4. Kaia
Chapter Four
Kaia
By the time I found the nearest town, my feet throbbed, my throat was dry, and the ocean had stopped feeling like something beautiful and started feeling like something I had no idea how to navigate.
The road curved down from the overlook into a small coastal town that looked like it had been built around the shoreline instead of carving into it.
The buildings were old and weathered, with paint that faded into beautiful soft pastels.
Old signs advertising inns and bakeries creaked gently in the wind.
Everything felt slower, quieter—like time moved differently here.
No one was rushing to work or a meeting.
People were actually strolling down the streets.
My pace definitely didn't match the slow town as I walked on the sidewalk with quick, purposeful steps.
I passed people with iced drinks in their hands and sand still on their feet.
No one even spared me a glance. I felt invisible—which was exactly what I needed right now.
I tightened my grip on the strap of my duffel and scanned the storefronts on the main street.
I paused in front of a small café, just off the beach.
I peered through the window at a HELP WANTED sign taped crooked against the glass.
I took a deep breath of the briny sea air, put on my best smile, and pushed the door open.
A small bell chimed. The store’s scent hit me immediately—coffee, sugar, something citrusy, and underneath it all, a faint, clean sharpness from outside.
Salt. The ocean. It lingered everywhere.
The café was simple but charming, especially with the soft beachside feel.
A long counter displayed a chalkboard menu written in cursive handwriting.
Mismatched tables were scattered near the wide windows, where light flooded in and spilled across the floor.
Seriously, this place was way too bright.
It wasn't efficient, or optimized, or private. It wasn't like any place I was used to.
A woman stood behind the counter, wiping her hands on a towel. She looked to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties. Her tanned skin was sun-creased, her dark hair was pulled into a loose bun, and her expression was calm and warm.
"What can I get you, hun?" she asked.
Here goes nothing. I adjusted the strap on my shoulder and stepped forward.
"I saw the sign in the window. You’re hiring?"
I could feel the woman's gaze flick over me, assessing—unlike the Alphas I was used to, who weighed status and value, she was simply evaluating me.
"Do you have any experience?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered. I did. Just not in a way that quite translates to being a barista. But I could learn. I kept talking. "I've worked in customer-facing roles. Handled high-volume environments. Managed transactions, scheduling, inventory."
The woman looked at me and lifted a brow. "Have you ever made a coffee?"
I hesitated, then admitted, "No."
Well, there go my hopes. My mind spiraled immediately. I could try another coffee shop, or maybe the library was hiring, or I could beg her anyway, offer to work for less, or maybe I could—
The woman looked at me for another second, then shrugged. "Can you learn?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm a fast learner," I said without hesitation.
The woman's expression shifted, not quite approval, but at least something close to acceptance. "What's your name, hun?"
"Kaia."
"Alright, Kaia." She nodded toward the counter. "I'm Maria. I need someone who will show up, do the work, and not make things harder than they need to be. Think you can manage that?"
"Yes, ma'am." I smiled.
Maria nodded. "Great. You can start tomorrow. Five AM."
I blinked at her, and she turned away, already reaching for something to clean behind the counter. Like the conversation was over. Like the decision had been made and that was all to it.
I stood there for a second, waiting for something else. A form. A contract. A list of expectations. The woman continued wiping down the counter.
"Be here on time," Maria said over her shoulder. "And wear something you don't mind getting dirty."
I looked down at my attire: a sweater riddled with holes, stained jeans, and sneakers that had seen better days. "That won't be a problem," I said quietly.
Maria huffed something that might have been a laugh. "Good."
That was it. No onboarding, no paperwork, no negotiation. I stepped back from the counter, my mind still catching up to what had just happened. I have a job—just like that. No background check. No references. No asking where I came from or what I was.
Relief unfurled in my chest. I pushed open the door, the bell chiming softly as I stepped back outside.
The ocean was right there—just beyond the café's edge, visible through the wide windows I'd noticed earlier, the waves crashing against the sand only steps away.
The sound of the water was immediate and constant, the salt air thick and alive.
I stood outside the café for a moment, letting the reality of everything settle in.
I just got a job. A place to go in the morning.
A reason to stay. And the ocean—the ocean was right here, calling to me whenever I needed it.
This was part of what I had wanted for my life. Something simple. Something normal. Something that had nothing to do with the pack I grew up in or their expectations. Maybe I could just be a girl working in a beach café.
But the excitement I thought would come didn't arrive. And my relief quickly dissipated.
Instead, there was just a quiet, hollow space in my chest. I was a girl, an Omega with no plan, no home, and a handful of cash that wouldn't last long.
I inhaled slowly, the salt air filling my lungs.
It still smelled unfamiliar, like something I didn't understand.
Maybe that was the problem. Or maybe that was the point.
I shifted the strap of my bag to my other shoulder and started down the street again, hoping to find a motel. The early afternoon sun was warm against my back.
I would come back tomorrow. I would learn how to make coffee.
And I would start building something that belonged to me.
Even though it didn't feel like enough yet, even though it felt hollow and I had no idea what I was supposed to do next—for now, it was something. And something was better than nothing.