1. Belle
BELLE
M y favorite part of the day is when I can indulge in my books, chocolate, and spend quality time with my best friend, Adam.
We were neighbors when we were kids, our love of books brought us together, and since then we've been inseparable.
So when there was a job going at the library, the one that Mom was part owner of in the small town of Willowbrook, Adam joined too.
After all, we're one of the few people who have never left. Others leave to go and explore the world. Adam and I do that from books.
We don't only have a love of books, but chocolate too.
"If you keep baking like this, then you may have to put a bakery section in the library too," he says as he walks over to the side of the reception desk. "Good thing I keep funding your gourmet addiction, or you'd be stuck making cookies from boxed mix."
He's teasing, but he’s right. Adam's generosity of my baking experiments means I can afford Belgian chocolate, Madagascar vanilla, and professional grade equipment which wouldn’t be impossible on my librarian salary.
Two o'clock is the quiet time here. The young moms have been and had reading time with their toddlers in the morning, the retirees have been for their morning peace and quiet before meeting their besties in the local diner or café to gossip about everyone and anyone in town, and the school children, well they're still at school so they're not out yet.
Which leaves only maternity moms who could walk in at any time, but they tend to be early in the morning or late afternoon. Either way, this gives Adam and me our favorite time of day when it’s just the books, and whatever delicious creation I've brought from my kitchen in the morning.
"A bakery section isn't the worst idea you've ever had," I laugh, pushing the plate of double chocolate brownies closer to him. The rich scent mingles with the familiar library smell of aged paper and binding glue, creating my own personal heaven.
"Though I think Mrs. Henderson would have something to say about competition for her café."
Adam grins, that shy smile that's been the same since we were eight years old and he offered to share his sandwich with me during recess. His dark hair falls across his forehead in that perpetually messy way that makes him look younger than his twenty-eight years.
"Mrs. Henderson's brownies taste like cardboard compared to yours. Besides, you could call it 'Books and Bites' or something like that.”
“Really?” I gasp, pretending that I’m offended by his suggestion as I press my hand to my chest. The movement makes my soft curves bounce slightly, and I automatically adjust my oversized sweater, a habit I've developed since my awakening last year.
Everything feels more noticeable now, more exposed, even though the suppressants keep my scent carefully neutral.
"I'll have you know my pun game is impeccable. "
"Your pun game is why we lost trivia night last month," he reminds me, settling into his usual spot behind the circulation desk.
I watch him move with that familiar, comfortable grace he only shows around me. In public, Adam is all nervous energy and stammered words, but here in our sanctuary, he's just... Adam. My Adam, a beta, who isn’t bounded and my best friend.
The afternoon light streams through the tall Victorian windows, catching the dust motes like tiny fairy lights.
The original hardwood floors creak in all the right places, telling stories of generations of readers who've wandered these same aisles.
Mom's collection takes up the entire east wing, first editions and rare finds she spent decades acquiring, but never got to finish when she was head librarian just like me.
Being here feels like being wrapped in her memory, surrounded by the books she loved and the dream she built.
I take a generous bite of brownie, savoring the rich chocolate that melts on my tongue.
These are stress brownies, the kind I make when my mind won't settle, when the suppressants make me feel like I'm floating just outside my own body.
It's been over a year since my late awakening turned my world upside down, but some days the adjustment still feels impossible.
One moment I'd been Belle Hartwell, the bubbly librarian who loved books more than people.
The next, I was Belle Hartwell, the Omega who had to hide behind medication just to function in public.
The memory still makes me shudder when I'd been working late, cataloging a new shipment of romance novels, when the heat hit like a freight train.
One second I was fine, the next I was on the floor of the historical fiction section, burning up from the inside out, my body finally revealing what it had been hiding for twenty-four years.
Thank God Adam found me. Thank God he didn't ask too many questions when I claimed it was just a panic attack, just stress from working too many late shifts.
