A Pack of Cozy (The Omega Book Club #1)

1. Calliope

Calliope

Snow dances playfully against the expansive, floor-to-ceiling windows of the Lakeside Point Public Library.

Through the swirling snowflakes, I can just glimpse the warm glow of the Lakeside Point Lighthouse.

Its beam cutting through the darkness, guiding the Lake Michigan freighters drifting in the night.

I switch off the lights. Should I close the Library tomorrow?

Is it a safety hazard? I'd contacted the board half an hour ago, and was nearly laughed off the line.

Closing for near-apocalyptic snow is not an option in the Leelanau Peninsula of northern Michigan.

I was assured we'd be closed from October to May if the Library was closed for snow.

"May? There's snow in May?" I'd asked.

"Sometimes," was the reply, and the line went dead.

When I'd taken this job, I hadn't considered the snow, the severely understaffed library, or the long drive to the grocery store in the next large town over. All I'd been focused on was escaping my old life. Lakeside Point was my first job offer.

Trying to cover myself and my items from the snow, get to my car quickly, and not fall on my ass is a struggle that makes me seriously reconsider every decision that led me here.

I bundle in and immediately turn on the car, cranking up the heat.

I'm halfway through town before any actual warmth starts pouring out.

The town is charming, with adorable houses turned shops lining the streets on both sides. Delicate white string lights crisscross from lamppost to lamppost, twinkling softly.

As I drive to the end of the street, the view opens to a beach, where the icy waters are obscured by the pelting snow.

I take a left off Main Street, and the first stretch is paved, but then the car jumps, and I know I've left the warm embrace of downtown for the more rugged parts of the Peninsula.

Houses just off the main thoroughfare soon get lost in trees as the community blends into the forest. I only know there's a house at all because of the signs at the end of the drives.

The dirt road gets rougher and a thick layer of snow covers everything.

I feel nothing but jumping and jostling.

Keeping myself from smacking my face against my car window is a chore.

Then the jumping stops, and so does the car.

I press the gas pedal. The wheels turn. I can feel them turn. But the car stays firmly in place.

"No," I beg as I hit the gas again. Nothing.

I take a deep breath, trying to cling to the warmth of the car for just a moment longer.

But the second I open the door, the icy air blasts in, whipping away every bit of heat.

I'm tempted to slam the door shut, but the thought of freezing to death in a car isn't exactly appealing.

So, with a heavy sigh, I step into the snow, which is already up to my ankles, and trudge around to the back of the car.

The tires have sunk deeply into the snow, which has compacted into ice. I can't figure out how to get the car out without digging or pushing while revving the engine. Unfortunately, I don't have a shovel in my car, and pushing and driving simultaneously isn't possible.

Can I dig with my hands? I don't even have any gloves in the car.

I curse my total unpreparedness. If I walk back to town, will anyone be around to help me?

I hadn't seen a single light on in any of the storefronts.

Where is the nearest house? Had I seen a drive back up through the trees?

I have no idea. I've only been in town for a week, and I'd spent three days unpacking in my new rental home and four working at the Library.

I pull out my cell phone, but there's no reception.

The Peninsula only has spotty service, and I feel increasingly isolated.

The WiFi at the local café is the only guaranteed connection in town, but it feels miles away in this wilderness.

Just as I gather the courage to start walking back, a set of headlights suddenly cuts through the dark, twisting around the bend in the road.

I press myself against the side of my car, my heart racing, feeling an unsettling mix of relief and anxiousness.

Is this how serial killers got their victims?

If this was a movie or a horror novel, it definitely would be.

Maybe killers spend all day waiting for cars to break down in the forest.

The car stops just behind mine, and the door swings open. I squint into the blinding headlights, trying to see who it is. A tall man with tousled hair steps out from the car and approaches. As he gets closer, the warm glow inside my car lights up his features.

Snow sticks in his fiery hair. He has a sharp jawline and green eyes that nearly glow in the light from the interior of my car.

A long winter coat hides his body, but I see broad shoulders.

I can tell he's an alpha just from his size, even though I can't scent him.

The extreme cold cuts off our scents, but all alphas are generally around six feet tall or more.

He can't scent me either in this cold, but based on my shorter stature at five-two, he knows I'm either a beta or an omega.

He probably won't ask. Asking someone's status outright is considered rude in personal settings.

That doesn't mean it isn't a question on every job application I fill out.

Thankfully, Lakeside Point is considered an inclusive community.

They have one of the highest rates of omega employment in Michigan.

The alpha's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Hey! Are you ok?"

He doesn't look like a serial killer.

"I think I'm stuck," I admit.

"Yeah, these roads suck, hang on." He moves around to the back of his car and returns with a shovel.

Some of my wariness of him must show on my face because he carefully scoots around on the opposite side of my car from me and begins digging out the front tires.

I don't know what to do with myself. I should help, but short of scooping snow out with my bare hands, I can't.

"Are you new around here?" he asks.

"Yeah, how can you tell?"

"This time of year, locals never go anywhere without a shovel and some cat litter," he says.

I scrunch up my face.

"Cat litter?" He finishes with the tires and goes to his car's trunk. Sure enough, he returns with a medium-sized bag of cat litter. He pours the stuff in front of all four tires.

"It creates better traction," He explains. "If you want to get in the car, you can ease the tires, and I'll push from back here."

It only takes a few minutes, and the car comes right out.

"Thank you so much!" I step out of the car to smile at him.

"I'm Connor," he says. His smile is a crooked thing of beauty, almost shy.

"I'm Calliope, but everyone calls me Cali. I'm the new librarian."

