Chapter 7
CINDY
H arper’s car smells like pumpkin spice coffee and the vanilla air freshener she bought in bulk, which basically captures her entire personality—caffeinated and extra.
We’re driving through Whispering Grove’s streets mid-morning, the Halloween decorations looking slightly disheveled in daylight, like they partied too hard and have regrets.
“So Jeff and I are done,” Harper announces, taking a corner sharp enough that the cases of seasonal beer in the back shift and clink ominously.
“Oh no! What happened?” I grab the door handle as she narrowly misses a plastic skeleton that migrated into the road overnight. “Wait, is this another one of those ‘we’re taking a break but we’ll make up next week’ situations?”
“Nah, this is it. Series finale. No renewal, no spin-off, not even a reunion special.” She adjusts her purple-tinted sunglasses even though it’s cloudy.
“After I dropped you off the other night, I caught up with him and told him I was going back to check on you, make sure you were okay after the whole Van situation. He got all pissy, said I was being dramatic and overprotective.”
“But you are dramatic and overprotective. It’s part of your charm.”
“Exactly! But apparently when those Alphas circled you like protective wolves, that was fine. When I want to make sure my best friend doesn’t get kidnapped by her psycho ex, suddenly I’m too involved.”
“Oh, Harper, I’m sorry you fought about me?—”
“Don’t you dare apologize. It just showed his true colors. We argued for, like, three hours. I may have used the phrase emotionally stunted walrus at one point.”
“Walrus?”
“I was going for manatee but walrus came out. Anyway, after our fight, I drove to your place, but you must have been completely unconscious. Knocked for five minutes, nothing.”
“You could have used your spare key?—”
“But then I thought, what if Van shows up? What if he tries something? So I stayed in my car outside your place. You know, casual surveillance. Very normal Friday night activity. I had snacks and everything.”
I nearly choke on air. “Are you serious? You slept in your car, watching my place? Harper, that’s?—”
“What best friends do. Plus, no one really notices what us Betas do. Anyway, I’m pretty sure your hot bikers were doing the same thing from a different angle. We probably could have carpooled, saved gas.”
I lean over to hug her while she’s driving, which results in us swerving toward a mailbox decorated to look like a monster’s mouth. She swings away at the last minute, both of us jostling about.
I blink at her. “Wait—are you sure they were watching my place? Like… is that protective or creepy?”
She lifts a brow. “Depends. Do you want it to be creepy?”
“Nope.”
“Then it’s protective,” she says, grinning. “You’ve got angels watching over you.”
I snort. “More like devils in leather jackets and very confusing halos.”
Harper pats my thigh. “Then lucky you.”
I slide my arm back around her and squeeze tight. “Yeah. Lucky me.”
“Okay, no emotional assault while I’m operating a vehicle!” Harper laughs, straightening the wheel. “Save the feelings for when we’re parked, or we’ll end up as actual Halloween decorations.”
The sun breaks through the clouds as we drive through downtown, and I realize Harper isn’t taking our usual route to the brewery.
“Uh, Harp? The brewery is back that way.”
“I know.”
“So where are we?—”
She pulls into an alley, and my stomach drops as I spot the name on the building. “Harper. No.”
“Harper, yes.”
“This is Savor. The restaurant. Their restaurant.”
“Oh my God, really? I had no idea!” She parks, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “What a crazy coincidence! We have an order from them.”
“You brought me here and didn’t tell me!”
“How else was I going to get you to talk to them about your mom situation? You certainly weren’t going to do it yourself.”
“You’re evil. Pure evil.”
“I prefer ‘proactive best friend.’ Now grab a case. We’re already late for delivery.”
The back door of Savor is propped open, and the smell that wafts out and through Harper’s open window should probably be classified as a controlled substance. Fresh bread, herbs, and something savory that makes my mouth water instantly.
“Delivery for the fancy-pants establishment!” Harper calls out cheerfully.
Holt appears in the doorway, and my brain temporarily shorts out.
He’s… a lot. Six feet, five inches of pure muscle wrapped in dark jeans that fit perfectly and a black T-shirt that clings to his chest in ways that should require a warning label.
His short black hair is slightly damp, as if he just showered, with the front pieces falling across his forehead.
When he moves to help with the cases, every motion is on purpose.
“Morning, ladies,” he says, and that voice, deep and rumbling like distant thunder, has my knees considering filing for early retirement.
