Chapter 5 #2
Next to him sits the same guy from yesterday, and he’s just as striking.
Long hair still pulled into a high half ponytail, the bottom layers cascading down his back in tousled waves.
He’s wearing a flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves, revealing tattooed forearms, and he’s laughing at something on Mason’s phone, his whole body animated.
My chest constricts, something between panic and dread tightening around my ribs like a vise.
What is he doing here? What are they doing here?
Please don’t let them see me. Don’t let them recognize me.
I pivot slightly, angling my body away from their corner, and move toward the counter like I have a very important reason to study the menu board with intense focus.
Maybe they won’t notice. After all, they’re too engrossed in whatever they’re looking at. Maybe I can just get my coffee, find Jasper, and slip out before—
“Well, hello, cutie!”
I freeze.
Nina is leaning across the counter, her chin propped on her hands, a huge smile on her face. Her voice carries.
I feel eyes on me, and I know without looking that Mason and his friend have noticed.
Oh, no. She’s doing that flirty thing where women make their eyes bigger and their voices higher and lean forward so their—
Focus. You’re a guy. Guys notice these things. It’s fine.
“You must be new in town,” Nina continues, her voice bright and breathy. “I definitely would have remembered you.”
“I, uh—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again, deeper. “Yeah. Just got in this morning.”
“Oh my God!” Her eyes widen even more, and she leans forward on her elbows. The movement makes her cleavage extremely prominent, and I have the distant thought that this must be what guys see all the time. It’s aggressive. “You’re Anita’s brother! You have to be! You look just like her!”
Relief and panic war in my chest. She recognizes the resemblance, which means the disguise isn’t perfect, but she’s also accepting that I’m Ash, which means it’s working.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to inject some masculine confidence into my tone. “That’s me. Ash Monroe.”
“Ash,” she repeats, like she’s testing how my name tastes. Then she laughs, high and bright, at absolutely nothing. Her hand reaches across the counter and lands on my arm, fingers lingering. “It’s so nice to meet you! Anita mentioned you were coming to town. I didn’t realize you’d be this cute.”
I have no idea how to respond to that. Do guys just say “Thank you”? Do they flirt back? Is there a script for this?
“Ash Monroe?” A male voice comes from directly behind me, deep and smooth, and I know without looking who it belongs to. My stomach drops.
I turn slowly, trying to keep my expression neutral, and glance up.
Mason Grey is standing right there, close enough that his scent hits me like a breaking wave.
Warm cinnamon. Baked apple. Fresh forest. I inhaled a hint of it yesterday, but right now, it’s in my face, my senses, and curls through me so quickly the room tilts.
The scent is devastating. Comforting and enticing all at once, the kind of smell that one can easily lose themself in.
Something low in my belly clenches with want, and I have to remind myself that I’m supposed to be a Beta.
Betas don’t react this strongly. Betas don’t feel their knees go weak from an Alpha’s scent.
Get it together.
“Yes,” I manage, then wince. Too high. I clear my throat. “Yep. That’s me.”
Mason extends his hand, and I shake it, trying to grip firmly without overdoing it. His hand is huge, warm, and the contact sends another jolt through my system.
“I’m Mason Grey. That’s my colleague Dylan Page over at the table.” He nods toward the tattooed man, who’s now watching us with open curiosity. “We’re from Wilde Charters. Jasper said you’d meet us here.”
“Right. Yes. Morning meeting. Coffee and introductions.” I’m nodding like a dashboard bobblehead. Stop nodding. “Good to meet you.”
Mason’s golden-brown eyes study my face, and something shifts in his expression. “You look familiar.”
My heart stops.
“Do I?” My voice comes out strangled.
“Yeah.” He tilts his head slightly. “Have we met before?”
“No. Definitely not. First time in Mistberry Cove. Never been here. Total stranger.” I’m talking too fast. Slow down. “Though, I guess people say I have one of those faces. Generic. Very forgettable.”
“I don’t think forgettable is the word I’d use,” Mason explains, watching me intently.
“Could be my sister,” I blurt out. “She arrived in town yesterday. Said she came to this café. Maybe you saw her?”
Understanding dawns in Mason’s expression, and his mouth curves into a grin. “That was your sister?”
Oh, damn. That’s the grin of someone who definitely remembers the powdered sugar and Instagram incidents.
Mason’s grin widens. “Yeah. We met.”