"You took over Moon Cottage?" he asks.

I freeze. Is he a stalker? Maybe my paranoia about serial killers wasn't paranoia.

Connor seems to sense my unease and quickly adds, "The previous librarian, Agnes, rented moon cottage. There aren't a lot of rentals in town this time of year. The snow birds are gone, and the tourist season is passed so it was a guess. Agnes just retired and left to travel the world."

I feel myself relax a little.

"Yeah, I just moved in last week. I've been unpacking a lot, so I haven't had time to explore the town."

"My pack and I live just a little ways up from the cottage. We're the house just before yours on the left."

Now that we've talked a little my anxiousness from earlier has started to melt away. Something in me tugs to the surface and I want to ask him more questions but a gale of snowy, freezing wind and snow reminds me that I'm close to shivering to death.

"It was nice meeting you. Since we're going the same way, I'll drive behind you until my turn to ensure you don't get stuck again." I agree and get back into my car.

He follows me, but after a few minutes turns off to the left on an obscure dirt lane.

Technically, it's close enough to be my nearest neighbor, but it isn't as close as the suburban houses I'm used to.

It's at least a twenty minute walk to the lane, and who knows how long the lane was before I would get to his house.

In the snow, it would be even longer. Not that I'm thinking of visiting the handsome alpha at his house. Nope. Not me.

I drive and, thankfully, don't get stuck again. My side lane is to the right. Finally, I pull up in front of Moon Cottage. It's a little white cottage, just big enough for one person, with a porch. Struggling through the snow I'm dreading shoveling tomorrow, make it to my front door.

A small, beeping alarm rings from a thermostat near the door.

I quickly check the gauge for the outdoor wood boiler and groan.

It's below ideal temp. The landlord, a surly man with a gut and a scraggly beard, had explained how the outdoor wood boiler worked.

Something about pipes and water. The only part I need to remember is that when the alarm sounds, that's my sign to add more wood to the furnace…

which is around the back of the house…outside.

I plunge back into the storm, with the wind howling and snow pelting against me.

I make my way to the side of the house, where wood is stacked under an overhang and covered with a tarp.

I select a few logs, their rough texture scraping against my coat, and carefully approach the chrome furnace while snow drifts underfoot.

As I open the furnace, a wave of heat washes over me, enveloping me in comforting warmth. I carefully feed in the logs. They crackle and pop before I close the door. After grabbing a few more logs from the pile, I quickly shuffle back into the cottage, the snowflakes clinging to my clothes.

The inside is cold and dark, but I know it'll quickly warm up.

I flip on the light. The walls, adorned with white shiplap, feel inviting and bright.

The kitchen is to the left. Copper pots and pans hang cheerfully on one wall.

The white farmhouse sink gleams and the wooden slab countertop gives the room a rustic touch, while the light blue cupboards add a splash of color.

Next to the kitchen is a cozy half bath with an attractive, yellow door.

The living room and breakfast nook combo are to my right, featuring a bay window overlooking the forest. An older, wooden round table is closest to the front door.

An overstuffed couch with floral patterns faces a cold fireplace ornamenting the main wall.

All the furniture came with the cottage.

Which was convenient since I hadn't had any furniture to bring with me.

Past the fireplace on the left is a set of stairs that leads to my loft bedroom and combination nest.

Nesting is one of the few omega instincts I genuinely enjoy.

Heavier scent? No. Weaker than other designations?

No. The need to eat carbs every day? While enjoyable, I wished I could stop.

But nesting? I like that. I'd created a soft place to sleep featuring pillows, blankets, books, and more.

I'm fiercely protective of it, as any omega would be.

Despite my short time here, the place feels like a warm hug whenever I come back to it.

I climb the stairs with the wood from the porch balanced in my arms. The loft ceiling slopes gracefully on both sides, creating a charming, barn-like feel.

The light forest green paint adorning the ceiling and door adds a soothing touch.

Built-in bookshelves, brimming with cherished titles, frame the door leading to the master bathroom, where a vintage claw-foot tub and a quaint pedestal sink await. Perfect for long, relaxing soaks.

A window looks out onto the woods. Outside, the world is wrapped in darkness, but I feel safe and snug inside.

Across the tops of the trees, I can see the light from the lighthouse sweeping across.

The snow fall sparkles as the light hits it over and over again in a slow rhythm.

My small bedroom is the perfect place to unwind, a haven against the chill, where I can curl up with a book.

A squat black stove fireplace is nestled in the corner near the built-in bookshelves.

I gently place the two logs within, and add a few crumpled pages of old newspaper I keep in a basket near the stove.

Striking a match, I ignite the newspaper with a merry crackle.

As I close the stove door, the flames dance joyfully, casting a soft, flickering glow that warms the small room.

Shadows play on the walls, creating a serene atmosphere.

The fire makes me think of Connor and his gorgeous hair.

His sharp jaw and sharper green eyes have my eyes fluttering closed.

Get it together , I internally chastise my omega.

I just got over a break-up. I'm not looking to jump into another.

I flop myself into the queen-sized bed I made into my nest.

The built-in bookshelves are overflowing. Not only are the shelves packed tight, but stacks spill over in various corners. The chaos makes the place feel like home

I spot one of my favorite rereads peeking out from a pile as I glance around.

With a tug, I liberate it, letting a few books topple over.

I settle into my nest. The soft light from the crackling fire casts a warm glow.

Connor's face lingers in my thoughts, but I push it away.

Eventually, the words on the page blur, and I drift off to sleep, his face fading into the gentle embrace of my dreams.