Cara #2
Before I can place her, an alpha appears at her side.
Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a firefighter’s jacket.
He slides an arm around her waist, takes the shopping bag from her hand, and presses a kiss to her temple.
Two other alphas materialize—one dark-haired with precise movements, the other bearded and broad—and together they help her toward a massive truck parked at the curb.
Four people moving as one unit. A pack.
“Is that...” I turn to Maeve. “Oh my god, is that Lila James with Dean?”
Maeve follows my gaze with a fond smile. “Lila Greaves now. They’re expecting their first any day now.”
“Lila James. The actress. Bonded to your nephew.”
“She moved here after some Hollywood mess.” Maeve shrugs. “Dean, Julian, and Callum fell all over themselves. And, well. She fell right back.”
I watch them help Lila into the truck like she’s made of glass. The tenderness in every gesture. The way they orbit around her, attentive and protective and completely besotted.
That’s what a pack looks like. That’s what I could have had.
That’s what I threw away.
“I didn’t know,” I say. “About any of this.”
“You’ve been gone a long time, honey.” No accusation in Maeve’s voice. Just fact. “Things change. People find each other.”
The truck pulls away. I keep staring until it disappears around the corner.
The bell over the door chimes. I look up automatically—thirty-four, apparently—but it’s not one of them. It’s a honey-blonde woman backing through the door with an armful of red roses and white lilies, one hand resting on the gentle swell of her belly as she maneuvers inside.
Sadie Quinn. We were in the same year at school, though we ran in different circles. She was quiet, artistic, always smelled like flowers even back then. I was loud, messy, always surrounded by three particular alphas who made it hard for anyone else to get close.
“Maeve!” Sadie calls, setting the arrangement on the counter. “Your Valentine’s order. I’ve got two more in the van—is Reid here yet? He was supposed to help me unload.” She stops, noticing me. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Sadie, you remember Cara Donovan?”
Recognition flickers across her face, then caution. “Cara. Wow. It’s been a long time.”
“Ten years.” I attempt a smile. “Give or take. And congratulations—when are you due?”
Her hand goes to her belly, a soft smile crossing her face. “Late June. Levi’s mother is already driving me crazy about the baby shower, and I’ve still got months to go.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I heard you were back. How are you settling in?”
Three alphas won’t speak to me. The whole town knows about my books. And tonight I get to watch other women bid on the men I love.
“Great,” I say. “Really great.”
Sadie’s expression says she doesn’t believe me, but she’s too kind to push. “We should catch up sometime. When I’m not drowning in fundraiser prep.” She turns to Maeve. “The ribbons?”
“Back room. I’ll grab them.”
Maeve disappears, leaving Sadie hovering awkwardly.
“You can sit,” I offer. “If you have a minute.”
She hesitates, then slides into Maeve’s vacated chair. “So. You’re the one who writes the books.”
My stomach drops. “You’ve heard about that.”
“Everyone’s heard about that.” But she’s smiling gently. “Mrs. Patterson has been very thorough. She thinks the gardener alpha in book three is based on someone specific.”
I want to sink through the floor and keep going until I hit the earth’s core.
“I’m not—they’re not—”
“It’s okay.” Sadie’s voice is soft. “I write poetry that nobody’s allowed to read. We all process things differently.”
The bell chimes again.
A young woman walks in—dark hair, sharp features, the kind of quietly stubborn expression I remember from babysitting a much smaller version of her.
“Bea Wilson?” I blurt out.
She freezes. Looks at me. Her eyes go wide.
“Oh my god. Cara?”
She’s already crossing the bakery, pulling me into a hug before I can even stand up. A real one, tight and warm, like she’s genuinely happy to see me.
“I can’t believe it’s you!” She pulls back, grinning. “You used to babysit me. When I was like... seven?”
“You bit me once because I wouldn’t let you stay up past bedtime.”
“She bit me too,” Sadie says, laughing. “Remember? You didn’t want to eat your vegetables.”
“I was a feral child,” Bea admits. “It’s a miracle anyone agreed to watch me twice.” Her eyes light up. “Oh! You’re Scarlett Monroe, right? I love your—”
“No.” I hold up a hand. “Please tell me you haven’t read my books. You’re too young.”
