Chapter 2
2
RUBY
W hoever decided Christmas lights should have minds of their own deserves coal in their stocking—for eternity.
My hands tremble as I wrestle with a tangled string of white lights, which somehow managed to knot itself between my car and my booth along Main Street at the Whispering Grove Winter Craft Beer Festival. The trembling isn't just from the cold or from half the night's sleepless baking session. It's the kind that starts in your bones when you know you're running out of time.
"I swear these things breed just to mock me," I mumble to myself, trying to keep my voice steady. Twenty days. The deadline looms like a guillotine blade.
I take a deep breath, trying to push the worry to the back of my mind.
The festival bustles around me, vendors setting up booths under grey morning skies threatening more snow. My booth—technically just an extension of my bar's regular spot at local events—sits sadly undecorated compared to the winter wonderlands popping up around me. Even the sign looks tired, the gold lettering that Aunt Eve had hand-painted beginning to fade: Winterscape Bar & Brewery - Established 1962.
"You know," Erica calls from her cupcake booth next door. "Normal people decorate before the day of an event."
"Normal people sleep at night instead of baking." The words come out sharper than intended. I see the flash of hurt in her eyes and immediately regret it. It's not her fault I spent last night alternating between stress-baking and having panic attacks about Marcus's latest offer to take the bar.
"Speaking of which," I add, softer now, trying to smooth things over. "I hear you've got beer-flavored cupcakes this year." Whispering Grove may have more bakeries per capita than anywhere else in America, but Erica's creations are unique and delicious.
She brightens, arranging perfectly frosted cupcakes. "You have no idea how good they turned out. We can do an exchange later... beer for a cupcake?"
"You got yourself a deal." The lights fight back as I climb on a chair, my fingers numb from the cold and exhaustion. The metal wobbles beneath me—of course, it does because everything in my life feels like it's about to collapse.
"Need help with that?"
The deep voice startles me. My chair tips, lights tangling around my arms as I flail. Strong hands catch my waist, steadying me. The scent hits me hard—pine needles and hops, yes, but underneath that, there's the familiar darker and richer smell, like coffee beans roasted with vanilla. I love how it feels so right as I breathe it in, my insides starting to soothe, and I might be gushing. What has he done to me? It makes my chest ache with want, and a fire ignites between my thighs, which immediately sets off warning bells in my head.
"Those lights are a fire hazard," the stranger says, his hands still gentle on my waist, and I'm struggling to think about anything but his burning touch. How my body is buzzing all over. When I finally look up, I nearly lose my balance again.
He's tall—most Alphas are—but it's not just his height that commands attention. Dark hair swept back from a face that belongs on a men's sports magazine, though the silver at his temples softens what might otherwise be intimidating perfection. His eyes remind me of forest green with hints of blue, crinkled at the corners with concern. A full-sleeve tattoo of the brewing process winds down one arm, visible beneath a rolled-up Henley, and cargo pants do nothing to hide all those muscles. I'm smitten.
Breathe, Ruby. Breathe.
"So is my cousin, but the health department hasn't shut him down yet." The words slip out before my brain's filter kicks in, and I immediately tense, waiting for the reaction. Alphas don't like Omegas who talk back. I learned that lesson young, usually with a hand around my throat.
He laughs, deep and genuine, setting me carefully back on solid ground.
"Fair point. Though I'd take questionable wiring over questionable relatives any day." He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender. "Want a hand? I'm kind of an expert at untangling disasters."
Warning bells shriek louder. He seems... safe. Which makes him more dangerous than any openly aggressive Alpha. Trust is a luxury I can't afford, not with Marcus breathing down my neck.
"I've got it," I say quickly, putting the chair between us. "But thanks..."
"Garrett." He gestures to the booth across from mine. The sign reads Mountain Gate Brewing Co . in hand-painted letters. No fancy banner, no corporate logo. Just passion and—my heart skips—a coffee stout on his draft list.
Focus, Ruby.
I've seen the brand around town and even tried some of their offerings, which are always exceptional, but I never knew who owned the brewery… until now.
"You're Eve's niece," he says suddenly. "The one who inherited Winterscape Bar."
My shoulders tense. Every muscle in my body prepares for the usual lecture about how Omegas can't possibly run a business alone, how we need Alpha guidance, how we should focus on finding mates instead of trying to compete in a world that wasn't built for us. Lily faces the same issues, but because she runs her bakery with her sister, it seems more acceptable somehow.
"Ruby," I answer shortly. "And yes, I run the bar. Successfully. Without help."
"I know." His grin catches me off guard. "Your German Imperial Stout won best in show last spring. And your version of Eve's Winter Ale? Adding cardamom was genius. Gives it depth."
I blink. "You know my Aunt Eve's original recipe?"
"Used to help bottle it during my summers in high school. Eve let me study her techniques when everyone else said Alphas didn't have the patience for craft brewing and should be left to Betas." His smile turns wry. "She had strong opinions about people's proper places in society."
I laugh. "That's her."
