Chapter 24
Lark
Bright banners snap in the warm breeze as we step onto the crowded street, the entire town of East Rock apparently determined to squeeze itself into one long stretch of booths and tables.
It looks like someone took every color they could find and tossed it into the air.
Jars of jewel-toned jams and jellies glitter on gingham-covered tables.
Rows of handmade scarves and thick mittens hang from wooden racks, even though the early fall air is still warm enough that I’m wishing I’d worn shorts.
Winter will hit East Rock soon enough. When the cold comes, it comes hard.
Further down the street there’s a section of games, mostly for kids tossing beanbags or fishing plastic ducks out of tubs, but a few are clearly designed with a different audience in mind.
Tall wooden frames with oversized hammers.
Targets that require throwing weighted rings.
The sort of activities that practically beg an alpha to prove something to the watching omegas.
A small tingle runs through me at the thought, and I quickly pretend to be extremely interested in a display of honey sticks.
Silas insisted Graham drive us here, which should have been my first clue. The moment we piled in, Silas slid into the back beside me and took my hand. He planned this.
The second we step out of the car, he recaptures it. Now we’re walking down the closed-off street with Silas holding my hand firmly in his, his thumb brushing slow, possessive circles across my knuckles.
Naturally, Graham responds exactly the way Graham I expect. “Oh look,” he says cheerfully, slipping his fingers around my other hand. “Two hands. What a coincidence.”
Silas can’t decide if he should smile or growl. So he does this odd little combination thing that makes my stomach flip.
For a few steps we walk like that. Me sandwiched between them, both alphas holding onto me like this is the most natural thing in the world. But then a family approaches from the opposite direction. Two betas and their two kids weaving unpredictably across the narrow pathway.
Graham releases my hand with a dramatic sigh rather than force the entire family off the path. Silas’ face is all smug satisfaction. I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from laughing.
Behind us, Saint walks quietly. He hasn’t said much since we left the house. Actually, he hasn’t said much for the last few days. But the looks he’s been giving me lately are different from the sharp, angry ones he threw around when we first met.
They’re softer. Not exactly friendly. But less glowering. More somber. Confused even.
It reminds me a little too much of myself after my parents died. That particular look, not angry, not sad exactly. Just unmoored. Like you've forgotten which direction is forward. I knew that look from the inside. I wore it for about a year.
My emotions had been everywhere back then, grief crashing into anger, numbness bleeding into panic.
One minute I felt like I was drowning in sadness, the next like the world had swallowed me whole and forgotten I existed.
I’d had nothing. No family. No job. Still in college, trying not to fail out but not really caring if I did. OmegaBox hadn’t even been a dream yet.
Just the memory of that drifting, hollow feeling settles in my sternum like ballast. Maybe Saint is feeling something similar.
Graham points excitedly across the street. “This one looks good,” he says, already pulling Silas and I toward a booth with bright purple banners advertising The Best Donuts in Three Counties!
And just like that I forget my omega’s comment and am pulled right back into the excitement of the festival.
The donuts, it turns out, might actually deserve the title. Graham buys a small paper tray loaded with them and immediately appoints himself Official Donut Distributor. Which apparently means he feeds them to me one at a time while narrating the experience.
“Alright,” he says solemnly, holding up the first one. “Apple cider. A strong opener for a fall festival.”
I take a bite. “Oh,” I say around the mouthful.
Graham beams.
The next one is maple. Then something with cinnamon sugar that makes my eyes close for a second because—WOW.
“Okay,” I admit after the third one, “these might actually be the best donuts in three counties.”
Silas snorts softly beside me.
I glance back at the booth to read the small wooden sign with the bakery’s name carved into it and make a quick mental note to send it to Cammie later. These will definitely be featured at our next Wednesday meeting.
Graham offers me another donut. Chocolate glazed.
"I have to stop," I say, putting my hand up. "It's not cheat day."
"It's a festival," Graham says, like that settles it.
"One more won't hurt," Silas adds from my other side.
I look between them. "You two are a terrible influence."
"We're an excellent influence," Graham says. "Your omega agrees."
She does. Enthusiastically.
"She has no self-control," I inform him.
I’m just doing what omegas do, she points out.
That's fair.
