs, courting with intention…and maybe a time will come when I no longer need to fear the past.
That’s a challenge to tackle…tomorrow.