Something in his voice resonates with old pain, but before I can respond, a shadow falls over me, and the temperature seems to drop ten degrees. A familiar cologne cuts through the festival buzz, expensive and calculated, designed to mask an Alpha's natural scent. Only one person in town would bother.
My blood curdles.
"Well." Marcus appears like a nightmare in a tailored wool coat that probably costs more than my monthly rent. Everything about him screams old money, old power—from his perfectly styled dark hair to his Italian leather shoes. He's handsome in that cold, cruel way that makes prey animals freeze in their tracks. "Networking already, little Ruby? How... progressive."
My hands clench on the lights, the plastic digging into my palms. Garrett's gaze narrows sharply on my cousin, but I step forward before he can speak. The last Alpha who tried to defend me ended up in the hospital with a broken jaw. Marcus made sure everyone knew it was a skiing accident.
"Shouldn't you be at your country club?" I keep my voice neutral, careful. Show no fear. Show no weakness.
Marcus moves closer, using his height to loom over me. "Twenty days, little one." His voice drops to a whisper that scrapes down my spine like ice. "Though we could speed that up if you keep... disappointing the family. What would your father say, seeing his only daughter spreading her legs for any Alpha with a brewery?"
The crude words hit like a slap. I taste blood where I've bitten my cheek, trying not to show how much he's rattled me. But my hands shake as I attempt to untangle another section of lights, and I know he sees it. He always sees the cracks in my armor.
He knows that bringing up my father unravels me. My mom always took his side against me, despite the way he treated her, and since she passed, he's never once reached out.
"I hear the health inspector's making rounds today," Marcus continues, still too soft for others to hear. "Be a shame if something was... amiss. These old buildings, so many potential violations. One bad report and the bank might reconsider that loan extension."
"Is there a problem here?" Garrett's voice could freeze hell.
Marcus straightens, still not as tall as Garrett, but his public mask slides back into place as he squares his shoulders.
"Just a family discussion. Though I'm surprised you'd waste time on this one." He grins mockingly at my expense, his chin pointing in my direction. "Ruby has quite the reputation for... instability. But perhaps that appeals to your sort."
"My sort?" Garrett's question carries a growl.
"Second-rate brewers playing at success." Marcus adjusts his already-perfect collar. "Though I suppose beggars can't be choosers. Twenty days, Ruby. Tick tock."
He leaves, but his presence lingers like a bruise. My legs want to buckle. My hands won't stop shaking. At the booth next to me, I catch Sophie and her Alpha watching with naked pity in their gazes, and something in me crumples. I hate this—hate being the spectacle, the joke, the Omega who dared to think she could stand on her own.
"Ruby?" Garrett's voice is gentle. Too gentle. "Are you?—"
"I'm fine." The words come out brittle. "You should go. Marcus has ways of making problems for people who help me."
"Good thing I like problems." There's steel under his easy smile now, rage carefully banked. "Want to trade samples later? I've got a bourbon barrel-aged porter that needs an honest opinion."
Part of me wants to say yes. A larger part remembers the last Alpha who offered to trade samples— remembers waking up three days later in the hospital, the doctors saying I was lucky they caught the bonding hormones in time.
"I don't think that's a good idea." I focus on hanging lights, pretending my hands aren't trembling. "But thanks."
I feel his eyes on me throughout the morning, between pouring samples and explaining Eve's recipes to customers. He's not obvious about it, but I'm too used to being watched to miss the weight of his gaze. It should make me nervous. Instead, it feels like standing in a patch of sunlight—warm and dangerous in its comfort.
The health inspector arrives just before noon. I see Marcus smirking behind him, and my stomach drops. Not today, Satan. Please, not today. I need this festival revenue to make next month's loan payment.
They move across the busy street of people to Garrett's booth.
I freeze on the spot.
I don't hear their conversation, but my blood runs cold. This is my fault. Marcus is targeting him because he talked to me, because he dared to be kind to the wrong Omega. Words bubble up in my throat—defiance, anger, retribution—but fear closes my windpipe. One wrong move and Marcus could accelerate the loan deadline. Could make sure I never work in this industry again.
I watch helplessly as the inspector writes citations. Nearby, Sophie's pity has turned to resignation. She knows how this goes. We all do.
The festival continues, but something in me feels cracked. I pour samples on autopilot, smile mechanically, and pretend I don't notice how conversations stop when I walk by. Pretend I don't see Garrett watching me with something like understanding in those sea-glass eyes.
Twenty days until I lose everything. Twenty days until Marcus wins.
I should have known better than to hope for anything different. Though I think about Hannah's and Lily's offering of three dates and if there's a possibility there. I also contemplate the notion of maybe marrying an Alpha to ensure Marcus doesn't get the bar… but each time I do, my stomach knots as flashes of my father beating my mother flood my thoughts. And how she never stood up to him, never left him. Instead, she kicked me out of the house, saying it was for my own good.
I breathe heavily and push the past and the drowning thoughts aside.
As the afternoon light fades, I discover a coffee stout sample on my counter. A note underneath reads, Some disasters are worth untangling.
I pour it down the drain. I have to.
Hope is a luxury I can't afford right now.