22. Sterling
STERLING
I can’t stop thinking about it.
“…we’d like to offer ourselves for your heat. No strings or expectations.”
That sentence’s been looping in my head like a song I can’t turn off. Over and over again.
I grew up with all the strings. And every expectation.
I watched my mom and my aunt get whittled down, piece by piece, until they believed that being good meant being quiet. Being small. Being useful in one very specific way—making babies. Staying compliant. Never asking for more.
I remember how my aunt was after a heat. How she’d go hollow for a week, barely speaking, barely present. And when my mom was pulled into the same dynamic, she disappeared in her own way, too.
I can still taste the bitterness in my mouth every time I think about how they tried to barter me off to a pack just like theirs. A “good match,” they said. A “safe future.” And went behind my back to try and trick me into the pairing.
No one ever asked what I wanted.
And yet…the way Quinn said it—so calm, so sincere—like offering their pack to me was just normal. Natural. Because whatever this thing is with Pack Redgrave…it already feels like the opposite of what I grew up with.
No strings. No expectations.
It should’ve terrified me. But instead, it’s all I can think about.
By the time I leave the house, I’m a ball of nervous energy, so I decide to walk instead of drive. The cool bite of October air feels good in my lungs, grounding me, slicing through the haze of heat and confusion that’s been clinging to me since the moment they offered.
I can’t believe this morning marks two months since I’ve been in this town.
Twilight Harbor in the fall is obnoxiously charming—gold and crimson leaves scattered across cobblestone sidewalks, porch pumpkins lined up like parade floats, the scent of salt air and woodsmoke curling around me like a blanket.
It can be summer warm or winter cool all on the same day. I pull my sweater tighter and walk quickly, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of my thoughts.
No strings. No expectations. I repeat it all the way down Main Street, mouthing the words and imagining what it would be like to actually accept.
Could I really let Pack Redgrave in? Let them share one of the most intimate firsts I’ll ever have?
The thought makes my stomach flip—equal parts nerves and desire.
At the end of the street sits Dizzy D’s, a small, dark blue Victorian storefront with curling white trim and a wide front window that fogs up when the ovens are going full blast. Dizzy D’s is elegantly written on the big window in gold leaf.
Above the front entry is a stately blue and white striped awning.
The hand-painted sign above the door reads Dizzy D’s Pizza Shack , though they’ve been expanding into the realm of breakfast and coffee—so the sandwich board out front says “The Great Pumpkin is in! Yes, we’re serious.”
I pause just outside the door, hand on the handle, still chewing on the phrase like it’s going to change if I turn it over one more time. We’d like to offer ourselves for your heat. No strings. No expectations.
Anticipation tingles all over my skin.
When I open the door, a little bell chimes like an English bookshop and the scent of fresh coffee wraps around me like a warm hug.
The glass cases are empty now but by lunch will have four or five pizzas in them. The smell of coffee and biscuits is everywhere and the warm glow of string lights makes everything feel cozy, safe, and homey.
The old building is gorgeous. Old pine floors and twelve feet tall brick walls. Wavy glass windows and shelves filled with local goods.
There are several sitting areas scattered throughout the café—comfortable leather sofas, mismatched but perfectly curated vintage chairs, and a few long, family-style tables with benches where you can sit, eat, and hang out, elbow to elbow with your neighbors.
I fell in love with this place the first time I walked in and met Daisy. Since then, I’ve spent many Saturday mornings here—coffee in hand, planning materials spread out around me, pretending to be productive while soaking in the cozy chaos.
So when Daisy offered free breakfast if I could drag myself out of bed early and come meet her and the girls, I didn’t even hesitate.
Because if anything could distract me from the storm in my head, it’s this place.
And a table full of Omegas who might actually be friends.
I’ve always been shit at asking for help—at letting people in—but maybe now’s a good time to start. Or at least try.
I feel anything but normal.
I’m still upside down from last night’s dinner.
From the weight of Quinn’s low, steady voice telling me exactly what they wanted to offer.
From the way all of them looked at me like I was something precious—like I mattered.
I said I’d think about it—voice all shaky, heart pounding—and then spent the rest of the night bouncing between pretending it hadn’t happened at all…and imagining babies, bondings, and forever.
I’ve tried to ignore the way my stomach flips when I imagine what it would feel like—to be courted. To be wanted. I didn’t even know that was something that packs still did.
