Chapter 29 Simon
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Simon
The pie competition is in full swing. The scent of butter, cinnamon, and sugar mingles with the tang of caramel apples and roasted nuts, drifting through the square and catching in the threads of my overworked stomach.
Children weave through the crowd, sticky fingers clutching lollipops, while adults pause at booths, sampling pies and chatting with bakers. Bright banners flap in the wind, and the soft murmur of conversation blends with laughter and the occasional clatter of trays.
But I’m not watching the ovens or the bustle around me. I’m watching her.
Wren’s at her station, flour dusting the curve of her cheek, apron strings cinched at her back, green eyes focused like nothing else exists.
Her lips move silently, counting, maybe. Or whispering to her grandmother the way she sometimes does when she thinks no one’s listening.
Christ, she’s beautiful, standing out amid all this chaos.
“Come on,” Beau says beside me, jostling my shoulder. “Let’s go say hi to Levi’s folks before his dad thinks we’re ignoring them.”
He’s right. I adjust my glasses and nod, letting him lead the way across the packed square.
Levi’s parents are easy to spot near the roped-off area, his father’s broad frame cutting through the crowd, his mother with her warm smile and tidy braid, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
“Mr. and Mrs. Maddox,” Beau greets easily, offering his hand. “Good to see you both.”
“Beau,” Levi’s father rumbles, his grip firm. “Dr. Hale.”
I incline my head politely. “Hello, sir.”
Levi’s mother’s eyes crinkle with warmth as she takes me in. “You’ve been busy, Doctor. We’ve heard about the flu making its way through town.”
I nod. “Yes. It’s been keeping the hospital full. We’re managing, though. Mostly mild cases, just dehydration and fevers. Nothing we can’t handle.”
Her gaze drifts toward the competition tent where Wren bends to check her oven, her hair slipping from its tie, cheeks flushed pink. She tilts her head just slightly, then back at me, her lips pressing together like she’s holding back words she isn’t sure she should speak.
Finally, she says softly, “It’s a blessing when someone has people who look at them like that. Just make sure you boys stay healthy. We don’t want to go on breaking that poor girl’s heart.”
The statement lands with the weight of something knowing.
My throat tightens, but before I can respond, she pats her husband’s arm. “Let’s get ourselves an ale and walk the square.”
They excuse themselves, leaving the three of us in their wake.
Levi exhales, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Sorry about that.”
I blink.
He gives me a flat look. “About Wren. About us.”
Beau whistles low, leaning back on his heels. “Damn. How? I just bet it’s Willa. That woman loves her gossip.”
“I don’t think.” Levi’s voice is firm. “But she’s not wrong, isn’t she?”
I glance back at Wren. She’s pulling her pie from the oven now, setting it on the counter with careful hands. Every move she makes is a prayer, a vow, like she’s putting her entire soul into that dish.
She’s perfection.
Beau crosses his arms. “Maybe it’s time, then.”
“Time for what?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“To tell her,” Levi says. His tone is heavy. “That we don’t just want this to be some… heat thing. That we want her. Permanently.”
My stomach clenches.
Levi doesn’t stop. “I told her that I love her… and she said it back.”
Beau freezes. My head jerks around. “She what?”
Levi’s lips curve, soft but certain. “We said it. This morning. Before the festival.”
For a beat, none of us speaks. It hangs there, charged and electric, bigger than anything we’ve admitted out loud.
Beau mutters a curse, dragging a hand over his mouth. “Well, hell. Guess that means we need to figure out where we stand, doesn’t it?”
Before I can answer, the voice of Miss Thea floats over the din. “Dr. Hale.”
I turn, startled.
The town’s apothecary stands at her booth just across the square, her arms laden with jars and sachets, the bright scarves on her head fluttering in the breeze. Her eyes are kind, but sharp, like she sees straight through me.
“I’d like a word, if you have a moment,” she says.
I hesitate, but Beau nudges me. “Go on, Doc. I’ve got Levi.”
I stride over, weaving through the festival crowd until I’m at her booth. Dried herbs hang in bunches from the canopy, glass bottles catching the afternoon light. The air is thick with the scent of peppermint, lavender, and something sharper I can’t place.
She reaches under the counter and pulls out a small vial of liquid, the color somewhere between amber and green. She presses it into my palm.
