Chapter 8
Seth
I've driven past Brooks Hardware three times in the last hour.
Nate would lose his mind if he knew.
I should head back to the station. There's paperwork waiting. Reports to file. Literally anything more productive than this.
Then I see her.
She steps out of the hardware store, breath fogging in the December cold as she pulls her coat tighter. The afternoon sun is low on the horizon, that golden hour light casting long shadows, and she's got at least two miles to walk home.
My hands tighten on the wheel.
Before I can overthink it, I'm pulling the patrol car alongside her.
She startles, hand flying to her chest. "Jesus, Seth. You trying to give me a heart attack?"
"Sorry." Heat crawls up my neck despite the cold. "You're walking?"
"That's what legs are for." But she's grinning, leaning down to peer through my window.
Her scent slams into me.
Cinnamon and baked apples and something warm and sweet that makes every alpha instinct I possess sit up and beg. It's stronger than it was at the general store—richer, more complex. Like she's been working hard, body warm, scent intensifying in the enclosed space of the hardware store all day.
My mouth goes dry. The patrol car suddenly feels too small, the air too thick.
"It's freezing," I manage. "And getting dark. I could drive you home."
"That's out of your way." But she's considering it, not outright refusing.
"I've got a few more patrol rounds anyway. You could ride along."
She studies me, and I'm convinced she'll say no. That she'll laugh and keep walking and I'll have to move to Alaska to escape the humiliation—
"Alright. Sure."
Wait. "Really?"
"You rescinding the offer already?" She's walking around to the passenger side.
"No! I just—hold on—" I'm frantically shoving paperwork off the passenger seat, grabbing empty coffee cups, the candy wrapper from my stress-eating earlier. Real smooth, Monroe.
She climbs in.
The patrol car shrinks by half.
Her scent floods every corner of the space, mixing with my rain-and-cedar until the air feels charged. My hands grip the steering wheel hard enough to hurt. She's in my space. My car. Close enough that I could reach across the console and—
Not helpful.
"So." She buckles in, and I force myself to focus on pulling back onto the road. "What exciting crimes are we investigating tonight?"
The radio's playing something low and country—a station I never bother changing. I reach over and turn it down until it's just background noise.
"Mostly making sure Tessa Lang doesn't murder anyone while putting up Christmas decorations." The words come easier when I'm driving, eyes on the road instead of her face. "She takes the holidays very seriously."
"I noticed. The general store looks like Santa's workshop threw up in there."
"Wait until you see what she's doing to the town square." I turn onto Maple Street, where strings of unlit lights are draped between lampposts. "She's got the whole schedule mapped out. Lights turn on this Friday night, then the tree lighting ceremony Saturday with caroling and hot chocolate."
"You memorized her schedule?"
My neck heats. "She came into the station. Made sure we knew the exact timeline so patrol could plan around the crowds."
"That's very Tessa." Bea shifts in her seat, and I catch more of her scent. It's distracting. "Though I'm surprised she hasn't roped you into actually hanging the decorations."
"Who says she hasn't?" I risk a glance at her. "I spent three hours yesterday on a ladder outside the bakery."
Her laugh is bright and unexpected, and heat pools low in my gut at the sound. "Deputy Monroe, volunteering for manual labor? That doesn't sound like the shy guy who can barely talk to me."
"I can talk to you fine when I'm driving."
"Why's that?"
Because I'm not looking at you. Because I can pretend you're not close enough to touch. Because if I actually had to meet your eyes right now while your scent is drowning me, I'd probably drive off the road.
"Easier to focus," I say instead. "Eyes on the road. Following procedures."
"Right. Procedures." There's a pause, then her voice gets quieter. "Seth, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"At the festival. When I just... grabbed you and kissed you.
" She's not looking at me now, picking at a thread on her coat.
Her scent shifts—anxiety creeping in. "I never even asked if you had someone.
A girlfriend, boyfriend, pack. I just assumed you were available and used you as a shield and—god, what if you had someone? What if I caused problems for you?"
The genuine worry in her voice catches me off guard.
"I don't." The words come out too fast. "Have anyone. I mean. I'm not—there's no one."
"Oh thank god." She lets out a breath, and I can smell her relief—that sharp anxiety fading into something softer. "I've been worried about that since it happened. That I might have screwed something up for you."
My chest tightens at the realization she's been carrying this worry for three days. "You didn't. I promise."
