Chapter 7
Silas
My first attempt at getting closer to Sable Wynn happened three days after the coffee shop meeting, and it went about as well as a medical call where the patient insists they’re fine while actively bleeding out.
I’d thought about it carefully. Hadn’t wanted to come on too strong or make her uncomfortable.
Just a simple gesture. Coffee. The right kind of coffee, because I’d been paying attention during our brief conversations and I’d noticed she always ordered tea at The Brew instead of their usual coffee drinks.
So I’d asked Sarah, casually, what Sable usually ordered. Sarah had given me a knowing look but had answered: oat milk latte, two sugars, but only when they had oat milk in stock. Otherwise she always went with black, two sugars.
Perfect. Simple. A thoughtful gesture from someone who’d noticed a small detail.
I showed up at the emergency services office at nine in the morning with two oat milk lattes, figuring I could claim I’d gotten one for myself and thought she might want one too.
“Morning, Coordinator Wynn,” I said, walking into her office with what I hoped was a casual, friendly smile.
She looked up from her desk, where she’d been elbow-deep in paperwork, and her expression immediately went wary. “Silas. Is there an emergency?”
“No emergency. Just thought you might want coffee.” I set one of the cups on her desk. “Oat milk, two sugars. Noticed you usually get tea because the coffee shop runs out of oat milk, so I figured I’d save you the disappointment.”
She stared at the cup like I’d just placed a live grenade on her desk. “You brought me coffee.”
“Is that... bad?”
“Why?”
“Because I was getting myself one and thought you might want one too?” It sounded weak even to my own ears.
“Silas.” She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms. “What’s happening here?”
“Coffee. Coffee is happening. Very simple. Very innocent coffee.”
“Right.” But she didn’t look convinced. Still, after a long moment, she picked up the cup and took a careful sip. Her scent softened slightly, and I felt my sensitivity pick up on surprise and pleasure before she locked it down again. “Thank you. It’s good.”
“You’re welcome.” I backed toward the door, sensing I’d used up whatever goodwill I’d earned. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
I made it halfway down the hallway before I realized that Beau was coming from the other direction, also carrying a coffee cup.
We both stopped.
“Please tell me that’s not for her,” I said.
“I bring her coffee sometimes,” Beau said carefully. “It’s not a thing.”
“I literally just brought her coffee.”
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“The group text. That we started specifically so this wouldn’t happen.”
Beau had the grace to look sheepish. “I didn’t think to check it. It’s just coffee.”
“That’s what I said. And now she’s going to think we coordinated this.”
“Did we?”
“No! That’s the problem!”
We stood there in the hallway, both holding coffee cups, both realizing that we’d just made everything weird.
“We need better communication protocols,” Beau said finally.
“We need common sense,” I countered. “And maybe a shared calendar. Or smoke signals. Something.”
Beau pulled out his phone and typed into the group text: Just tried to bring Wynn coffee. Vance beat me to it. We need better coordination.
My phone buzzed with Dane’s response almost immediately: I was planning to drop off updated protocols this afternoon. Should I not?
I typed back quickly: How about we all give her some space for the rest of the day? Regroup tomorrow?
Beau’s message followed: Agreed.
Dane’s came last: Copy that.
“This is going well,” I said, pocketing my phone.
“We’ve known about her for less than a week and we’re already a disaster,” Beau agreed. “That has to be some kind of record.”
Despite the awkwardness, I found myself grinning. “At least we’re a coordinated disaster now.”
The next few days settled into a weird rhythm.
We actually used the group text, which helped.
Beau brought coffee on Monday and Wednesday mornings.
I saved lunch spots when I knew Sable was working through meals, texting her recommendations without pushing her to actually meet up.
Dane made himself available for tactical consultations without hovering.
We were present without being pushy. Helpful without being overbearing.
Or at least, that’s what we thought we were doing.
Turns out, we were still being weird.
I was restocking the ambulance five days after the coffee shop meeting when my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
This is Sable Wynn. We need to talk. The Brew. Tonight at 7. Don’t bring the others.
I stared at the message, my sensitivity immediately picking up on my own spike of anxiety. This could go one of two ways: either she was about to tell me to back off, or she was giving me a chance to explain.
I hoped it was the latter.
I texted back: I’ll be there.
The Brew was quieter in the evening, the after-work crowd having mostly cleared out. I arrived at 6:55 and claimed a table near the back, giving us privacy without making it feel like we were hiding.
Sable walked in at exactly seven, because of course she did. Punctuality was probably programmed into her DNA along with the ability to run tactical scenarios in her sleep.
She spotted me immediately and made her way over, her expression carefully neutral.
“Silas.” She sat down across from me without waiting for an invitation.
“Should I get you coffee, or will that make things worse?”
A tiny smile threatened the corner of her mouth. “You can get me coffee. Just acknowledge that you’re getting it because I want it, not because you think I need taking care of.”
“Deal.” I stood and went to order, coming back with two oat milk lattes. “Oat milk, two sugars. Ordered because you indicated you wanted coffee, not because I think you’re incapable of hydrating yourself.”
That smile broke through properly this time. “You’re ridiculous.”
“It’s one of my better qualities.” I sat down and waited, letting her take the lead.
