Searching for His Omega (Omegas of Oliver Creek #14)

Chapter One

Rue

People call us trash pandas, claim raccoons spend all their time going through dumpsters and dining on disgusting bits of rotted food and even the sticky, slimy wrappers it comes in. People are not completely wrong.

At least where natural raccoons are concerned.

Even in their case it’s not because they prefer garbage, but they are resourceful omnivores who are excellent at surviving in many environments.

And in urban or even small-town areas, trash cans and dumpsters are the best spots to find food.

If someone set out a plate with freshly cooked food for them, they would almost certainly choose that over old moldy burger buns.

They are also fans of koi ponds where fresh fish can be caught with their dexterous hands.

Unfortunately, our woodland neighbors’ reputations tended to cling to those of us of the shifter variety and often led to bullying from more admired groups like wolves and bears, big cats.

Fortunately, in my case, I was raised in a “gaze” as a group of raccoons are named, with a strong and loving family, and the shifters who were our neighbors were more enlightened than many. I didn’t know about the trauma others went through until I was a teenager and a visitor told me.

But I did recognize that we were not the wealthiest of shifters, and while we weren’t digging in the trash for our meals, we did have to be careful.

No wasted food at our home. Clothes worn until they were patched beyond repair.

Dollar store shampoo and conditioner. All those sorts of things. We were thrifty.

And, one day, while walking home from my job as a server at a local restaurant in Oliver Creek, where I’d moved to be independent after high school, that word stuck in my head.

Thrifty.

This town had attracted me as it had many others because it was a growing place with lots of opportunities, and I had arrived with my savings from my teenage summer jobs and a dream of one day having a business of my own.

But what could it be? Renting a room over someone’s garage enabled me to add to my bank account as did getting a meal a day from my job. I had skills at saving money.

So, that day, when the word thrifty was bouncing around inside my skull, just as I passed an empty storefront a block from Main Street, I knew where my future lay.

Sure, the town was thriving, but there were so many people working in the service industry who had to watch their pennies.

And with a tourist focus, in some areas, the people whose daily work supported the town were underserved.

I’d gone over and over the options, and had almost decided on a laundromat when the revelation came to me.

A thrift store. The only real question was why it took me so long to come up with it.

As a kid, I’d loved shopping at the local secondhand store.

We bought as many items as we could at the place, one more way to save money.

The storefront was a remnant of the time when Oliver Creek had been a dying town. A dusty plate-glass window hid the inside, but there was a sign in the bottom corner with a Realtor’s number. For lease.

Could I do it? I wasn’t sure. But I pulled out my phone and tapped in the number on the sign. I’d never know until I tried.

Leaving my job at the restaurant was harder than I’d anticipated.

Both because I really liked my bosses and because I hadn’t been without an official job, a source of income, since I was fourteen.

But I couldn’t do what I needed to in terms of getting my business ready to open and serve customers dinner at the same time.

In order to do this right, it would take all of my concentration.

And I’d been preparing for this for such a long time.

But spending instead of saving? That truly went against the grain.