13. Emma
Emma
S unday passes without incident, but I’m down to my last three suppressants by Monday morning. I swallow two with water.
The persistent headache, dizziness, and nausea from doubling the dose are getting worse. But I don’t have a choice.
I need more suppressants, which means a trip into town. The thought makes my anxiety spike. Small towns notice newcomers. People talk.
But with only one pill left, I’m out of options.
My reflection looks back at me, pale and tired. Dark circles shadow my eyes, and my skin has a sickly pallor.
“You’re fine. You’ll get new pills today.”
The farm isn’t open to the public on weekdays right now, giving the staff time to restock and prepare for the next wave of visitors.
This means a quieter day but more direct interaction with the permanent farm residents, A.K.A.
, the three men I’m starting to crave and fear being around, even if today is technically my day off.
When I reach the main house, I find Theo in the kitchen, flour dusting his hands.
“Just in time!” he chirps when he sees me. “I need a taste-tester.”
Before I can respond, he’s guiding me to a stool at the island counter and placing a small plate in front of me. On it sits what appears to be a miniature apple pie, golden-brown and still steaming.
“New recipe,” he explains, handing me a fork. “Apple cranberry hand pies. Thought we could sell them at the farm stand. People go crazy for anything handheld they can eat while walking around.”
The pie does look delicious, and as I take a small bite, the flavors burst on my tongue: tart cranberry, sweet apple, and buttery crust.
“This is amazing. You made these from scratch?”
Theo beams. “This is a Family recipe, with some tweaks. The secret is in the crust; you must keep everything cold.” He gestures to the flour-covered counter where more dough awaits shaping. “Want to learn? I could use an extra pair of hands.”
There’s something about Theo that makes me feel at ease; maybe it’s his beta status or the fact that he’s always joyous, like I want to soak up as much of his good vibes as I possibly can. “Sure. I’m not much of a baker, though.”
“Anyone can bake,” he says confidently, handing me an apron with ‘ Betas do it Betta’ written across the front. “It’s just following directions with occasional creative flourishes.”
For the next hour, Theo teaches me to roll out dough (“Don’t overwork it; that’s what makes it tough”), fill the small circles with apple-cranberry mixture (“A little heaping is good, but don’t get greedy”), and crimp the edges with a fork (“Firm pressure, but don’t puncture through”).
His instructions are clear and patient, and his praise makes my heart flutter when I get something right.
It’s fun.
As we work, Theo keeps up a stream of light conversation: stories about the farm, childhood memories of baking with his mother, and plans for future seasonal treats.
“You’re overworking it.” His hands cover mine, guiding my movements with the rolling pin. The warmth of his palms seeps through my skin.
“Feel that?” His voice drops low, close to my ear. “Gentle pressure, smooth strokes.”
My breath catches. The warmth of his body behind me, the cinnamon scent wrapping around me like a warm hug, makes my head spin. I lean back, seeking more heat.
Then I freeze. Shitballs.
Theo steps away, leaving cold air where his warmth had been.
“You’ve got it now,” he says, his voice rougher than before.
Silence hangs between us as he slides a batch of pies into the oven.
“So,” he says, casually, “how are you settling in? Really?”
“Fine,” I say automatically. “Everyone’s been very welcoming.”
Now that the baking is done, standing this close to Theo with nothing to keep my hands busy is… distracting.
He gives me a look that says he’s not buying it.
“Come on, Emma. It’s been over two weeks. You still eat dinner alone. You flinch when anyone comes near you. And you’ve only been to town once.” His tone is gentle, not accusing. “I’m not trying to pry, but… we care. We want you to be happy here.”
I look down at my hands, fiddling with the strings on my apron.
“I’m just… not great with new places. New people.”
“Bad experience?” he asks softly.
I nod, still not looking up. “You could say that.”
Theo is quiet for a moment, then says, “For what it’s worth, I get it. Not in the same way, maybe, but…” He trails off, then starts again. “Being a beta in an alpha-dominated family isn’t always easy. People make assumptions. They see you as less-than or just… overlook you.”
This makes me glance up, surprised by the hint of pain in his voice. Theo always seems so confident, so comfortable in his skin.
He shrugs—a small, self-deprecating smile on his lips. “Hard to compete when you’re always standing next to someone who naturally commands attention, you know? Rowan walks into a room, and everyone just… notices. Same with Liam, though he hates it. Me? I have to work for it.”