“What is this?” I ask cautiously.
“A blend of your scents,” she says matter-of-factly. “Yours, Levi’s, Beau’s. Together. For her.”
My fingers curl tight around the glass. My chest heats. “You’ve been mixing our pheromones?”
Her smile is gentle. “Not directly. I work with resonance. Herbs that possess certain properties are layered until they mimic the bonds. It isn’t perfect, but for an Omega, it brings comfort.
Something she can use when nesting. I think it could really help with the issue she has been having with her heat. The scents could help calm her nerves.”
I clear my throat, stiff. “Thank you.”
Her eyes soften. “I hope I didn’t offend you. As far as I knew, you and I had a cordial understanding. But I feel a… coolness now. Did I overstep?”
The words hit too close. My jaw tightens. “You didn’t offend me.”
“Then speak, boy!”
“Some of the herbal concoctions you handed out last week—during the flu—aggravated symptoms. Made fevers spike. We had patients sicker than they needed to be.”
Her lips part. She stares at me for a long moment. “I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. “I should have said something sooner.”
Her voice sharpens with gentle reproach. “Yes, Doctor. You should have. How else would I know if no one tells me? You can’t expect people to correct what they don’t realize is wrong.”
The rebuke lands squarely in my chest. I open my mouth, but no words come out. She’s right.
She lays a wrinkled hand over mine where it grips the counter. Her touch is light, but unshakable. “Communication, Simon. That’s how bonds are built. With patients. With neighbors. With the ones we love.”
The last word cuts me clean open.
Something in me stills, then cracks.
Because she’s right, I do love Wren. I’ve been circling it, burying it under propriety. But part of me has known since the moment she turned those green eyes on me, feverish and wild, begging for help.
It’s been clawing its way up ever since.
I swallow hard, heat burning behind my eyes. “Thank you,” I say hoarsely.
She studies me for a long moment, then shifts back into her booth. “Do you need more peppermint?”
My lips twitch faintly. “I’m fine.”
She nods. “What you have with her—with them—is rare. Special. Take care of it. And remember, just because your past didn’t work out doesn’t mean you should let fear keep you from trying again.”
The words scrape something raw inside me. My jaw flexes. “I’m not afraid.”
Her smile is slight, knowing. “Of course not.”
But I hear the truth in her voice.
I slip the vial into my pocket and walk back toward the tent, the sound of the crowd rushing in around me, my pulse still hammering. And for the first time, I let myself admit it fully, silently, where no one else can hear.
I’m in love with her.
The announcement carries across the square in Riley’s clear, confident voice. “Second place goes to Wren Aldridge for her apple brown sugar pie.”
For a second, I think I’ve misheard.
But no—the crowd is already applauding, and Wren is standing there, wide-eyed, one hand pressed to her apron. Her lips part, and then she laughs, startled and bright, as if she doesn’t quite believe it herself.
My chest squeezes. She deserves first. She deserves every ribbon this town has to offer.
But when she bows her head slightly to accept her certificate and the ribbon pinned against her apron, there’s pride written all over her face. Pride, and something more profound.
This is for her grandmother—I know it without her needing to say it.
I clap until my palms sting. Beau whistles, Levi grins so wide it nearly splits his face, and Norah practically jumps up and down in her seat, shrieking her friend’s name.
When Wren glances into the crowd, her eyes sweep across us. She finds Levi first, then Beau, then me. Her gaze lingers a beat longer on me, like she knows I’m holding something tight inside my chest.
I give her the slightest nod. She beams.
“Congratulations to our second-place winner!” Riley finishes, and Wren steps back, breathless, her ribbon clutched in her hand.
We meet her at the booth, where Norah has been selling flowers as if her life depended on it. Wren practically tumbles into Norah’s arms, laughing and shaking her head.
“I can’t believe it,” she says, voice high with excitement. “Second place. I thought I’d burn the crust or drop the whole thing.”
“You killed it,” Beau says, hugging her from behind, lifting her slightly off the ground. “I told you, sweetheart. You were born for this.”
Levi presses a kiss to her cheek. “You’re a damn rockstar.”
I don’t touch her yet. I just watch. Watch the way her happiness spills out in waves, touching everyone around her.
Norah squeezes her friend’s hand. “You’re going to sell out today. I can feel it.”
