Chapter 6
Luna
The sign for Apple Blossom Orchard appears at the end of a gravel lane, hand-painted with a cream background, green letters, and a small red apple in the corner.
Charming, if you ignore the fact that it is nailed to two weathered posts, one of them leaning hard.
Past it, the property opens.
Rows and rows of apple trees roll down a gentle slope toward a barn with peeling white trim. Beyond that, a long gravel yard holds a tractor, a stack of wooden crates, and a rusted trailer with one wheel sunk into the dirt.
So. Not exactly the serene picture Mom sold me on.
I slow near the barn. The cabins sit under the trees to the right, small and wooden and tucked in a loose row, but half of them have porch boards stacked outside and one has a blue tarp pulled over part of the roof.
I park beside a dented pickup with mud on the tires and sit there with both hands on the wheel.
My phone sits face-down in the cup holder, blessedly quiet.
It took a rest stop and a minor hand tremor to block Derek on every email, text thread, and social media platform I own, but the silence is worth the thumb cramp.
I look around. The place looks deserted, though with the car, there’s got to be someone around.
“Okay,” I whisper, grabbing my purse. I shut the car door carefully, and start toward the cottage.
“You lost?”
I stop so fast my purse swings into my hip.
“Ow. Hello.”
A woman stands between two rows of trees, half-hidden behind a stack of empty picking crates.
She’s about my age, maybe a few years younger, with honey-brown hair twisted into a knot under a faded baseball cap.
Her cheeks are flushed, her T-shirt is damp at the collar, and she is holding a long-handled rake.
The vibes she throws off practically scream omega.
Her gaze drops to my silk-sheet dress and her brow puckers for a beat. But then, the tension on her face melts into a warm, welcoming smile. “How can I help?”
I smooth a hand down my dress. “I was hoping for a cabin.”
The silence after that is not encouraging.
“Ah,” she says after a beat.
Ah. The sound people make when the printer is broken at the Lakeview Public Library, or a novel’s last copy is checked out.
I shift my weight. “Ah?”
“I’m sorry.” She rests the rake against one shoulder. “It’s just... the owners aren’t really renting them right now.”
My fingers tighten around the strap of my purse.
“Really?” My voice comes out thin. I clear my throat and try again. “Are—are you sure?”
She winces. “They’re not up to safety standards. Legally, they can’t rent them until the repairs are done.”
I press the heel of my hand against one eye, careful of the mascara situation, then drop it. “But...” I start, and then I hear myself. “My mom used to come here.”
The woman stills.
Great, that’s one devastating argument, Luna.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, my cheeks red. “I mean, she told me about this place. She said she knew the owners. Margaret and Tom Miller?”
The rake lowers from her shoulder. Her expression drops.
“Oh,” she says, voice softening. “Margaret and Tom passed away a few years ago.”
Oh.
My chest twinges. I look down at the gravel, at a piece of quartz catching the sun. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t know them personally.” She rubs her thumb over the rake handle. “But the current owners talk about them sometimes. They’re the children.”
“I see.” Smaller than I want it to. I take a long breath. “And is there—is there any way could I talk to one of them?”
Her brow puckers again for a second.
I steady the rattle in my ribs. “It’s just that I—I need a place to stay. For one night. Everything else around is booked or... out of my means.”
That is a nice, tidy word for financially obscene.
“Sure,” the woman simply says. “I can try.”
My whole body wants to sag. I do not let it. “Thank you.”
“I’m Jenna, by the way,” she says.
“Luna.”
“Okay, Luna.” She hooks the rake against the crate stack, then digs her phone out of her back pocket. “I can’t promise anything, though.”
“Of course,” I say.
Jenna lifts the phone to her ear, turning slightly away as it rings.
One second.
Five.
Ten.
“Hey,” Jenna says, and my chest goes tight. “It’s me.” She listens. Her eyebrows pull together. “What?”
A muffled burst of sound comes through the phone.
Jenna’s gaze cuts to the ground. “In the back of your car?”
Another burst. The voice on the other end is deep, a rough rumble that carries even three feet away. My shoulders lock.
“Listen,” Jenna says. “There’s someone here who’d like to rent a cabin.”
Jenna does not even get to inhale before her mouth tightens. “I know they’re closed,” she says.
The male voice keeps going.
“I know,” Jenna says. “But she drove all the way out here, and everything else is booked.”
Jenna winces, pulling the phone an inch from her ear as a sharp, metallic clang rattles through the speaker.
“Bram,” she says, her voice dropping. “Just for tonight.”