Here I am, hiding everything about myself, and he’s genuinely opening up about his feelings of being overlooked.
“That’s not true,” I say. “You’re the heart of this place. Everyone responds to you.”
Theo’s eyes widen. “That’s… thank you, Emma.” His smile returns. “You’re observant. You notice things. I bet you notice a lot more than people realize.”
Something about how he says it makes me wonder if he’s fishing for information, but his expression remains open and without guile.
“I try to stay aware of my surroundings,” I say carefully. “It’s safer that way.”
Theo’s smile fades, concern replacing it. “You know you’re safe here, right? With us?”
The oven timer saves me from having to answer. As Theo turns to remove the pies, I take a deep breath, steadying myself. I want desperately to trust him. But I’ve been wrong before, with devastating consequences.
After helping Theo package the cooled pies, I excuse myself, claiming I need to update the social media accounts.
It’s not entirely a lie; I have posts scheduled, but I mostly need space to clear my head.
The warmth of the kitchen, Theo’s cinnamon scent, and easy companionship, the domestic scene we created together…
it all feels dangerously like belonging.
Once outside, I decide to check on Maple. The goat has become a strange comfort over the past few weeks, her uncomplicated affection a balm for my constant wariness.
I find her in the petting zoo, but she’s not alone. Liam is there, repairing a section of fencing. His back is to me, and his flannel shirt is stretched across broad shoulders as he hammers a nail into place. Maple spots me immediately, bleating a greeting that makes Liam turn.
“Mornin’,” he says, straightening to his full height. Today’s flannel is dark green, making his eyes pop.
“Sorry,” I say automatically. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re not.” He gestures to the fence. “Just fixing what some overenthusiastic kids damaged yesterday.”
Maple trots over to me, butting her head against my hip in her usual greeting. I scratch behind her ears, smiling.
“Been waiting for you,” Liam says, and when I glance up, there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Started bleating the minute you stepped outside the house. Got some kind of radar where you’re concerned.”
The idea that Maple can sense me from a distance is oddly comforting and concerning at the same time. If a goat can track me that effectively, imagine how an alpha obsessed with you can?
“She’s got a sixth sense,” I agree, watching Maple prance around my legs.
The goat suddenly darts away, grabs something in her mouth from nearby, and returns triumphantly.
I look down. “Is that… my scarf?” The blue fabric dangles from her mouth, the very one I wore yesterday. “How did you even get that?”
Liam chuckles, a deep rumble. The sound makes my skin prickle with warmth. “She likes to collect things.”
I reach for the scarf, but Maple dances away, tossing her head playfully. “Come on, Maple. That’s not a toy.”
She bleats defiantly through the fabric, then takes off running around, my scarf fluttering behind her like a victory flag.
“Great,” I mutter. “What’s next, my underwear?”
Liam’s eyebrows shoot up, and I feel heat crawl up my neck.
“I mean—” I stammer, heart hammering against my ribs.
Why can’t I just think before I speak around this man?
“Actually,” Liam interrupts mercifully, “I could use your help with something, if you’ve got time,” he says, putting down his hammer. “Some of the string lights came undone in the corn maze. Need to nail them back up.”
“Sure, I’d be happy to help.”
He nods, gathering his tools.
I manage to retrieve my scarf after a brief wrestling match that leaves me a little breathless and Maple looking entirely too pleased with herself.
Liam retrieves a small step ladder from a nearby shed, and we make our way to the corn maze, Maple trotting alongside us like she’s been invited to a very important meeting.
I follow him through the twisting paths of corn stalks, towering walls on either side of us. The path is littered with leaves that crunch beneath our boots as we walk. The maze is impressive, tall enough that you can’t see over the top, with twists and turns that would genuinely challenge visitors.
“Did you design this?” I ask, trying not to notice how the path forces us to walk closer together.
“Theo did the layout,” Liam replies. “I just helped build it.”
We turn a corner, and I see the problem immediately. A string of lights has come loose from the top of the wooden beams, dangling across the path.
“You can stand here,” Liam says, positioning the step ladder beneath the drooping lights. Just hold the strand up while I nail them back.”
I eye the three-step ladder dubiously. The double dose of suppressants has left me slightly dizzy, but it’s not too high.
I should be fine.