Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
ASTER
The bell above Marley's door chimed as I slipped inside, and I felt the tension in my shoulders ease the moment the familiar scents of fabric and thread wrapped around me.
Lavender sachets hung from the ceiling beams, mixing with the earthy smell of raw cotton and the faint metallic tang of scissors and needles.
Bolts of fabric lined the walls in a rainbow of colors — deep burgundies, forest greens, soft creams, and bright yellows that reminded me of Kol's smile.
Sawyer had walked me into town, his solid presence at my side until we reached Main Street.
He'd kissed my forehead, told me to stay inside until he came back, and disappeared to run errands at the feed store.
Two hours of freedom, carefully negotiated.
Two hours to work on the secret project I'd been planning for weeks.
"You're late." Marley's voice drifted from the back room, gruff but not unkind, followed by the steady rhythm of her sewing machine. "I was starting to think you'd gotten distracted by some Alpha or another."
"Just one." I made my way through the cramped aisles, past displays of buttons and ribbons and pre-cut fabric squares. "Sawyer walked me in. He's very thorough about the whole protection thing."
"As he should be." Marley appeared in the doorway to her workroom, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a practical bun, her sharp brown eyes assessing me with the same critical gaze she used on uneven seams. She wore a faded apron covered in thread snippets and pin cushions, her weathered hands already reaching for the project I'd left here last week.
"That Easton business has everyone on edge.
Trent's been sleeping with his shotgun by the bed. "
I followed her into the back, settling onto the worn stool that had become mine over the past few months.
The workroom was smaller than the shop front, crowded with half-finished projects and fabric scraps and the ancient Singer machine that Marley swore would outlive us all.
Afternoon light streamed through the single window, catching dust motes that danced in the air like tiny stars.
"How's it coming?" I nodded toward the leather piece in her hands — rich brown, supple and soft, with the beginnings of a tooled pattern along one edge.
"Your stitching's gotten better." She turned the leather over, examining my work with a critical eye, her calloused fingers tracing the lines I'd painstakingly carved. "Still a little uneven here, but nothing that'll show once it's assembled. You've got good instincts."
Pride warmed my chest at the praise. Marley didn't give compliments lightly.
"Can I work on it today?" I asked, already reaching for my supply bag — the one I kept hidden in the back of her storage closet, away from curious Alpha eyes. "I want to finish the border before I start on the interior pockets."
"It's your project." She settled into her own chair, pulling a half-finished quilt into her lap, her needle already moving in quick, precise strokes. "Just remember what I taught you about the beveling. Too deep and you'll cut right through."
I pulled the leather toward me, running my fingers over the surface.
Reid's journal cover. The first of four gifts I'd been secretly working on for months, each one designed specifically for the Alpha it would belong to.
The tooling pattern was antlers — subtle, woven into a border of oak leaves and acorns.
Reid's symbol, I'd decided. Strong and branching, reaching upward, providing shelter.
I'd spent hours sketching designs before settling on this one, and even more hours learning the techniques to bring it to life.
"You've got that look again." Marley's voice cut through my concentration, and I looked up to find her watching me with knowing eyes, her needle paused mid-stitch. "The soft one. Like you're thinking about something that makes you happy and terrified all at once."
I felt heat rise to my cheeks but didn't look away. "I was thinking about him. Reid. About all of them."
"Mmm." She resumed her stitching, but I could tell she was listening, her attention split between the quilt and me. "And what were you thinking, exactly?"
I turned back to the leather, picking up the swivel knife, testing its weight in my hand. "About how different everything is now. How different I am."
"Different how?" Her voice was casual, but I'd learned to recognize the careful attention beneath her gruff exterior. Marley asked questions like she was checking seams — probing for weak spots, looking for places that needed reinforcement.
"Before I came here..." I started carving, letting the familiar motion steady my thoughts. "I didn't let myself want things. Not really. It was safer that way. If you don't hope for anything, you can't be disappointed when it doesn't happen."