Dylan appears beside him, coffee cup in hand, his green eyes bright with amusement. “Wait, that viral beignet girl is his sister?”
“Apparently,” Mason says, still studying me.
They’re both staring now, and heat creeps up my neck. This is a disaster. They’re connecting the dots. They’re going to figure it out.
“So she’s an Omega,” Mason asks, his tone casual but pointed, “under your care?”
The question lands like a stone.
Right. Siblings. Of course they’d assume I’m responsible for her, that I’m keeping my sweet, fragile Omega sister safe from the big, scary world.
Because that’s the script, isn’t it?
Omegas are precious. Rare. Delicate. Too delicate to be on their own.
Too important to be trusted with independence.
We’re supposed to stay close to home, find a nice Alpha (or three), and start popping out babies like it’s a sacred duty.
The world wasn’t built for us to lead, but to focus only on what’s inside of a nursery.
We need guidance, they say.
Protection.
Preferably from someone bigger, stronger, and conveniently male.
Unmated Omegas? Dangerous and in danger. A threat to themselves and others. Especially if they leave the pack and start thinking they can be more than what nature intended.
So yeah. According to the usual metrics of Omega behavior, I’m failing spectacularly.
I left. I didn’t just stray from the lines; I jumped the damn fence. And the longer I pretend to be someone else, the more obvious it becomes that half this world is just waiting for me to trip up so they can say, See? Told you she couldn’t do it alone.
But then… Nina.
Running this entire café on her own, calm and competent and an Omega. I mean, she could be mated, but I don’t get that impression with how she was flirting with me moments earlier. Maybe this town isn’t as backward as some of the others. Maybe there’s space here to breathe. To hide. To try.
I chuckle at the two Alphas watching me. Right, they want a response. “No one keeps my sister exactly under control or care. But I try.”
I square my shoulders, adding a little puffed-up big-brother energy. “She’s independent. Does her own thing.”
Dylan shoots Mason a look, something flickering between them—interest, maybe. Curiosity?
Then Dylan turns back to me, grinning like he already knows the answer. “But what Mason is really asking,” he says, “is whether she’s with anyone right now.”
Oh.
Oh.
They’re asking if Anita is available.
They’re interested.
Both of them.
Heat floods my face, and I know I’m blushing, which is absolutely not a masculine response. I try to push it down, force it away, and overcompensate by spreading my legs wider in my stance, crossing my arms over my chest.
“No,” I say, my voice cracking again. I clear my throat. “She’s not with another man right now. Or woman. Or anyone. She’s very single. Extremely single. Aggressively single.”
Stop talking.
“Why do you ask?” The question comes out defensive, almost protective, and I realize too late that’s probably exactly how a brother would respond.
Mason’s grin softens into something more genuine. “Just curious. She seemed interesting.”
Dylan laughs. “Come on, man. Grab your coffee and sit with us. We’ve got about twenty minutes before we need to head out.”
“Right. Coffee.” I turn back to Nina, who’s been watching this entire exchange with undisguised delight. “Can I get a mocha? Large.”
Her eyes light up. “Just like your sister! You two are adorable.”
Shit.
“Actually,” I say quickly, “change that. I’ll have a black coffee. With vanilla syrup. Very… manly.”
Nina giggles, and the sound is simultaneously endearing and mortifying. “You’re so cute. I’ll bring it out to you, Ash.”
She practically shoos me away from the counter, and I have no choice but to follow Mason and Dylan to their corner table.
Just act like a guy. Talk like a guy. Don’t stare at how attractive they are.
I sit down in the empty chair, trying to arrange my limbs properly. Legs apart, not crossed. Elbows on the table. One hand rubbing the back of my neck like I’ve seen men do when they’re casual.
Both of them are looking at me, and now that I’m closer, their scents are even stronger.
Mason’s warmth mixes with Dylan’s wild honey and sun-dried linen and something smoky like a campfire. The combination is intoxicating, wrapping around me like a blanket, and I have to consciously stop myself from leaning forward to breathe in deeper.
This is genuinely evil.
How am I supposed to function when they smell this good?
It’s just like Jasper’s sandalwood, molasses, and pine. These men are walking pheromone weapons, and I’m trying to conduct an undercover investigation while my traitorous body wants to climb across the table and—
No. Stop. Focus.
“So,” Dylan starts, leaning back in his chair with the casual confidence of a guy who’s never fumbled a presentation in his life. “Your résumé says you’ve got experience in social media?”