“Morning yourself, Tall, Dark, and Intimidating,” Harper replies cheerfully, popping the trunk. “Got your beer order plus some extras Arrow requested. Something about pairing them with his new autumn menu.”
I get out of the car and join them, my cheeks already on fire.
Holt lifts two cases at once, and I definitely don’t stare at how his forearms flex, the veins standing out against his skin. He catches me looking, and one corner of his mouth lifts slightly, not quite a smile but acknowledgment that he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Need help?” he asks, and I realize I’ve been standing there holding a single six-pack like it’s a lifeline.
“I’m good! Totally good. Just, you know, admiring the… alley. Great alley. Very… alley-like.”
Harper snorts. “Smooth.”
We’re unloading cases, creating a rhythm, with Harper chattering about beer varieties, Holt moving quickly, and me trying not to trip over my own feet every time he gets close enough that I inhale his scent, which drives me crazy with need.
Harper catches my eye and makes an exaggerated gesture toward Holt, mouthing, “ASK HIM.”
When I shake my head, she rolls her eyes dramatically.
“So,” Harper says loudly. “Cindy might need some help. Boyfriend help. The fake kind. For Saturday. With her mother. Who’s visiting. Saturday. Did I mention Saturday?”
Holt pauses mid-lift, those amber eyes focusing on me with an intensity that leaves me forgetting my own name.
“Keep talking,” he says simply, not appearing put off.
“How about,” Harper says with fake brightness, “you and Cindy discuss the details while I finish organizing these cases? I’m suddenly very passionate about proper beer storage temperature.”
Before I can grab her and force her to stay as my social buffer, Arrow appears in the doorway like some kind of culinary summoning. And my heart is racing faster.
He’s wearing a chef’s coat that should look professional but somehow appears rebellious on him, probably because he’s added Halloween pins all over it and what appears to be “Kiss the Cook or I’ll Poison Your Food” written in fake blood across the chest. His dark blond hair is pulled back, over his shoulders, revealing the sharp angles of his face, those brown eyes that look like he’s planning something delightfully chaotic.
How can these men be so deliciously handsome?
“You came!” He beams at me, and the transformation of his face from brooding chef to excited puppy is jarring. I’m flushing all over at his stare. “And not just for delivery! This is perfect. You have to let me cook for you.”
“Oh, no, it’s really okay. We should probably get back to?—”
“I insist. Both of you. When was the last time you had a proper brunch? And I don’t mean that sad bowl-of-cereal-standing-over-the-sink situation.”
“How? What?”
“Holt, take her inside. Show her around. Harper and I will finish here.”
Harper winks at me. “Go. I’ll be right behind you. Arrow can tell me about his seasonal menu while we organize.”
“Traitor,” I mutter.
She chuckles.
Holt gestures toward the door, and I follow him through the kitchen, where stations are set up and perfectly organized, ingredients grouped, pots bubbling, and something sizzling that smells like heaven decided to become food.
“Tim,” Holt says to a younger man chopping vegetables with frightening speed, “we’ll be at table six.”
“Got it, boss,” Tim replies without looking up.
The main dining area leaves me gasping. It’s incredible. The black steel beams overhead, the morning light streaming through windows, making everything glow warmly despite the industrial edges. The art on the walls that seems less ominous and more passionate.
“This is amazing,” I say, running my hand along one of the live-edge tables, feeling the grain of the wood. “It’s like… original and a bit dark and inviting. Like it could hug you or stab you and you’d thank it either way.”
Holt actually chuckles, a low sound that I love hearing. “That’s pretty close to what Arrow was going for. His words were ‘approachable intimidation.’?”
We slide into a booth, and immediately our feet bump under the table. Instead of pulling away like normal people would, he just adjusts so our ankles are touching.
“So,” he says, those intense eyes focused entirely on me. “Tell me what you need?”
“That’s a very open-ended question.”
“Start with the mother situation.”
“Right. That. Okay, so…” I take a breath, trying to organize my thoughts. “My mother is coming to visit, and, well, until she called, I hadn’t spoken to her in almost two years. Not since I ran away…”
“From Van.”
“From Van, my family, an entire life they had planned out for me.” My fingers find a groove in the table’s surface, tracing it nervously.
“I was supposed to marry him. It was all arranged. My parents owed his family money. And I was the solution. Marry me off to their son, debt cleared, everyone’s happy except the person being traded like a baseball card. ”
Holt’s jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.