There is a pause, and for one stupid second, hope climbs up my throat.
Then Jenna’s eyes flick to me. Then Away.
“No,” she says. “I understand.”
She lowers the phone and neither says anything for a beat.
“He said no,” I finally say.
Jenna slides the phone into her back pocket. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” The lie comes out automatically.
I take a deep breath, uncurling my fingers one at a time from my purse strap.
“He’s on shift,” Jenna says. “He’s volunteer deputy. And it sounded like he had someone in the back of his cruiser, so—”
“Would—would it be okay if I stayed parked here for a while?” I cut in.
Jenna looks at me.
“Just until I find something, somewhere,” I add. “And if I can’t, maybe I can just... rest in the car for a bit?”
Silence. The wind moves through the trees. A few dry leaves scrape across the gravel between us. “I can’t let you do that,” she finally says.
My stomach hollows out.
“Right,” I say quickly, already stepping back. “No, of course. Sorry. I—I’ll get out of your hair.”
“I mean,” Jenna says. “I can’t let you sleep in your car.”
I stop, frozen in place, until the air finally rushes out of my lungs.
“Cabin Seven is in decent shape,” she continues. “It’s not one of the rentals. It used to be seasonal housing. It has running water and a bed.”
Relief hits me so hard I nearly double over. “Thank you. I can pay you, of course—”
“I can’t take your money,” Jenna says, waving off my hand. “If I do, it’s a rental, and then we’re both in trouble. Just... don’t worry about it.”
She looks toward the cabins, then back at me. “Bram’s usually not this anal, but he’s stressed. The whole place is stressed. I’ll handle him tomorrow. For tonight, just keep the lights low, close the curtains, and stay inside. Okay? Oh, and please park your car somewhere less conspicuous.”
I meet her eyes, my throat tight. “Thank you. Seriously. Thank you.”
She nods.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s get you to the cabin before I remember I like having a job.”
***
The water pressure is almost non-existent, but at least, there’s hot water.
I stand under it face up, eyes closed, letting it wash the day away. The pipes shriek every time the temperature shifts, which is often, but between shrieks there are these stretches of perfect, scalding quiet where the water just hits my face and I do not think about anything.
I love it.
I don’t know how long I stay, but my fingers prune. The hot water thins to warm, then drops off a cliff into ice-cold.
I gasp, stepping back as the freezing spray hits my shoulder. I twist the faucet shut, my teeth chattering as I stand dripping in the stall, listening to the last of the water rattle down the drain.
I dry myself off quickly with a scratchy towel, throw it over the rod, and drag my suitcase onto the bed, digging through until I find a faded gray college T-shirt at the bottom. I pull it over my head, the cotton soft, and sit on the creaking mattress.
A yawn cracks my jaw wide and I lie down under the sheets.
Okay, nap time. Twenty minutes, then I’ll have to figure everything out for tom—
My eyes close before I finish the thought.
I wake up not knowing where I am for a good five seconds. Moonlight cuts across my suitcase. My brain buffers.
So that nap was not a nap.
I guess that’s what running from a wedding will do to you. That and a not-so-long previous night with a handsome stranger.
Ash. His mouth on my—
A flush of heat pools low in my stomach, and my thighs press together before I can stop them.
“Damn,” I whisper. “Seriously, body?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, but the dark only brings Ash back in flashes. The heavy slide of his hand down my spine, his tongue... his scent.
My omega purrs, a low, demanding vibration in my chest.
Really? I ask her. Now? We’re supposed to figure out what to do tomorr—
Alpha, alpha.
My omega, it seems, does not care about our predicament.
A deep, empty pulse pulls between my legs, and I go hot everywhere.
“Come on, absolutely not.” But my hand slides under the shirt. I am already so slick.
And before I realize what I’m doing, I reach for my travel case on the nightstand and pull out a small silicone vibrator.
Don’t, I tell myself.
But my thumb is already pressing the button. The quiet hum fills the small cabin, a low, steady vibration filling the room.
I press it down, and bite my lip when the first pulse steals my air.
I move slowly at first. Then I remember Ash’s tongue flicks, and my rhythm breaks.
The toy slides deeper, and pleasure snaps up through my core so hard I press a pillow over my mouth.
My thighs shake open. Slick coats my fingers. The empty ache turns greedy, clenching around silicone, wanting more.
Fuck, I’m—
BANG. The door shudders in its frame.
The buzz keeps going. Loud. Obscene in the sudden silence.
My fingers scramble for the power button, slipping right past it. Miss. Fuck
BANG. BANG. “Who’s in there?” A commanding voice asks.