11. Cass #2
Besides, it’s my turn to make dinner, and the fridge is a sad, empty shell.
I need to hit the store before I can even think about feeding my pack.
I promised Blake waffles for dinner, literally the only thing I know how to make and I know he’d be crushed if I didn’t come through.
Disappointing that little man is the last thing I want to do.
Honestly though, pouring a stiff drink and listening to his ramblings is exactly what I need. I want to pretend today didn’t happen and shove the memory of Sterling’s scent, her smile, her laughter and the way she reacted to Quinn’s hand on her back into the deepest part of my brain.
Cleaning up the boat doesn’t take long. Soon, I’m heading into town and end up at Sundance Market, a small co-op tucked just off the main square.
The scent of fresh bread and roasted coffee greets me before I even step inside, blending with the faint, earthy undertone of bulk grains and dried herbs.
Sundance is the kind of store that shouldn’t thrive in a coastal town this small. But it does. It’s full of all natural foods, organic produce, shelves stocked with handmade soaps and locally sourced honey.
And, more importantly, they sell Blake’s favorite whipped cream.
Which we’re out of.
I grab a basket and step inside, the overhead lights casting a warm glow over the rows of wooden shelves, the gentle hum of conversation mixing with the distant sound of coffee beans being ground.
I’m barely a minute into the store, scanning the refrigerated section, when I smell the now familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla.
She’s here.
A pulse of something tight and unwanted settles low in my gut.
I start to lower the basket, fully intending to vacate the store as fast as possible. But the mere thought of seeing her sets off all my dopamine receptors like a goddamn fireworks show. It wouldn’t hurt to just catch a glimpse of her, right? Just a look. Nothing more.
I find myself glancing down the aisles, peeking around corners like an amateur spy. I probably look absolutely ridiculous, but I can’t bring myself to care.
I do a quick loop through the home supplies section, pretending to browse, then make my way over to the bulk foods. My eyes skim past rows of grains and spice and woven produce baskets, past wooden crates stacked with fresh fruit. And then—I see her.
She’s standing in the produce section, her fingers skimming over the apples, picking one up and turning it from side to side before setting it back down, her brows pinched in consideration as she meticulously examines the apples, choosing only the best ones.
She hasn’t noticed me yet. I should leave.
I don’t.
Instead, I start walking toward her, my steps slow, deliberate.
She’s standing there, oblivious. Pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Shifting her weight, fidgeting, her focus somewhere else. Completely unaware.
Until some dumbass backs into her. Not on purpose. But my Alpha instincts don’t give a shit about crowded stores or accidental bumps.
The growl tears up my throat before I can stop it. A low rumble full possessive warning. Not a polite, “maybe you should watch where you’re going” kind of sound.
No. It vibrates through my chest, cuts through the noise of the store and leaves no room for misinterpretation.
Back. The. Fuck. Off.
The guy freezes mid-step, his eyes going wide, throat bobbing as he snaps his gaze to mine. He doesn’t even try to apologize. Instead, he stumbles backward in a full-on retreat, tripping over his own shopping cart.
It lurches sideways, slamming into a nearby display of oranges, which spill out and go bouncing in every direction—bright little explosions of chaos rolling across the floor as he scrambles away.
Good. Serves him right. Maybe next time he’ll be more careful about where he’s going.
Sterling is just staring at me, those storm-gray eyes wide with shock, and looking really, really pissed off. Because the possessive energy pouring off me like a flood is not rational or normal.
Great. Now I look like a total psychopath.
And all I can think, as her scent wraps around me is— She’s got to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“You?” She blinks, confused. “What in the actual hell was that?”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
I just stare at her, my pulse hammering, chest heaving, my body too fucking wired.
“That was unnecessary,” she huffs, grabbing a bag of apples and tossing them into her cart, no longer concerned with finding the best one.
“He bumped into you.”
“So? It’s a grocery store.”
“Didn’t like it.”
She narrows her eyes. “You didn’t like it?”
I grind my teeth together. “No.”
She sighs, clearly frustrated, her hands gesturing wildly as if trying to pluck the right words from the air. “You can’t just growl at people every time they do something you don’t like. That’s…that’s, I don’t even know what to call it. But you can’t do that.”
“I can try.”
She lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Are you serious?”
I don’t say anything. Because I am. I am completely serious.
“Why are you here?” she asks, but I ignore the question.
“You done?” I ask, nodding toward her cart.
She eyes me suspiciously. “Yes, why?”
“Then I’ll walk you home.”
Her brows lift. She crosses her arms over her chest, frustration rolling off her in waves.
“I don’t think so. I can walk myself home.” Her tone is sharp, clipped, like she’s daring me to challenge her.
I do.
“Not alone.”
She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “You do realize I’ve been living in this town for weeks now and haven’t been kidnapped, mugged, or anything else nefarious, right?”
I cross my arms, planting my feet, my stance solid as stone. “That was before.”
Her eyes narrow, her frustration practically sparking off her.
“Before?” she repeats, voice rising, exasperation clear.
“What does that even mean? Before what? Before I fell in the ocean? Before you berated me in front of my students and their parents? Before you growled at an innocent bystander in the middle of the damn grocery store? Before?—”
I step closer, cutting her off with my presence more than my words.
“Before you walked onto my boat…” My voice drops low, rough with the effort it takes to keep my Alpha instincts in check.
I look down at her upturned face, her cheeks flushed pink—my new favorite color. Her plump lips are slightly parted, frustration etched into every soft line of her expression. Those perfectly winged eyebrows drawn down in anger, making her look fierce and sweet all at once.
“Just before,” I say, the words coming out thick, weighted, because all I want to do right now is throw her over my shoulder and carry her away. Make sure everyone knows Sterling Hart is mine to protect. Mine to keep safe. Just mine.
“Just let me walk you home, Sterling. I don't think my alpha will be able to not follow you anyways.” The words come out strained, almost pleading.
Her mouth snaps shut, lips pressing into a thin line. Those storm-gray eyes study me like I’m a puzzle she’s desperate to solve but doesn’t quite trust. Her eyebrows pinch together again, a little frown creasing her forehead.
She stares up at me, an unreadable thought flickering behind those storm-gray eyes.
There's a nervous, skittish edge to her, like she’s one wrong word away from bolting.
And it makes my hands itch to touch her, to hold her, to make sure she’s really okay.
To settle whatever’s making her feel like she needs to be anywhere but right here with me. Even though I know I’m to blame.
Then—a long exhale. Her shoulders drop just slightly, like she’s made some internal decision.
“Fine,” she mutters, turning away.
The victory settles deep in my bones—a slow, simmering burn of satisfaction I can’t quite hide. The reluctant, hastily muttered “fine,” that slipped from her lips made my own curve into a smile before I could stop it. Something about the way she says it, all frustrated and exasperated, is so cute.
And when Sterling catches that smile, her eyes widen, surprise flickering across her face. Like she wasn’t expecting me to actually enjoy her stubbornness. Like she thought I’d be annoyed by it instead of…whatever the hell this is.
As she turns and walks ahead to check out and pay for her groceries, my gaze drops, helplessly drawn to the sway of her hips, the curve of her legs, the way her clothes cling to her. A gift wrapped in denim and cotton.
It’s almost embarrassing how much pleasure I take in this small victory. But I can’t help it. I quickly grab the few things I need and I join her outside.
“Ready?”
“You’re an ass,” she says and rolls her eyes but leads the way down the street. And I don't miss the half-smile she tries to hide. If I had any damn sense, I’d let her walk away, keep my distance, refortify my defenses.
But no one has ever accused me of being too smart.