"One more," Silas says. He takes the chocolate glazed from Graham and holds it out to me himself. Like that's going to make it harder to refuse. It does.
I take it. For research purposes.
"Good girl," Silas says quietly.
My omega preens. I pretend I don't.
We wander a little farther down the street after that, weaving through the crowds until Saint slows near a booth stacked with burlap sacks and glass jars filled with dark coffee beans.
The vendor behind the table is grinding beans with a small hand grinder. The rich smell of fresh coffee drifts into the air and Saint steps closer almost unconsciously, his nostrils flaring.
For a second his whole body changes. Shoulders dropping. Jaw unclenching.
The man running the booth notices. “Want to try a sample?” he asks, already pouring a small cup.
Saint glances back at us, then accepts it. He takes a careful sip, thoughtful. “Good,” he says.
The vendor brightens immediately and offers a second blend. Saint tries that one too. This time his expression shifts just a little.
“There’s something in this,” he says slowly. “Almost… nutty? And chocolate?”
I glance at Silas. Silas glances back at me. Neither of us says anything.
The vendor’s grin widens. “Almond and dark cocoa.”
Saint nods once, clearly approving.
For a minute or two he and the vendor talk quietly about roasting temperatures and bean sources while Silas, Graham, and I stand nearby sipping our own samples. Saint seems almost relaxed for the first time all day.
Then Silas clears his throat. Saint blinks and looks back at us like he’s suddenly remembering our date. The faintest hint of embarrassment crosses his face before he thanks the vendor and rejoins us.
Silas waits exactly half a second before clapping a hand on Saint’s good shoulder and steering us toward the row of festival games.
“Alright,” he says. “Let’s see what this thing can do.”
Ahead of us stands one of those old carnival strength testers, the kind with the tall metal tower and the sliding marker that shoots upward when you slam the giant hammer down.
Silas cracks his knuckles as we approach.
Yes, yes, yes!
My omega loses her mind completely at the thought of Silas winning a prize for us.
She has absolutely no standards when it comes to them. They could do anything and she’d be happy. But there’s a little blue bear with a navy necktie and green patches for his feet that would look perfect in my nest. So maybe she’s not all wrong.
Silas rolls his shoulders once before stepping up to the platform. Then he pushes the sleeves of his plaid shirt up to his elbows.
My breath catches a little.
With his broad back, heavily muscled arms, worn jeans hanging exactly right on his lean hips, dark ink curling over his forearms, and that thick beard that I just want to run my fingers through, he looks every inch the mountain man.
He should be chopping down trees somewhere in the wilderness, not standing at a festival game.
Except right now he’s very clearly planning to win me a stuffed animal.
My omega melts.
I perfume before I can stop myself. The scent rolls out in a warm wave and all three of their heads snap in my direction. Even Saint’s. Low growls rumble around me. I perfume again. Who wouldn’t?
Silas’ eyes darken as he steps close enough to lean down and press a quick kiss to my lips.
“Pick the one you want, little bird,” he murmurs. He hasn’t even lifted the hammer yet.
The audacity. The completely justified audacity.
My omega rolls over and spreads her legs.
I am so embarrassed by her sometimes. But also, yeah. I get it, girl.
Silas steps back to the platform and grabs the giant hammer. The game operator barely has time to finish explaining the rules before Silas lifts it easily over his shoulder. Then he swings.
The hammer slams into the base with a thunderous crack. The red marker shoots up the tower so fast it’s almost a blur before, CLANG! The bell at the top rings loudly, echoing across the row of booths.
A few nearby people clap and whistle. The game operator blinks once, clearly impressed, before reaching up toward the prize shelf.
“Alright,” he says. “Pick your prize.”
Silas doesn’t even look. Instead he turns back toward me, one eyebrow lifting. “Lark?”
I point immediately. “The blue bear.”
The operator grabs it down and hands it over.
Graham studies the bear as Silas passes it to me. “The tie is navy,” he says thoughtfully. “Feet are green.” His lips quirk to one side. “Beautiful, did you pick this because it reminds you of us?”
My skin prickles with awkwardness.
Saint’s expression barely changes, but I catch his ginger scent shifting sharper.
Silas doesn’t comment on it at all. He just pulls me into his side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pressing another quick kiss to my temple.
I hug the bear to my chest.
Overall, a very successful first pack date.