She was quiet for a moment, studying me with those dark amber eyes that seemed to see more than I wanted them to. “What’s happening here?” she asked finally. “You, Beau, Dane. All of you suddenly being... present. It’s coordinated. Don’t tell me it’s not.”
“It’s not coordinated,” I said honestly. “If it were coordinated, we wouldn’t have all shown up with coffee on the same morning. That was just three idiots who didn’t communicate properly.”
“So you’re communicating now?”
“Trying to. We have a group text and everything. Very official.” I took a sip of my coffee.
“Look, I’m going to be honest with you because I’m terrible at lying and you’d see through it anyway.
We’re all interested. All three of us. And we met to make sure we weren’t going to turn your life into some territorial alpha nightmare. ”
Her expression went carefully blank. “I’m not interested in being fought over.”
“We’re not fighting. That’s the point. We talked, we agreed we’re not going to compete or make things weird, and we’re all just... seeing if there’s potential for friendship. That’s it. No pressure. No expectations.”
“All three of you?” She raised an eyebrow. “Just coincidentally interested at the same time?”
“I know how it sounds. But yeah. All three of us noticed you. And instead of being idiots about it, we decided to be adults. Communicate. Not step on each other’s toes. Let you make your own choices without feeling pressured by any of us.”
She was quiet for a long moment, and I forced myself not to fill the silence with nervous chatter. My sensitivity was picking up on her emotions. Surprise, suspicion, and underneath it all, something that might have been cautious interest.
“I’m not easy,” she said finally. “I’m difficult. I question everything. I don’t do submission well. I’ve been told I’m more alpha than omega, and the person who told me that rejected me at our bonding ceremony in front of two hundred people.”
The words landed like confessions, and I felt my protective instincts surge. But I kept my voice calm and steady. “Then he was an idiot who didn’t deserve you.”
“You don’t know me well enough to make that assessment.”
“I know you well enough to know that anyone who wants you to be less of who you are isn’t worth your time.
” I leaned forward slightly. “Sable, none of us are asking you to be anything other than exactly who you are. We’re just asking if we can get to know you better.
As friends. No ulterior motives. No hidden agendas.
Just three people who think you’re interesting and would like to spend time around you. ”
“Why?” she asked bluntly. “Why do you care?”
Because your scent makes my sensitivity sing. Because you’re the first person in two years who’s made me want to stop hiding behind humor. Because being around you feels like coming home to a place I’ve never been.
But I couldn’t say any of that. Not yet.
“Because I think you’re lonely,” I said instead. “And I know I’m lonely. And maybe lonely people should stick together. No pressure. No ulterior motives. Just... company.”
She studied me for so long I thought she was going to tell me to leave her alone. Then, finally, she picked up her coffee and took a sip. “One conversation. If you or your friends try to help me or fix me or protect me, I’m done.”
“Deal.” I raised my mug. “To friendship. Complicated, messy, absolutely-no-ulterior-motives friendship.”
She clinked her mug against mine, though she still looked skeptical. “And you three really have a group text to coordinate?”
“We do. Very tactical. Dane wanted code names but Beau vetoed.”
She laughed. Actually laughed, and the sound hit me harder than I’d expected. “You three are ridiculous.”
“Probably. But we’re sincere about being ridiculous, which has to count for something.”
We spent the next hour talking. Not about feelings or attraction or any of the complicated things simmering underneath. Just work. Terrible calls. Bureaucratic nightmares. The way small-town emergency services were held together with duct tape and stubborn people who cared too much.
She told me about the time she’d coordinated a response to a wildfire that turned out to be someone’s very aggressive barbecue. I told her about the patient who’d called 911 because their cat was “looking at them funny” and actually turned out to be having a stroke themselves.
It was easy. Comfortable. The kind of conversation that happened between people who understood each other’s work.
When she finally checked her watch and stood to leave, she was smiling.
“Same time next week?” I found myself asking.
She hesitated, then nodded. “Same time. But if you coordinate with your alpha club about it, I’m canceling.”
“No coordination. I promise. Just you and me and terrible emergency response stories.”
“Deal.”
She left, and I sat there for a few more minutes, nursing the last of my coffee and thinking about the way her laugh had sounded. Genuine. Surprised. Like maybe she hadn’t expected to enjoy herself.
I pulled out my phone and sent a message to the group text: Update: Had coffee with Wynn. It went well. She knows about our coordination and thinks we’re ridiculous. But she’s giving us a chance. Don’t screw this up.
Beau’s response came first: Noted. Good work.
Dane’s followed: Rules of engagement?
I typed back: You’re ridiculous. But, be genuine. Be patient. Don’t crowd her. She’ll let us know if she wants more.
And then, because I couldn’t help myself: And for the love of everything, check the group text before you bring her coffee.
Beau’s response was a single word: Noted.
I drove home through streets lined with autumn colors, my mind on dark amber eyes and the sound of laughter that felt like victory.
This was still a terrible idea. Three alphas coordinating their interest in one omega who’d made it very clear she valued her independence.
But it was also the first thing that had felt right in a long time.
And if Sable was willing to give us a chance at friendship, that was more than I’d expected and exactly what we needed.
Sometimes the best way forward was the simplest. And in this case it was just show up, be honest, and let the rest figure itself out.