"That's a sad way to live." There was no judgment in her voice, just observation. "Practical, maybe. But sad."
"It kept me alive." The knife moved smoothly through the leather, following the lines I'd traced earlier.
"When you're on your own, when you never know where your next meal is coming from or where you'll sleep tomorrow night, hope feels like a luxury you can't afford.
Dreaming about the future seems pointless when you're not sure you'll have one. "
Marley was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the whisper of thread through fabric and the soft scrape of my knife.
"And now?" She finally asked, her voice gentler than I'd ever heard it.
I paused, looking up from my work, staring at the dust motes dancing in the sunlight.
"Now I dream all the time. I catch myself imagining futures I never thought I'd have.
Waking up in the pack room with all of them around me, every morning for the rest of my life.
Holidays with people who actually want me there.
Growing old surrounded by people who love me. "
My voice cracked slightly on the last word, and I had to swallow hard before continuing.
"I imagine having a real home. A place where I belong, where people know my name and smile when they see me.
I imagine being someone's family, not just some stray they took in out of pity.
" I set down the knife, my hands shaking too much to continue.
"I imagine being bonded. Really, truly bonded. Forever."
"That's a lot of imagining." Marley's voice was rough, but when I looked up, her eyes were suspiciously bright. "Sounds exhausting."
A laugh bubbled up from my chest, watery but real. "It is. I'm not used to wanting things. It still feels dangerous sometimes. Like if I want it too much, it'll get taken away."
"That's fear talking." She set down her quilt, fixing me with a look that was equal parts stern and kind, her weathered face softening around the edges. "And fear's a liar. You're allowed to want things now, Aster. You're allowed to hope. That's not dangerous — that's living."
The words settled into my chest like seeds taking root, finding purchase in soil that had been barren for far too long.
"You sound like them." I picked up my knife again, blinking away the moisture in my eyes. "My Alphas. They keep telling me I deserve good things."
"Smart men." She returned to her quilting, her needle flashing in the light. "Knew I liked them for a reason."
We worked in comfortable silence for a while, the afternoon sun slowly shifting across the floor. I finished the border on Reid's journal cover and set it aside to cure, then pulled out my next project — a canvas bag, already half-constructed, waiting for the embroidery that would make it special.
Nolan's gift. A proper vet bag, big enough to hold all his supplies, with reinforced handles and multiple pockets.
I'd spent hours designing the layout, making sure everything would have its place.
But the real work was the embroidery — delicate wildflowers climbing up one side, interspersed with small medical symbols.
A caduceus wrapped in morning glories. A stethoscope twined with daisies.
"That's ambitious." Marley had moved to stand behind me, peering over my shoulder at the design sketched onto the canvas. "You sure you're ready for that level of detail?"
"No." I admitted, threading my needle with pale green floss. "But I want it to be perfect. He deserves perfect."
She made a sound that might have been approval and returned to her chair. "Start with the stems. Get the foundation right, and the rest will follow."
I bent over the fabric, losing myself in the rhythm of the needle.
In and out, in and out, tiny stitches building into something beautiful.
It was meditative in a way I'd never expected — my mind quieting, my breathing evening out, everything fading away except the thread and the fabric and the image slowly taking shape.
"Tell me about the others." Marley's voice was soft, not intrusive. "The other gifts you're making."
I didn't look up from my work, but I smiled. "Sawyer's getting a bandana. Dark blue, like the sky just before dawn. I'm doing a subtle pattern — mountains along the border, pine trees scattered throughout. Things he loves but never talks about."
"He's a quiet one." Marley agreed, her own needle never pausing. "The kind who feels deeply but doesn't have words for it."
"Exactly." I tied off a section of stem and started on the next, my stitches growing more confident. "That's why I wanted his gift to say everything without being loud about it. Something he can wear, something practical, but with meaning underneath."
"And the fourth one? The bright one with the big smile?"
Kol. My heart warmed just thinking about him.