“I’m twenty-two.”
“You were seven. I used to make you chicken nuggets and put you to bed.”
Bea grins. “And now I read your spicy novels. Circle of life.”
I drop my head into my hands. Sadie is trying very hard not to laugh.
Bea drops into a chair, apparently deciding to join us. “I came back a few months ago, you know. After my own spectacular failure at life.” She shrugs. “This town has a way of collecting people who need second chances.”
“Bea found her pack,” Sadie says softly. “Three alphas who’d been waiting for her.”
“They weren’t waiting for me. They didn’t even know I existed until I kissed Seth at the Thanksgiving Festival and then ran away like an idiot.
” Bea shakes her head. “Point is, I made a mess. A big one. And they still—” She stops.
Her whole face changes, goes tender in a way that makes my chest ache. “They still wanted me anyway.”
“How?” The word comes out before I can stop it. I look between them. “How did you get them to listen?”
Sadie and Bea glance at each other. Something passes between them.
“I didn’t, at first,” Sadie admits. “Levi had been bringing me coffee for weeks before I admitted I liked it. Sometimes you have to let people show up for you before you can show up for them.”
“And my alphas chased me,” Bea says. “After my little stunt at the festival, they just... kept showing up. Kept proving they wanted me.”
“But that’s different.” I stare at my cold coffee. “Your alphas wanted to chase you. Mine are running in the other direction.”
“So maybe you need to be the one doing the chasing this time.” Bea shrugs.
“Grand gesture?” Sadie suggests.
“Well...” Bea drums her fingers on the table. “The auction tonight—”
“I know. They’re all participating.”
“All three of them?” Sadie asks carefully.
“Nate, Theo, and Lucas. Yes.” I wrap my hands around my mug. “I get to watch every omega in Honeyridge Falls bid on the men I love.”
Silence.
Bea’s eyes cut to Sadie. Sadie raises her eyebrows. Some kind of silent omega conversation happens that I’m not part of.
Then Bea leans forward. “Or.”
“Or what?”
“Or you could bid on them yourself.”
I stare at her. “What?”
“The auction. You bid on them. Win the dates. Make them talk to you.”
“I can’t just—that’s insane. They won’t even look at me. If I show up and start bidding—”
“They’ll have to look at you.” Bea’s eyes are sharp. Knowing. “They’ll have to acknowledge you exist. And if you win? They’ll have to spend time with you. One on one. No running away.”
“But I’d have to bid on all three of them. That’s—”
“Expensive,” Sadie supplies. “And dramatic. And exactly the kind of thing that happens in romance novels.”
Romance novels.
Like the ones I write.
I think about my book. The one sitting half-finished on my laptop. Three different versions of chapter twelve, three different grand gestures, none of them feeling right.
But this...
“In my books,” I say slowly, “this is exactly what the heroine would do. Show up uninvited. Make a scene. Force them to deal with her.”
“Life imitating art,” Maeve says, reappearing with Sadie’s ribbons. Of course she was listening. “Or art finally teaching you something useful.”
I look at the three of them—Sadie with her gentle encouragement, Bea with her hard-won wisdom, Maeve with her knowing smile.
“This is crazy,” I say. “This is absolutely insane. They’re going to hate me. The whole town is going to watch me make a fool of myself.”
“Probably,” Bea agrees. “But they already won’t talk to you. What do you have to lose?”
She’s right. That’s the horrible thing. She’s absolutely right.
I’ve tried quiet approaches. Tried waiting for the right moment. Tried calling and showing up and backing off when they wouldn’t engage.
None of it worked.
Maybe it’s time to stop writing about grand gestures and actually make one.
“The auction starts at seven,” I say.
Maeve’s smile widens. “Bidding paddles are ten dollars at the door.”
I close my laptop. Stand up.
“I need to go home and figure out what to wear.” I pause at the door, looking back at them. “And maybe check my bank account.”
“Go big or go home,” Bea calls after me.
I push through the door into the cold February air. My heart is pounding. My hands are shaking.
This is either going to be the best idea I’ve ever had or the worst mistake of my life.
But at least it’ll make a great chapter twelve.