1. Emma #2
“Coffee?” Rowan asks, already moving toward the kitchen. “You’ve had a long drive.”
“Yes, please.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel, which I count as a win.
He pours from a carafe into a mug that says Harvest Home Farm in cursive letters, then slides it across the island counter toward me, without coming too close, which I appreciate.
I wrap my fingers around it—the warmth seeping into my perpetually cold hands—and inhale deeply; the delicious aroma briefly covers the alpha’s scent, and helps to calm my nerves.
“So,” he says, leaning against the counter. “In person at last.”
I take a sip to avoid responding immediately. The coffee is good, rich, and strong.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” I finally say. “I’m looking forward to helping with your social media presence.”
His mouth quirks slightly at one corner, not quite a smile. “We need it. My brother Theo is convinced we need to ‘expand our digital footprint’ or whatever he calls it. Says the younger crowd won’t come unless we’re on all the platforms.”
“He’s not wrong,” I say, immediately wondering if I’ve overstepped. But Rowan just nods thoughtfully.
I catch myself staring and quickly look back down at my coffee.
“Marketing was never my strong suit. I handle the financial and business side of the farm, Theo does events and staffing, and Liam manages the animals and maintenance.” He takes a swallow of his coffee.
“Between the three of us, we keep things running, but none of us have time to post… whatever it is people want to see.”
“Pumpkin patch content is very popular in the fall,” I tell him, feeling firmer when discussing work. “People love the aesthetic—the colors, the activities. If you’re offering hayrides, mazes, cider, those are all things that photograph well. And with the right hashtags—”
A loud BANG from somewhere outside makes me jump. Coffee sloshes over the rim of my mug, scalding my fingers. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I’m halfway to the door with my Alpha-Away gripped tightly in my hand before I even realize I’ve moved.
“Just Liam,” Rowan says calmly, not moving from his spot. “Probably fixing something on the tractor again. He gets frustrated when machinery doesn’t cooperate.”
I freeze, suddenly aware of how I must look. I release the canister back into my bag without revealing my hand.
Carrying Omega Guard spray would be a dead giveaway.
Heat crawls up my neck as I force myself to breathe normally. I unclench my fingers from the mug handle as hot coffee trickles down my hand.
“Sorry,” I mumble, eyes fixed on the floor. “Startled me.”
When I finally look up, Rowan’s gaze feels too perceptive, too knowing. There’s something in the way he watches me that makes my heart speed up.
“No need to apologize,” he says quietly. He reaches for a dish towel and offers it to me without comment. I take it, careful not to let our fingers brush, and wipe the coffee from my hand.
The silence stretches between us.
“Let me show you around,” he says, setting his mug down. “You should see what you’ll be working with.”
I follow him outside, keeping a careful distance as he points out the various attractions: the pumpkin patch, the apple orchard, the maze still being assembled, the area where they’ll set up the hay bale slide, and a petting zoo.
“We open to the public in two weeks,” he explains. “Weekends only at first, then daily as we get closer to Halloween. You’ll have time to settle in and get some preliminary content on our accounts before the crowds arrive.”
As we walk, the staff, mostly betas from what I can tell, naturally defer to him. They nod respectfully as we pass and wait for his acknowledgment before returning to their tasks.
It’s not fear I see in their eyes, though. It’s respect, maybe even admiration. They look at him the way people look at someone they trust completely.
I’d forgotten what it looked like when someone earned that kind of loyalty.
“Theo!” Rowan calls suddenly, waving to a man emerging from the barn with an armful of what appear to be string lights.
The man changes direction, heading toward us with a bright smile.
Theo has gentler features than Rowan; they match his easy smile. He is still tall but leaner, with honey-brown hair that curls around his ears and warm eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
He seems kind.
That should be comforting, but kindness from strangers always makes me wary. I’m not sure why gentleness feels scarier than sternness, maybe because it could all just be an act to gain my trust.
“You must be Emma!” he says, shifting the lights to one arm so he can extend his hand. “I’m Theo, social media disaster and event coordinator extraordinaire.”
I shake his hand quickly, noting how warm his palm is against mine. The subtle scent of cinnamon wafts from him—the same scent I’d detected in the house earlier, mingled with Rowan’s. In person, the spice of his cinnamon offers a warm, comforting edge that has me feeling more at ease.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, withdrawing my hand as soon as politeness allows.