Despite everything—every excuse, every wall I’ve built—I can’t stop thinking about it.
I spot Daisy at a corner booth, her curly blonde hair bouncing as she waves me over. Gentry and Lily are already there, coffee cups in hand, watching me way too closely. Gentry picks at a piece of pie as I walk over to them.
I slide into the booth, pulling off my coat, but before I can even say hello:
“Soooo.” Daisy’s eyes gleam with pure mischief. “Tell us everything.”
“Everything?” I echo, faking innocence, knowing as soon as I hear the tone of her voice that this is an ambush.
Gentry smirks. “Oh, you know exactly what she means.” And that they are all in on it. But I don’t care…it actually makes a small place in my heart melt.
Lily leans forward, eyes full of curiosity. “The Alphas, honey. Pack Redgrave. Spill.”
I exhale dramatically, grabbing my coffee and taking a long, scalding sip, hoping maybe it’ll burn away the heat creeping up my neck.
“There’s nothing to spill,” I blurt, far too quickly to sound even remotely believable.
Daisy hums, tilting her head with that knowing smirk that makes it clear she’s already calling my bluff.
“Mm-hmm. That’s cute. But after I tortured my brother this morning into telling me why he’s been such a Grade A prick lately”—she pauses for dramatic effect—“ he and Quinn told me something very interesting, so I’m gonna go ahead and say I don’t believe you. ”
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “You what?”
She grins like the cat who just got into the cream. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I’ve got dirt on all three of them. They can’t hide from me. But Quinn’s the easiest to break. A couple questions, a plate of biscuits, and boom—loose lips and blushing ears.”
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. This girl, I think. I’m going to have to remember that.
“What did he tell you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
Daisy just grins, all smug Omega mischief. “Oh, nothing too scandalous. Just a little something about a certain dinner invitation. And an offer. Something about…courting you?” She sips her tea like she didn’t just drop a bomb in the middle of the conversation.
My face goes up in flames. “He did not?—”
“So,” she cuts in, leaning forward with that same gleam in her eye, “I just wanted to know when exactly are you moving into their pack house?”
I choke on my coffee.
Lily laughs outright, and Gentry grins behind the rim of her mug.
“I’m not—” I shake my head, setting my coffee down. “I have no idea where you’re getting that from. It was just dinner.”
“Sure,” Daisy says, sipping her coffee with a smirk. “I’m going to wager you’re about…one month away from being completely, hopelessly bonded.”
“Absolutely not,” I say firmly, shaking my head.
“Uh-huh,” Gentry drawls, exchanging a knowing look with Lily over the rim of her mug. “Sweetheart, if those Alphas have their sights on you, you’ll be mated before spring.”
I glare at them, trying not to squirm under the attention. “That is never going to happen. Not to me.”
“That’s what they all say,” Daisy sing-songs, far too delighted by my horror.
“Alright,” she continues brightly, slapping her hands on the table like we’re jumping into a meeting. “So first, the real question—what kind of cake do you want at your wedding?”
That does it. The table erupts in laughter. Even I can’t help but let out a strangled, disbelieving laugh as I bury my burning face in my hands.
“I hate all of you,” I mumble through my fingers.
“You love us,” Lily says sweetly, patting my back.
“I tolerate you. Barely.”
“Sure, sure.” Daisy grins. “Just wait until we’re helping you pick out your mating ceremony dress. You’ll be begging for our opinions.”
“Over my dead body.”
More laughter.
God help me, I love it. I haven’t felt this…accepted in a long, long time.
I’m about to launch into a debate-team-worthy argument—complete with bullet points and dramatic hand gestures—when the little bell above the door jingles, and a gust of cold autumn air sweeps through the space.
I don’t have to turn around to know who it is.
And now I’m about a thousand percent sure this wasn’t just a setup, it was a full-scale secret ops situation..
“Miss Hart!” Blake’s voice rings out, bright and excited, and I glance up.
And look straight at Cass walking through the door. Blake is in his arms, Quinn and JP flanking him, all three of them looking like a walking fever dream in fall colors.
They freeze when they see me trying very hard to be natural, and I pretend they weren’t expecting me here, either.
But as my eyes slide to Daisy and the rest of the Omegas at the table…they’re all trying too little hard to look innocent and hide their grins.
One beat passes. Then another.
And suddenly the entire table erupts into laughter.
I narrow my eyes and nudge Daisy with my elbow. “Free breakfast, huh?”