Chapter 2
Bea
The Thanksgiving Festival is exactly as overwhelming as I feared.
Ben barely gets the truck into park before Mom, Dad and Papa are out, drawn like magnets toward their respective friend groups.
Mom spots a cluster of friends near Maeve Bennett's bakery booth and practically floats over, while Papa and Dad make a beeline for the hot cider stand where half the town's alphas have congregated around steaming cups and terrible dad jokes.
"You coming?" Ben asks, already eyeing someone near the hardware display.
"In a minute. I need to... acclimate."
"You mean hide?"
"I prefer 'strategically observe.'"
He snorts but doesn't push, disappearing into the crowd with a promise to find me later. I watch him go, then survey the chaos that is Honeyridge Falls in full Thanksgiving celebration mode.
The main square has been transformed into a Thanksgiving wonderland—corn stalks and wheat sheaves arranged in artful displays, hay bales stacked for photo ops, and enough burgundy and gold bunting to supply every holiday dinner in Montana.
Strings of warm white lights drape between lampposts already glowing in the late afternoon gloom, and corn stalks tied with plaid ribbon frame the vendor booths. The air smells like cinnamon, fried turkey, and that distinctive November mix of wood smoke and spiced cider.
Kids shriek with sugar-fueled joy while their parents chase them between booths, bundled in winter coats against the bite of approaching winter.
I make a beeline for the edge of the square, hoping to blend in with the crowd until I get my bearings. Maybe find a quieter corner where I can breathe for a minute.
And that's when I see him.
Terrance. Standing near the kettle corn booth, scanning the crowd like he's looking for someone.
Looking for me.
What the hell is he doing here? We broke up a month ago. He lives four hours away. This is my town, my safe space, and he just showed up like—
My heart kicks into overdrive. I turn away quickly, trying to blend into the crowd and put some distance between us.
This cannot be happening.
"Bea! There you are!"
I barely suppress a groan. Mrs. Peterson bustles over from a nearby craft booth, her eyes bright with curiosity that has nothing to do with my interest in Thanksgiving decorations.
"How are you settling back in, dear?" She doesn't wait for an answer.
"I was just telling Margie Winslow that you're looking much better than when I saw you at the mailbox.
Less... rumpled." Her eyes gleam with that particular look that means she's about to suggest something.
"You know, my nephew's son just got his accounting certification, and he's been asking—"
"That's wonderful for him! I should really—" I gesture vaguely toward nowhere in particular.
"He's very responsible. Stable job, nice apartment—"
"I'm sure he's great, Mrs. Peterson. Thanks!" I escape before she can finish her matchmaking pitch, weaving through the crowd with practiced desperation.
I don't stop moving until I'm on the opposite side of the square from where I saw Terrance, breathing like I just ran a marathon. One conversation down, approximately fifty more to go. This is going to be a long afternoon.
The festival is packed. It seems like every resident of Honeyridge Falls and half the surrounding county showed up for Maeve Bennett's famous apple cider donuts.
I spot Margie Winslow directing volunteers near the raffle booth, her purple cardigan bright against the gray November sky as she organizes ticket sales with military precision.
The Parker family's three kids nearly take me out while playing what I can only describe as "aggressive tag" around the hay bale maze.
I'm navigating through the chaos when I spot a familiar face near one of the vendor booths.
Sadie Quinn sits in a comfortable chair surrounded by gorgeous floral arrangements—her work, obviously.
She's talking to someone, and even from here I can see she looks a bit green around the edges.
I remember hearing she'd gotten together with a pack.
Good for her. She always was one of the sweetest people in town.
Before I can second-guess myself, I head over. Maybe talking to someone who knew me before I became "that girl who came back from college" will feel less exhausting than dodging Mrs. Peterson's matchmaking attempts.
"Sadie Quinn," I say with a grin as I approach. "I'm Bea Wilson—you used to babysit me when I was about eleven."
"Bea!" She lights up immediately, and the genuine warmth in her recognition makes something tight in my chest ease. "Look at you, all grown up. I heard you were back from college."
"Yeah, trying to figure out what's next." I glance around the festival, then back at her. "Heard about your pack—congratulations on the baby. That's really exciting."
"Thanks. Are you staying in town?"
"For now." My smile falters slightly. I glance over my shoulder, checking if Terrance is still by the kettle corn booth. "My ex is here today, so I'm hiding out."
