Chapter 3 #3
I take my bag and thank her, then do something I probably shouldn't—instead of leaving, I head toward the reading nook tucked in the back corner of the shop. It's a small alcove with two oversized armchairs, a side table, and a lamp that casts warm, golden light.
Private enough that you can watch the rest of the shop without being obvious about it.
I want to see her reaction. Just for a moment. To know she's happy.
I settle into one of the chairs, pull out the first book from my bag—the cafe one, because it feels appropriate—and pretend to read while I wait.
It doesn't take long.
"What do you mean someone bought these for me?"
Reverie's voice carries from the front counter, loud with shock and disbelief.
"All three? These are hardcover editions! That's $100 minimum with these special editions. They're the ones I was just talking about!"
I can hear the female clerk—Mei—laughing.
"I guess you have a hot secret admirer! He didn't tell me his name, but he was certainly attractive and comes here once in a while. Maybe you'll meet him again."
"I hope so," Reverie says, and there's something in her voice—soft and genuine and full of wonder. "So I can say thank you."
I risk a glance around the edge of the bookshelf that's partially hiding my alcove.
She's standing at the counter, the bag of books clutched to her chest like something precious. Her face is lit up with joy—pure, unfiltered happiness that makes her glow. Those big eyes are shining, maybe even a little misty, and she's smiling so wide it must hurt.
The gratitude in her expression isn't performative. It's real. Deep. Like this small act of kindness matters more than it probably should.
When was the last time someone did something nice for her? Where someone saw her want something and just... gave it to her? No strings attached, no expectations, just because she deserved it?
My heart does that thing again—that complicated squeeze that's equal parts painful and perfect.
I did that. I made her smile like that. Such a small thing, barely anything, and it means the world to her.
I lean back in the chair, my book forgotten in my lap, and let myself think about something I haven't allowed myself to consider in a long time.
What would it be like to have an Omega who truly cherished their Alpha? Not because of obligation, pack bonds, or social expectations, but because they wanted to? Because they chose to?
My last relationship ended in flames.
Gossip, lies, and trust that shattered beyond repair.
I swore I wouldn't put myself through that again. Vowed to focus on the ranch, on Nash and Theo, and on building something stable with my pack brothers.
But watching Reverie clutch those books like they're treasure, seeing the joy on her face from such a simple gift...
Maybe it wouldn't be like before. To have an Omega who loved books and dreamed about cafes and laughed like sunshine wouldn't break my heart.
Perhaps she'd heal it instead.
Dangerous thinking.
She's a stranger.
You don't even know her.
One collision in a bookshop and you're already imagining futures that don't exist.
But I can't shake the feeling that this means something. That crashing into her wasn't a random chance but something more.
Fate. Destiny. Whatever you want to call it, when the universe puts someone in your path and says, 'Pay attention. This one matters.'
Reverie disappears back toward the staff room, probably to show off her gift to her coworkers, and I'm left sitting in my quiet alcove with a book I'm not reading and a heart that's beating faster than it should.
The afternoon light has shifted, coming through the windows at a lower angle now, painting everything in shades of amber and gold. The bookshop is warm, quiet except for the occasional customer browsing the aisles and the soft instrumental music playing through the speakers.
I have a coffee in a to-go cup from the shop's small cafe corner—black with a splash of cream, still hot. I take a sip, letting the bitterness ground me, and open the book to the first page.
The Omega Nest Cafe.
She should write it. Or find someone who can put her vision on paper, make that story real. I'd read it. Buy it in hardcover, the special edition with sprayed edges.
Maybe I could help...
I write. Not well enough to publish, probably, but I understand story structure. Character development. The way romance needs to build slowly, layer by layer, until it's inevitable.
Stop.
You're doing it again.
Building futures in your head with someone you just met.
An Omega who has her own life, dreams, and her own healing to do.
But the thought won't leave me.
I settle deeper into the chair, the book open in my lap, and let myself imagine it. Just for a moment. Just for this quiet afternoon in a bookshop that smells like vanilla and peppermint and possibilities.
An Omega named Reverie. An Alpha named Grayson.
A small town where Christmas magic is real and second chances grow like snowflakes in winter.
It could be a good story.
It could be our story.
I take another sip of coffee and start reading, the words on the page blurring into words in my mind—the story I could write, the life I could live, the future that feels just within reach if I'm brave enough to try.
The day isn't as heavy anymore.
The seasonal depression that's been weighing on me feels lighter, like maybe there's something to look forward to. Someone to look forward to.
One bookshop collision.
One generous impulse.
One girl with honey-gold hair and dreams bigger than herself.
I return to my coffee, savoring the warmth, and start reading the first chapter of my book.
Surely winter won't be so dark this year after all.