"Good." She's quiet for a moment. "Though I have to admit, I'm a little surprised."
"Surprised?"
"That you don't have someone." She's still not looking at me, focused on that thread. "You're..."
"I'm what?"
"Come on, Seth. You're telling me you don't know you're attractive?"
Every coherent thought I have evaporates. "I'm... what?"
"Attractive. The whole tall, dark, and quietly capable thing?" She's looking out the window now, not at me. "Plus the uniform. I'm just saying, you're not exactly hard to look at."
My neck heats. "I don't... I mean... you think—"
"Forget I said anything." Her voice is higher now, rushed. "That was weird. I made it weird."
"You didn't—"
"So why no girlfriend?" She cuts me off, clearly desperate to change the subject. "Bad breakup? Married to the job?"
"I'm not..." How do I explain this? "The whole dating thing isn't really my strong suit."
"Why not?"
"I get awkward. Tongue-tied. Women don't usually..." I trail off.
"Don't usually what?"
"Notice me." The admission tastes bitter. "I'm not like other alphas. The confident ones who know how to flirt, how to make women feel—I just freeze up and say the wrong thing and—"
"You're talking to me just fine right now."
And like that, I'm hyperaware of every word leaving my mouth. Of her sitting there, watching me. Of how close she is, how her scent is everywhere, how I can hear her breathing.
My throat closes up. "I... that's... different..."
She laughs, but it's not mean. "There it is."
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize. It's kind of endearing." She settles back against the seat. "So you really don't date? At all?"
"Not really, no." I turn onto Oak Street, grateful for something to do with my hands. "Most women want an alpha who's, I don't know. More alpha. Confident and commanding and—"
"That's bullshit."
"What?"
"Complete bullshit, Seth." She twists to face me. "You think women only want that hypermasculine alpha nonsense? The guys who strut around marking territory and acting like they own everyone?"
"I—"
"Because I don't." Her voice is firm. "That's not attractive. You know what is attractive? Someone who remembers my coffee order and writes it down in a little notepad so he doesn't mess it up. Someone who came to check on me after the festival thing. Someone who actually gives a damn."
Heat floods through me. Her scent shifts too—sweeter, warmer, that change that makes every alpha instinct I possess take notice.
"You're just being nice."
"I'm not being—" She stops abruptly. Her scent spikes—sharp and anxious, like she just realized something. "I mean. I'm just saying. In general. Hypothetically."
"Hypothetically," I repeat, not sure what just happened.
"Right. Hypothetically." Her voice is higher now. "Not about you specifically. Just... as a general observation about what people—what some people—might find appealing. In theory."
Did I say something wrong? I replay the conversation, trying to figure out where I messed up.
"Okay," I say carefully.
"Anyway." She shifts in her seat. "The point is, you shouldn't put yourself down. That's all I meant."
I'm still not entirely sure what just happened, but her tone says the subject is closed. The words hang between us, and I don't know what to do with them. Don't know if that was just friendly encouragement or if she meant—
No. Don't go there, Monroe.
We pass the town square, where Tessa's got half the decorations up. Giant wreaths on the lampposts, lights draped but not yet illuminated, a massive Christmas tree waiting to be decorated. She's standing in the middle of it all with a clipboard, directing two teenagers hauling boxes of ornaments.
"She's terrifying," Bea murmurs.
"She got the fire department to commit to caroling at the tree lighting."
"No."
"And Maeve's doing hot chocolate and cookies at the bookstore after." I can't help smiling. "This is her sixth Christmas running the committee. Nobody says no to Tessa."
"Not even you?"
"Especially not me. She knows where I live."
Bea's quiet for a moment, watching the decorations drift past the window. "It must be nice," she says softly. "Being part of all this. The town, the traditions. Knowing you belong somewhere."
There's something wistful in her voice that makes my chest ache. "You belong here too. You grew up here."
"Yeah, but..." She trails off. "I left. And coming back feels like admitting I failed somehow. Like I couldn't make it work out there."
"That's not failure. That's just..." I struggle for the right words. "Life being messy. Plans change. Doesn't mean you did anything wrong."
She doesn't respond, and I risk a glance at her. "And for what it's worth? I'm glad you're back."
Her head turns toward me. "You are?"
"Yeah." The word comes out quieter than I meant. "Really glad."
She's quiet for a moment, and I can smell the shift in her scent—something softer, warmer. "Thanks, Seth. That's... that's really nice to hear."