Chapter 15
Melody
Something warm and moist puffs against my face. I wrinkle my nose, still half-asleep. The smell is… pungent, like hay and something earthy.
Another puff of hot breath hits my cheek.
My eyes snap open.
Two enormous dark eyes stare directly into mine, less than two inches from my face. Oxford’s fluffy face fills my entire field of vision, his nostrils flaring as he exhales another gust of llama breath.
“AHHH!” I shriek, jerking and nearly tumbling off the couch.
Oxford doesn’t even flinch. He just continues staring at me with that unblinking gaze, like I’m the one being weird about this situation.
“I told you she’d scream,” Finn’s voice carries over from the kitchen, followed by the clatter of coffee mugs. Then a little louder to me, “Good morning, sunshine! Your fluffy llama has been watching you sleep for the last ten minutes. It’s equal parts adorable and deeply unsettling.”
I press a hand to my racing heart. “You could have warned me!”
“And miss that reaction? Not a chance.” Finn slides a mug of coffee across the counter. “I think he might be in love. He hasn’t moved from that spot since we came downstairs.”
I glance at Oxford, who’s still watching me with intensity.
“Is this normal llama behavior?” I ask, untangling myself from the blanket. It smells like Everett: pine, and peppermint, and I resist the urge to bury my face in it.
“I wouldn’t know. My llama expertise is limited to that one children’s book about the one who wears pajamas.” Finn shrugs, his hair still sleep-mussed. “Though I’m beginning to think Oxford isn’t a typical llama.”
I yawn and stretch, wincing at the crick in my neck from sleeping on the couch. “What time is it?”
“Just after seven. We’re heading to the farm to help Everett with the morning rush.” Finn drains the last of his coffee.
My phone buzzes from somewhere under the blanket, and I fish it out with a groan. “If that’s Marcus again—”
But it’s not Marcus. “It’s my aunt Karen. I should take this,” I tell Finn, who nods and starts gathering his things.
“We’ll head out. There’s breakfast in the oven, staying warm.” He tugs on his coat. Only four layers today, I notice. “Will we see you later?”
“Probably. I promised Oxford a walk, after all.” I glance at the llama, who tilts his head as if confirming our appointment.
I wait until the door closes behind him before answering the phone. “Hi, Aunt Karen. How’s the cruise?”
“Terrible,” she says immediately. “Melody, thank goodness I reached you.” Her voice sounds strained. “Are you doing alright all alone?”
The passive-aggressive emphasis on “alone” makes my skin prickle with irritation. “It’s actually been lovely. I’ve made some friends, and—”
“That’s nice, dear,” she interrupts, and I take another sip of coffee, bracing myself. “Listen, I just got a very concerning call from Vivian.”
My anxiety spikes. Vivian is my aunt’s college roommate, the one who “pulled strings” to get me the job with Marcus.
“What did Vivian want?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Marcus has been trying to reach you. Apparently, you haven’t been responding to his calls or emails.” Her voice takes on that special tone, the one that says I’ve disappointed her deeply. “Melody, this looks very bad for me. I vouched for you with Vivian.”
I take a deep breath. “Aunt Karen, I’m on vacation. Marcus approved these two weeks off months ago.”
“But surely you understand that executives like Marcus need support even during vacation. That’s how these things work. Your mother and I are worried that you’re throwing away this opportunity.”
“I’ve been checking emails, but I can’t be on call 24/7, even during normal work weeks. It’s my first real break in a year.”
“Don’t be dramatic. You had Labor Day off.”
One day. I had one day off, and Marcus called me twice.
“Emergencies don’t take vacations, Melody,” she scolds. “When you’re in an executive position, you need to be available.”
I suddenly realize how Marcus must have gotten hold of my personal number.
I bite back a laugh. Executive position? I’m an assistant.
“Vivian went out on a limb for you,” Aunt Karen continues. “She used her relationship with Marcus to get you that position. Do you know how many people would kill for your job?”
I feel myself deflating, a familiar guilt creeping in. She’s right. I should be grateful. I should be answering Marcus’s calls. I should be the perfect, dutiful omega assistant who never complains and always puts others first.
But also? I’m so goddamn tired of it all.
“I understand that,” I say carefully. “And I’m very grateful to both of you. But I’m not ignoring Marcus’s calls out of spite. I’m trying to have an actual vacation that I earned and need.”
“What else could you possibly be doing that’s more important? It’s not like you have anyone with you; the entire family is stuck on this cruise from hell.”
“I’ve been making friends. And walking a llama.”
There’s a long silence. “A what?”
“A llama. His name is Oxford. He’s actually staring at me right now. He also wears scarves.”
More silence. “Melody, are you feeling alright? Should we be concerned?”
“I’m fine, Aunt Karen. Better than fine, actually.” I pace the living room, Oxford’s head turning to follow my movement. “For the first time in a long time, I’m doing what I want to do instead of what everyone expects me to do.”
“This job is a tremendous opportunity—”
“That I’m grateful for,” I cut in. “But I’m entitled to my vacation time.”
“Marcus says there’s a crisis with the Henderson account—”
“There’s always a crisis with the Henderson account. And Marcus can handle it himself, or ask Janet in HR for help. That’s why I prepared all those transition documents before I left.”