"Ugh, ex drama." Her expression is immediately sympathetic. "Well, you're welcome to hide here as long as you want."
"Thanks, I might take you up on that." I start to move away, putting more distance between myself and where I last saw Terrance, then pause. "It's really good to see you, Sadie. Congratulations again."
As I slip back into the crowd, I scan for Terrance. He's moved from the kettle corn booth—now he's near the main stage, still searching. My stomach twists.
Where's Ben? I need to find Ben. He'll know what to do, or at least run interference while I figure out an escape plan.
I weave through families and food stalls, keeping my head down, trying to spot my brother's familiar height.
The crowd feels suffocating. Every alpha scent makes me tense, wondering if it's Terrance closing in.
I navigate past vendor booths—handmade crafts, baked goods, someone selling knitted scarves.
I'm so focused on scanning for Ben—and avoiding Terrance—that I almost walk straight into a display of handmade soaps.
"Careful there."
I stumble back and look up—way up—into a face that's familiar but... different.
"Seth?" The name comes out automatically, recognition hitting me before my brain catches up.
He's even taller than I remember. Way taller.
He was always tall in high school, but now he's got to be six-foot-four at least, with broader shoulders and a jaw that's much more defined than the lanky guy I vaguely remember from Ben's grade.
His light brown hair is neatly cut and styled, and those warm brown eyes widen in surprise when they meet mine.
Then I register the uniform. The badge.
"I mean—Deputy Monroe." Heat floods my cheeks. "Sorry. I didn't realize you were... I haven't seen you in years."
Four years, to be exact. He would have been what, twenty-three when I left for college? Just starting with the sheriff's department. Now he's grown into himself in a way that makes my pulse skip.
Very handsome. The thought hits me unbidden and unwelcome.
His scent hits me next—clean rain and cedar and something that reminds me of fresh-baked bread. It wraps around me, instantly soothing despite my panic. My omega biology takes immediate notice, and I have to fight the urge to step closer and just... breathe him in.
"Bea Wilson." His voice is gentle with that slight rasp I don't remember, and his cheeks flush. "I didn't— I mean, I heard you were back, but I haven't..." He clears his throat, looking flustered. "You look... different. Good. You look good."
The awkwardness is almost endearing.
"Thanks," I manage, my heart still racing from Terrance-avoidance mode. "Sorry for almost running into you. I wasn't watching where I was going."
"No harm done." He shifts his weight, and I notice his hands are clenched at his sides like he's not sure what to do with them. His gaze catches on something over my shoulder and his brow furrows slightly. "Are you—" He stops, clears his throat again. "I mean, do you need... is everything okay?"
He's noticed my panic. Or maybe he can smell the stress in my scent.
"I'm fine," I lie automatically. "Just looking for my brother."
"Ben?" A small smile tugs at his lips—they used to be friends, I think. "I could... I mean, if you want, I could help you find—" He cuts himself off, looking even more flustered. "Sorry. That probably sounds weird. I just meant—"
He's nervous. The big, uniformed deputy who's grown into someone I barely recognize is nervous talking to me.
Something about that makes my racing heart slow just slightly.
"Thanks," I say, and I mean it. "But I'm okay. Really."
His scent shifts slightly—still that clean rain and cedar, but with an undertone of something warmer. Concern, maybe. Or disappointment that I'm not accepting help.
He nods slowly, clearly not entirely convinced. Opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, then seems to think better of it. Takes a few steps back toward the soap display. "Well, if you need anything..." He trails off, then turns to the vendor, asking about one of the lavender bars.
He's staying close. Keeping an eye on me. The realization makes something warm flutter in my chest before I can squash it down.
I take the opportunity to scan the crowd again, looking for Ben's familiar height. Where did he go? I need to find him before—
That's when Terrance appears.
"Bea."
My breath catches, stomach dropping.
I know that voice. I turn slowly, already dreading what I'll see.
Terrance Mitchell stands five feet away, looking exactly like he did a month ago when we broke up—perfectly styled hair, expensive casual clothes, that earnest expression I used to find endearing.
"What are you doing here?" My voice comes out flat.
"I came to talk to you." He takes a step forward, hands open in a peaceful gesture. "Please. Just hear me out."
"Terrance, we already talked. A month ago. We broke up."