16. Ash
16
ASH
J ake and Rowan step out just as I reach the shop, the door swinging open behind them. The scent of Alphas and sweat clings to them, thick, unmistakable.
Jake stretches, cracking his neck like he just rolled out of bed. “Yo.”
Rowan glances up, raking a hand through his messy hair before nodding at me.
That’s all they give me before walking off like they didn’t just?—
Yeah. Not my business.
I step inside.
The place is warm, packed with flowers in every corner, the air thick with jasmine, lavender, and fresh earth. There are shelves lined with potted plants, vines hanging low from wooden beams.
There’s something chaotic but intentional about it, like she’s built this whole damn place to be a little wild.
And then there’s her.
She’s standing behind the counter, jumpsuit buttoned up all wrong, hair a mess, lips swollen, skin flushed.
She smells like them. Like sex. They ruffled her up pretty good.
She’s their Omega.
Did they both fuck her? I bet her cunt is so swollen right now … No. I shake the thought away.
It shouldn’t do anything to me. But my cock stirs.
Her fingers twitch at her sides like she’s deciding whether to fix herself or pretend nothing’s out of place. She goes with the second option. “Hey.”
I drag my gaze up to her face. “Bad time?”
She exhales sharply, then shakes her head. “No. Just... I’m so sorry, but I kinda forgot you were coming.”
I smirk. “I can come by tomorrow.”
She waves me off. “Nah, I don’t mind. Where are you staying, anyway?”
I tell her the inn’s name.
She actually gasps. “Oh, hell no. We gotta get you out of there.”
I huff a laugh. “That bad?”
“Worse. Mold in the bathrooms, bedbugs in the sheets, and some guy named Lenny who will one-hundred percent try to sell you ‘vintage’ watches out of his trunk.”
“Sounds like a five-star experience, but I have to admit, I am yet to meet this legendary Lenny.”
She tilts her head. “I know better places. We can check ’em out.”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“It’s not,” she says, then glances down at herself, finally noticing the disaster she’s wearing. “If you don’t mind waiting while I get ready, we can go.”
I lean on the counter. “Who are you leaving in charge?”
“Nobody. Only had one major customer today so I can close shop until tomorrow.”
I scan the place. “What qualifies as ‘major’?”
“Old lady who buys up half my shop every other week.” She flicks her gaze back to me. “You want tea while you wait?”
“What kind you got?”
“Jasmine and chamomile.”
“Jasmine.”
She moves behind the counter, reaching for a tin, but I don’t miss the way her fingers fumble slightly as she scoops the leaves into a strainer.
“You good?”
She exhales through her nose. “Yeah. Just residual...” She waves a hand vaguely. “You know, energy and all that.”
I do. Too well.
The tea’s ready in a few minutes. She hands it over, watching me take the first sip.
“Good?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“All right. Gimme ten.”
She disappears into the back, leaving me in the middle of her jungle of a shop.
I pull out my phone, checking my reflection in the front camera. Black hair, blue eyes, the same sharp features I’ve seen my whole damn life.
But standing here, with the scent of her pack still clinging to the air, I can’t help comparing myself to them.
They’re not me.
And yet?—
I shut off the screen.
Ten minutes later, she’s back. Clean clothes, lips glossy, hair smoothed into something intentional. The scent of the others is still there, but it’s faint now.
She lifts a brow. “Ready?”
I push off the counter. “Where are we going? If you kill me, I’m gonna be real pissed.”
She grins. “Relax. Three properties. All vacant, all move-in ready. We’ll check them out.”
I grab my jacket. “Lead the way.”
And just like that, we step out, the scent of flowers and sex still hanging in the air behind us.
Grace’s car is a mess. Not like, trash-piled-to-the-ceiling messy, but enough to know she spends alot of time in here.
There are receipts, a hoodie tossed in the back, a half-empty water bottle rolling around when she turns the wheel.
It smells like vanilla, coffee, and something faintly floral.
“I just got it from the mechanic,” she blurts as if that explains the mess. She flicks on the radio, some low indie song playing as we head to the first place.
“The first spot…” she says, glancing at me before focusing back on the road. “It’s got quite a bit of space, a decent kitchen, and the lady who owns it is practically begging for a tenant. You won’t have to fight anyone for it.”
“Sounds promising.”
She snorts. “Wait till you see it.”
The house is… fine.
Two bedrooms, big-ass windows, a porch that looks like it was made for sitting around drinking whiskey at sunset.
The guy next door waves as we pull up—mid-fifties, beer belly, wearing a faded T-shirt that says World’s Okayest Fisherman.
“That’s Don,” Grace says as we step out. “He’ll try to get you to join his fishing trips. He’ll also absolutely judge you if you suck at it.”
“Noted.”
Inside, it’s clean, hardwood floors, lots of light. Feels lived in, but not in a bad way.
I glance at her. “You selling it or warning me?”
She grins. “Bit of both.”
I walk through it, open cabinets, check out the backyard. It’s got space, but something about it doesn’t click.
We move on.
The second place is in the middle of town, above a bookstore. It’s smaller but has character—exposed brick, a balcony that overlooks the street, shelves built into the walls.
“Owner moved to Florida,” Grace tells me as I check out the kitchen. “Only comes back to visit his grandkids, so he’s renting it out.”
It’s nice. Real nice. I can picture it—mornings with coffee, late nights with the windows open.
But the town’s heartbeat is right below. Shops, people, noise. I don’t hate it. But I don’t love it either.
I shake my head. “What’s next?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Just bites her lip before she says, “You might not like it.”
She drives us out to the last house, and the second we pull up, I know exactly why she said that.
It’s next to hers.
Smaller than the other two. One-story, white paint, a tiny porch. A yard that needs work but isn’t awful.
She parks and glances at me. “Go ahead. Look around.”
I do.
It’s nothing special. Two bedrooms, a kitchen that could use an update, a shower with weirdly good water pressure. But it’s quiet. Private. And?—
She’s right there.
Grace leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching me. “Well?”
I rub my jaw, exhaling slowly. “It’s the smallest one.”
“Yeah.”
“Least updated.”
“Uh-huh.”
I look at her.
Her head tilts, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “But?”
I exhale again, shaking my head. “But I’ll take it.”
She grins. “Thought so. It looks exactly like my place. Very charming.”
We’re back in her car ten minutes later, driving to the rental office. Everything moves fast—papers, a signature, a key pressed into my palm.
I flip it between my fingers as we step back outside. “Damn. That was fast. Back home, there’d be a whole process: vetting, paperwork, background checks.”
She smirks. “Guess you’d better be a good tenant then, since I vouched for you.”
I glance at her. “The best.”
Something flickers in her eyes, and for a second, she’s just staring at me. Then she looks away too fast, clearing her throat.
“So,” she says, voice lighter now, “need help moving in?”
“I’ll probably shop for furniture this week. I’ll just be moving my clothes from the motel tomorrow.”
She nods, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. “Well, guess I’ll see you around, then.”
“Yeah.” I grin. “Looking forward to being neighbors.”
Oh, she has no idea how much I fucking mean that.