I can practically hear her clutching her pearls. “I don’t recognize this attitude, Melody. This isn’t like you at all.”
“Maybe it should be,” I say softly.
I glance at Oxford, his dark eyes unblinking. Is it my imagination, or does he look… proud?
“You know what, Aunt Karen? I have plans today,” I say, surprising myself with the firmness in my voice. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Melody, don’t you dare hang up on me. This is serious. Your career is at stake.”
My finger hovers over the end-call button. I’ve never hung up on Aunt Karen before. I’ve never hung up on anyone before. Good omegas don’t do that.
“Merry Christmas, Aunt Karen. Give my love to Uncle Ted and the cousins.” I press end call and set the phone face down on the counter, my hands shaking slightly.
My phone immediately starts ringing again, so I put it on vibrate, ignoring the feeling of panic. I need a distraction. “We’re building a snowman,” I announce to Oxford, who tilts his head as if considering the merits of my decision.
Twenty minutes later, I’m outside in the fresh snow, rolling a giant ball for the snowman’s base.
My boots make a satisfying crunch as I step into the glittering powdered snow.
The physical activity feels good, channeling my frustration into something productive.
I roll the snowball until it is physically too heavy for me to keep pushing.
I’m not having a breakdown.
“I’ve spent my whole life trying to please everyone,” I vent to Oxford while aggressively patting the base of the snowman into shape. “My parents, my aunt, my boss. Everyone except me.”
Oxford watches from a safe distance.
“And what has it gotten me? A job I hate, an empty apartment, almost no friends outside work, because I never have time.” I can feel my frustration rising as I start on the middle section, packing snow more firmly than necessary. “Well, no more.”
It’s time I stood up for myself.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to find a text from my aunt:
“Melody, this is unacceptable. Call me back immediately.”
I snap.
“Unacceptable?” I yell to the snowman. “I’ll tell you what’s unacceptable.”
“Calling someone on vacation is unacceptable,” I yell. “Expecting me to work 24/7 is unacceptable,” I yell louder. “Making me feel guilty for taking time off that I EARNED is unacceptable,” I scream.
By the time I finish the snowman’s body, my gloves are soaked through, and my nose is running from the cold, but I feel better. Clearer. The snowman stands proudly, if a bit lopsided, waiting for its head.
I pack a perfect sphere for the head, lifting it carefully above the snow body. Just as I’m about to position it, my foot slips and the snowman’s head goes flying.
I tumble backward, landing hard on my backside in the snow, and to add insult to injury, the rest of the snowman chooses that moment to collapse right on top of me.
I then do the only reasonable thing I can think of—I flop completely into the snow and scream.
“ARRRRGGGHHH!”
The sound echoes across the empty landscape, startling a few birds from a nearby tree. Oxford takes several prudent steps backward.
I lie there, spread-eagle in the snow, letting the cold seep through my coat. It’s oddly comforting, like the world is giving me a very chilly hug.
“You know what, Oxford? I’m done being the obedient, good little omega.”
I sit up, snow clinging to my hair.
“First, we’re going to walk to town. I’m getting scones and asking Bea if she needs more help because I want to, not because I have to. Then we’re going to visit Perfect Pines, and I’m going to spend some time with those delicious-smelling males without feeling guilty about it.”
Oxford makes a soft humming noise.
“What? Don’t judge me.” I push myself to my feet, brushing snow from my pants. “And then we’re coming back here, and I’m building a gingerbread house that will make Architectural Digestion weep with envy.”
I march toward the cabin, Oxford following at a dignified pace. As I reach the steps, I turn to look at the destroyed snowman, the scattered piles of snow that represent my failed attempt at winter cheer.
“I’ll try again tomorrow,” I tell it. That’s the new Melody way. If it falls apart, you build it again, bigger and better.
Oxford makes another one of those humming sounds, this one sounding suspiciously like agreement.
Inside, I change into dry clothes, pulling on my warmest sweater and a pair of thick leggings. I wrap a fresh scarf around my neck, not as nice as the one I gave Oxford, but it’ll do, and grab my purse.
After a quick breakfast, we’re ready to go.
“Ready for an adventure, Oxford?” I ask, holding the door open.
He stares at me for a long moment, then walks to the closet, nudging it with his nose.
“What? What do you want?”
He nudges it again, more insistently.
I open the closet door, bewildered. “I don’t understand what—”
Oxford reaches in with his teeth and delicately extracts the scarf from the hanger. He drops it at my feet, then looks up at me expectantly.
“Oh. You want your scarf.” I laugh, bending to pick it up. “Of course you do. Can’t be seen in public without your accessories, right?”
I arrange the scarf around his neck, making sure it’s not too tight. He holds perfectly still during the process, then gives a little shake when I’m done, as if settling the fabric just so.
“Perfect,” I tell him. “Very dashing. Now we’re ready.”
As we set off down the snowy path toward town, Oxford walking beside me with stately grace, I feel something unfamiliar bubbling up inside me. It takes me a moment to recognize it.
It’s freedom.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m not worried about disappointing anyone, not anxious about missed calls or urgent emails. I’m just walking through the snow with a llama, heading to a bakery in a small town where I have no obligations, no expectations to meet.
And it feels incredible.