Page 19 of Fragile Heart

I offer a single nod back. It’s hard to toe the line between polite and flirting. I have no interest in her—Poppy, I think, or maybe Penelope—and God knows Ethan wouldn’t approve even if I did. But things like being just a bit too polite are taken as the gospel truth in small towns, and I don’t have the damn energy for it today.

Mom walks out from the back room, a small plate in her hand. She sets the plate on a table a few away from my son and disappears into the back again, not seeming to notice me. Camden is a half-step in front of her, a to-go cup in his hand, though it doesn’t have a lid. Instead, there’s a mound of whipped cream with a few pieces of shredded chocolate on it. His eyebrows are furrowed as he crosses the room to the far corner where a single table is open. He pushes the small red sign that states “RESERVED” in bold white letters out of his way as he settles into the seat and starts licking the whipped cream.

I drop into the seat next to him and kiss his cheek before he can turn around.

“Papa!” His happy squeal echoes around the busy cafe, and several people look up from their tables. I smile, letting him crawl into my lap and circle his arms around my neck. “You’re back!”

I breathe him in, wrapping my arms around him, and close my eyes.

I love flying. I love knowing I’m helping with something larger than just myself. But, fuck, every time I leave it gets harder to justify the distance, the time away. Way too soon,Camden pushes away from me and shuffles back into his own seat, his focus on the whipped cream topping his hot cocoa again.

“Oh!” My mom’s surprised gasp is just behind me. I turn in the chair and watch as she closes the distance between us. “I didn’t realize you were getting back today.”

She hugs me, pulling me into her belly and kissing the top of my head, like I’m as old as Camden and not thirty-five. I let her do it and then bask in her smile as she pulls away.

“Nana, can I have the muffin now?” Camden asks.

She mutters a curse. “I knew I forgot something,” she says. “Give me just a moment. I’ll bring you a coffee, too.”

I run my hand through my son’s hair, relaxing into the seat. I don’t trust myself to stay awake if I let my eyes drift shut, so I focus on the cars outside, counting the number of out of state license plates as they pass through town.

I’m up to fourteen when Mom returns with a blueberry muffin and a large, steaming mug. I take it with a murmured thanks but don’t immediately take a drink. As Mom sets the muffin in front of Camden and settles in the seat across from me, the smell of lavender wafts toward me. My muscles lock. It takes all my control to keep from growling in reaction.

“How was Idaho?” Mom asks.

I shrug. Words are probably not the best idea right now. I breathe slowly, trying to get the unexpected violence to drain away from me. Another trace of that lavender hits me, though, and it does the opposite.

“Something happen on the way in here?” she asks after half a minute.

“You get a new floral arrangement?” I ask instead of admitting I’m on the edge of flipping over this table, my son’s pastry be damned. And for literallynoreason. There’s not an Omega in heat anywhere in here. And that’s the only reason Ican come up with that justifies this level of overreaction and bone deepneedto protect that’s riding me hard despite my exhaustion.

Mom shakes her head. Her gaze catches on someone behind me, and she smiles, waving them over.

“How are you, dear?” she asks. “You weren’t here yesterday. I got worried.”

“Decided to go for a small ride,” a distinctly feminine voice says. One that I don’t immediately recognize, and I recognize pretty much anyone Mom knows well enough to chat with in the coffee shop.

Curiosity gets the best of me. I look over my coffee mug. A brunette woman stands a few steps away, her hands tucked into her back pockets, her brown eyes warm and yet somehow still wary. The oversized sweater she wears is a little heavy given it’s nearly the middle of June, and it drowns out whatever curves she may have, but the dark green of it makes her skin glow.

Mom smiles and hugs the woman. “I’m sure that must have felt nice after living in the city for so long.”

“It was… helpful,” the woman says. “I don’t trust myself on long rides alone yet, though. Still trying to get the feeling of being on a horse back into me.”

Mom nods. “Do you want another cup of tea?”

She’s already turning for the counter when the woman shakes her head. “Thank you, though, Joan. I’m going to go help Melissa with everything at the ranch.”

“Well, don’t let the girls work you too hard. They both love the feel of it and forget others need to work up to the same level of stamina.”

The woman smiles, but it doesn’t quite touch her eyes. She runs a hand through her hair before waving at Mom.

As she turns, another small wave of that lavender scent hits me. And suddenly it doesn’t feel like I’ve been on a fire fortwelve days. My eyes don’t hurt, my head doesn’t ache. Even the exhaustion is gone, overloaded with the adrenaline coursing through me. Everything within my body is focused on this woman, this Omega, that isn’t five feet from me.

She must be wearing a lotion to block her scent rather than the more traditional scent blocking underwear. It’s the only explanation for why I managed to get even that small taste of her scent.

It takes every single ounce of my control to stay in my seat, my head ducked, my hands tight on the coffee mug as the woman leaves the coffee shop. I need to stop her, need to touch her, smell her, mark her,claimher. Understanding floods me, followed nearly immediately with shock so strong it takes my breath away.

Mom says something, and I nod, not even knowing what I’m agreeing to. She holds out her hand, and I offer her the mug. I turn toward Cam, not trusting myself to look out the windows and see which car is the woman’s.

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