And she’s right.
The line starts forming almost immediately. Locals and tourists alike are drawn by the ribbon at her booth and the scent that still lingers in the air.
Wren slips behind the counter, apron still dusted with flour, cheeks pink from the heat of the ovens. She dives straight into work, cutting slices, offering samples, and exchanging coins for plates.
The four of us fall into rhythm. Norah handles pastries with one hand while helping pass forks with the other. Beau works the crowd with his easy charm, talking and laughing, pulling in even more customers.
Levi hovers near the register, his body big and solid, the perfect deterrent to anyone thinking about cutting the line. I take up the role of organizer—stacking plates, moving empty trays, keeping the chaos in check so she can focus.
For nearly an hour, it feels like the world shrinks to this little corner of the festival—the smell of pie, the laughter of friends, Wren’s hair sticking to her temple as she wipes her brow with the back of her wrist, smiling through it all.
Then it happens.
A voice, sharp and mocking, cuts through the cheerful noise.
“Well, look at that. The new Omega knows how to work a room exceptionally well. Claimed by desperation and still managing to bake a pie.”
The words hang heavy. Cruel. I glance up in time to see the speaker: an Omega I vaguely recognize—someone local, someone who’s always had a bitter edge. He smirks, eyes raking over Wren, lingering on the faint marks at her throat.
My gut goes cold.
Levi reacts first. His entire body coils, his fists curling at his sides, shoulders squared. He takes one step forward, murder in his eyes.
“Say that again,” he growls.
I can practically feel the crackle of heat rolling off him. Another second, and he’s going to throw a punch, ribbon ceremony or not.
“Levi.” My voice is low, warning. But I’m not sure it’ll be enough.
Before it can escalate, Wren does something that takes my breath away.
She smiles.
Not sweetly, not timidly. A bold, deliberate smile that belongs to a woman who refuses to be shamed. She turns toward Levi, catches him by the collar, and kisses him hard enough that the crowd gasps.
Then she breaks away, spins, and kisses Beau the same way—deep, hungry, unapologetic.
I know she is simply making a statement, and I have never been prouder of her.
By the time she reaches me, my lungs are useless.
Her hand fists my shirt, dragging me down into her.
Her mouth is warm, sugar-sweet, filled with the taste of apples and spice.
She doesn’t care who’s watching. Doesn’t care about the whispers that ripple through the square.
She kisses me like she’s claiming me right back, her tongue stroking mine until my vision blurs.
When she pulls away, her green eyes flash. “I’m fine,” she says, breathless but certain.
I can’t even form words. My throat is raw with something I can’t name.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Norah leaning against the counter, smirking, and—God help me—winking at her friend.
The cruel Omega is gone, slinking into the crowd, but the energy lingers. And then something extraordinary happens.
The line doubles.
It’s as if the entire town has decided that whatever they thought before, whatever doubts they had, they want a piece of whatever Wren just gave them.
By the end of the second hour, every slice, every tray, every crumb is gone. Sold.
The sight of her laughing as she flips the last empty pan over, cheeks glowing with victory, makes my chest ache.
“We did it,” she whispers, like she’s afraid saying it too loud might undo it.
“You did it,” I correct.
Beau swoops in, swinging her off her feet again, both laughing as if they don’t care who sees. Levi leans in and kisses her temple, murmuring something against her hair that makes her flush.
I stand there, heart in my throat, overwhelmed with the quiet certainty that I don’t deserve her, but I’m not letting go either.
Norah claps her hands. “Booth closed, pies sold, time to actually enjoy this damn festival.”
She loops her arm through Wren’s, tugging her out from behind the counter. Wren goes easily, glancing back at us, her smile soft and disbelieving.
I follow a few steps behind, Beau and Levi at my side. I take in the sight of the two women walking ahead—Norah with her bold stride, Wren with her ribbon still pinned crookedly to her apron. Their heads are bent together, hair brushing, laughter spilling out like a melody.
Something warm blooms in my chest, spreading until it’s almost painful.
I love this.
Not just Wren’s laugh, not just the thrill of touching her, not just the way she makes me forget every scar my past left behind. I love this—this pack, this messy, ridiculous, extraordinary life we’re building together in the middle of a town that I made a home out of.