“We’re so glad you’re here,” he continues enthusiastically, seemingly unbothered by my brief handshake.
“I’ve been trying to get Rowan to invest in our online presence for ages.
Did he tell you our Instagram only has seventeen followers?
And I’m pretty sure fourteen of them are my former classmates who felt sorry for me. ”
Rowan makes a sound that might be a suppressed snort. “Theo handles the customer experience side of things,” he explains. “He’s good with people.”
“Unlike my brother, Mr. Spreadsheet here,” Theo says with obvious affection, nudging Rowan with his elbow. “Don’t let him intimidate you. His bark is much worse than his bite.”
Something about how he says it makes heat crawl up my neck, and I drop my gaze to the ground. When I look up again, I catch Theo watching me with curious eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly.
“Well,” he says, his voice softer, “I should get these lights hung before Rowan decides they’re frivolous expenditures .”
“They are frivolous,” Rowan counters.
“They’re aesthetic,” Theo corrects. “People pay for ambiance; it lends to the atmosphere.” He winks at me. “I’ll catch up with you later, Emma. I have so many ideas for TikTok.”
As Theo bounds away, I notice how different the brothers are, despite sharing similar features. Rowan seems to carry a weight on his shoulders, while Theo moves like someone unencumbered. Yet they’re clearly close.
“This way,” Rowan says, continuing our tour toward a fenced area where I can see animals moving about. “Liam should be—”
He stops mid-sentence, looking toward a figure at the far end of the paddock.
Even from this distance, I can tell he’s another alpha.
It’s something about how he holds himself and the deference the animals show him.
He’s tall and broad-shouldered like Rowan, but there’s something different in the way he moves.
His flannel shirt is a faded red, and his dark hair reaches the tops of his shoulders, falling across his forehead as he bends to check something on a fence post.
“That’s Liam,” Rowan says. “He manages the livestock and maintenance. You’ll meet him later.”
The distant figure straightens and turns toward us as if hearing his name. Even from here, I feel the weight of his gaze. He raises a hand in acknowledgment, and Rowan returns the gesture, but Liam makes no move to join us.
“He’s not much for small talk,” Rowan explains, already turning away. “Prefers the animals to most people.”
I understand that sentiment completely.
We continue past a large garden with late-season vegetables and a greenhouse, and finally start toward the row of small cottages near the edge of the property.
“This one’s yours,” Rowan says, stopping at the second-to-last cottage. It’s small but charming, with a tiny porch and window boxes currently empty of flowers. “Bathroom, kitchenette, bedroom. Basic, but private. Liam is in the last one down, but mostly keeps to himself.”
He hands me a key—an actual metal key, not a card.
“Breakfast is at seven in the main house if you want, or you can fend for yourself. You can stock up on whatever you need back in town. We provide one meal a day as part of your compensation. The Wi-Fi password is inside, on the counter. It’s sometimes a little spotty, as you could tell from our Zoom call. ”
I nod, taking the key. Our fingers brush for the briefest moment. Something flickers across his face, but it’s gone before I can identify it.
“Thank you,” I say, clutching the key tighter.
A space of my own, a door that locks, and a full breakfast every day. After months of motel rooms with flimsy chains and paper-thin walls, months of stretching every penny of my savings for meals, this feels like a luxury.
“Get settled in,” he says, already backing away. “Rest today. Tomorrow, you can start familiarizing yourself with everything and what needs to be done.”
I nod again, relief washing through me at the thought of solitude after the tension of meeting new people. “I’ll be ready.”
He pauses, “Emma,” he says, and something about how he says my name makes me meet his eyes despite my instinct to look away. “You’re safe here.”
The simple words catch me off guard, and I must swallow hard against the sudden tightness in my throat. He can’t possibly know what that means to me, how desperately I’ve needed to hear it.
Or maybe he can… perhaps it’s written all over my face.
“Thank you,” I manage to say.
He nods once, then turns and walks away, his stride long and confident.
Inside the cottage, I close the door and lean against it, exhaling deeply.
The space is small but clean. Simple rustic furniture—nothing fancy, but very cozy. The air smells faintly of lemon cleaner and pine.
I return to my car, drag my suitcase, and begin the minimal unpacking. I have just three months to earn enough money for the next step, whatever that might be.
Three months to blend in and avoid any unnecessary complications or attention.