Page 59 of The Omega Verse

Dusty’s eyes bug, but to my surprise, he doesn’t fall over me in ecstatic squeals. Instead, he takes my hand and squeezes it. “I’m so sorry. Cass. That must be so hard for you, losing him before you found each other again.” His eyes slide sideways. “Although, very nice of him to leave in such talented, capable, hot hands.”

I laugh, because Dusty just can’t help himself. “Okay. But my point is, we don’t have to all be together just because they play in the same band.”

He thinks about this for a moment. “But they’ll be going on tour again, right? And they’ll want you to travel with them,” he goes on, picking up a Tupperware lid and trying to fit it on a container of cupcakes. “You can’t be tied down to this place forever.”

“I don’t know,” I reply as I stare at a recipe for zeppole, which has a choux pastry and is served with custard, icing sugar, and cherries soaked in syrup. No guesses why I’ve been dreaming of making it lately. “Silva’s between bands, and this thing with River is really new.” I try to keep Kobi and Jett’s faces out of my head, but it’s hard. Even if my pack ends with Tom and Silva, I’ll still want to stay in touch with the other guys. In fact, the thought of us going our separate ways in a couple of weeks makes me feel sick with panic.

“But you’re big leagues now, Cass. You can’t run some small-town business and be The Sundowners’ arm candy at the same time…”

“Are you trying to tell me I’ve made a mistake, Dusty?” I demand, slamming the recipe book closed. “That I shouldn’t be in a pack with them?”

Dusty looks startled, then throws his hands in the air. “No, I think you should rethink this place! You don’t need four a.m. starts and dough up to the elbows anymore, Cass. Besides, the bakery was Cookie’s dream, not yours. This is your chance to get away.”

I stare at him, aghast. “You think I don’t want to be here?”

“Maybe you don’t think you have a lot of choice.” He gives me a pointed look, like it’s something he’s been thinking about for a while. “You’re so loyal to Cookie, but you don’t owe her for taking you in as a kid. You’re allowed to have your own life, you know.”

I’m quiet for a while, thinking things over as I take Cookie’s recipe book back into the office. When I return to the kitchen, Dusty picks up one of the angel wings he just took out of the oven and waves it like a white flag. “Just saying, maybe it’s time for you to spread your wings, boss.” He takes a bite of the pastry, grinning at me through the icing sugar. “Let that yummy pack of yours spoil you for a change.”

When we close up a couple of hours later, Dusty’s words are still ringing in my ears. As a teenager, I resented how much time I had to spend at the bakery, but somewhere along the line, I stopped wondering what else I wanted to do with my life. I’ve felt a debt to Cookie for so long, and why wouldn’t I? She took me in, trained me up, and even gave me her name. Admittedly, I was the one to suggest it when Tom was giving me my new ID. Up until then, Cookie just told everyone I was a distant relative from the city who’d lost her parents. And while we lived and worked together, it made sense to just follow in her footsteps.

But have I been heading down the wrong path simply because I didn’t stop to wonder if there was a better way?

I head into the office, and after checking my work email for any surprises, call Cookie. It rings for a long time and I’m on the cusp of hanging up when she answers. She sounds breathless and a little irritated, like I’ve interrupted something important. I just hope it’s not any funny business, because from what I’ve heard, Cookie’s social life has skyrocketed since she retired.

“Hey, Cookie. Just wanted to check in and see when we can catch up.”

“Mm.” I can hear her flouncing down onto what I hope is a chair, not a bed. “Julie from the bowling club said you have something interesting to tell me about Mr Bush.”

The way she drawls Tom’s name makes him sound like an exotic dessert. Which I kind of guess he is, at least to me. “Yeah, I do. We’re mated. I didn’t mean to keep it from you, but it just happened, and we were hoping to tell you in person.”

Instead of sounding slighted, there’s a smug edge to Cookie’s tone. “This is good, Cassandra. Very good. You need Tom, and he needs you. And it will get you out of the apartment, yes?”

I go still, my hand tightening on the phone. Does she blame me for the break-in? I know Tom and Logan have been in touch since she owns the building, but I haven’t got around to calling her until now. “I’m going to get it fixed up. New furniture, better security…”

“I’m certain everything will be fine, Cassandra. Tom told me you have a new place together. Is this also true?”

Crap. Cookie doesn’t appreciate being the last to know things, and I’ve really neglected her the last couple of weeks. “I was planning to tell you all of this on my birthday.” It’s in a month’s time, and we always bake my cake together, then go see a movie at the cinema complex in the next town.

“Ah, yes, I was going to call you about that. I’ve actually booked a cruise next month with Kevin. It’s a tour of South East Asia, hosted by that handsome TV chef with the yum-cha restaurants.”

“Kevin?” I have some vague memory of a kind-faced alpha I met when I visited her last. “Are you together, Cookie?”

The idea is shocking to me, since I can’t remember when she last went on a date. I always thought having a teenager underfoot must have cramped her style, but Cookie told me she was married to the bakery. “I’m sampling new dishes, Cassandra, that’s all. But I will catch up with you and Tom when we get back, yes?”

We chat a while longer, then Kevin must grow tired of waiting, because Cookie gives a throaty giggle and tells me she has to go. I stare at the phone for a couple of minutes before I punch in another number. Silva answers on the first ring. “Are you around?”

“Now that you mention it, I’m about two minutes from your exact location.”

I snort, feeling as giddy as Cookie sounded. “Are you stalking me, Silva Sterling?”

“Is it my fault you have the magnetic pull of gravity?”

“Silver isn’t magnetic, you know.”

He makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “Must be why I feel like I’m walking on air when I’m around you.”

My heart does a swoony, dippy thing at that, but it’s interrupted by a familiar bark. “Is that Banjo?”

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