The suppressants work, mostly, but they leave me feeling muted, like someone turned down the volume on all my emotions except hunger. Hence the brownies. And the constant snacking. And the way I've learned to bake my feelings into whatever treats appear on our shared desk each afternoon.
"Speaking of terrible ideas," Adam says, and something in his tone makes me look up from my chocolate-induced reverie. He's fidgeting with a piece of paper, folding and unfolding one corner in that nervous habit he's had since childhood.
"I got something interesting in the mail yesterday."
"Oh?" I lick chocolate from my thumb, trying to read his expression.
Adam has exactly three facial expressions when he's nervous: mild concern (usually about overdue books), moderate worry (typically about his mother's latest matchmaking attempt), and absolute panic (reserved for when Mrs. Chen corners him in the romance section and asks about his dating life).
Right now, he's hovering somewhere between moderate worry and absolute panic.
"An invitation," he continues, still torturing that poor piece of paper. "To the Masquerade Ball."
The brownie turns to sawdust in my mouth.
The Masquerade Ball. The annual event that has the entire town of Willowbrook buzzing with speculation and excitement.
No one knows who hosts it, no one knows how they select the guest list, and no one who attends ever talks about what actually happens there.
What everyone does know is that it's held at Thornfield Palace—the mysterious estate on the outskirts of town that sits empty eleven months of the year, only to spring to life each October for one magical night.
And somehow, my shy, stammering, never-been-on-a-date best friend has been invited.
"You're joking," I manage, though I can see from his expression that he's not. My voice comes out higher than usual, and I clear my throat. "Adam, that's... that's incredible! Do you know how exclusive those invitations are? Mrs. Chen has been trying to get one for years."
"I know." He sets the paper down carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles he's created.
His hands shake slightly—barely noticeable unless you've known him since childhood like I have.
"I can't figure out why they'd invite me.
I mean, what do I bring to a fancy ball?
I can't dance, I can barely string two sentences together around strangers, and the last time I wore a suit was to my cousin's wedding where I spilled punch down the front within the first hour. "
There's something twisting in my chest, something sharp and uncomfortable that I don't want to examine too closely. The suppressants usually keep these kinds of intense emotions at bay, but this feeling cuts right through the medication like a blade. "Are you going to go?"
The question hangs between us, and I realize I'm holding my breath waiting for his answer.
Which is ridiculous. Adam should go. He deserves to go.
He deserves to find someone who sees how wonderful he is underneath all that shyness, someone who appreciates his quick wit and gentle heart and the way he always remembers exactly how I like my coffee.
Someone who isn't me.
Someone who isn't an Omega in hiding, pretending to be something she's not.
"I don't know," he admits, running his hand through his dark hair until it sticks up at odd angles. "Part of me thinks I should. I mean, when will I ever get another chance like this? But, I worry that I’ll make a fool of myself."
"You won't make a fool of yourself," I say automatically, even though that twisting feeling is getting stronger. My chest feels tight, like someone's wrapped a band around my ribs and keeps pulling it tighter. "You're brilliant, Adam. You're kind and funny and anyone would be lucky to…”
I cut myself off before I can finish that sentence, and say something that might reveal the sudden panic clawing at my throat.
Because what if he does go? What if he meets someone?
What if some beautiful, confident Omega or Alpha sees past his shyness to the amazing Beta underneath, and suddenly I'm not his best friend anymore?
What if I'm just his coworker, the girl he used to eat lunch with before he got mated and moved on with his life?
I have no right to be jealous. I'm just his friend, his coworker, his chocolate supplier. Nothing more.
"Belle?" Adam's voice is gentle, concerned. He leans forward slightly, and I catch a hint of his natural Beta scent like clean cotton and old books, it makes my suppressant-dulled instincts stir dangerously. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I force a smile, the same bright expression I've been perfecting for over a year now.
The one that says everything's fine, I'm just bubbly Belle who loves books and baking and has absolutely no complicated feelings whatsoever.
"Sorry, just thinking about all the gossip Mrs. Henderson will want when you get back.
You know she's going to corner you for details. "