Page 3 of Dancing for His Omega

Edwin

After a few days in Oliver Creek, I’d gotten settled in my tiny apartment, which was easy because I didn’t have much. The great thing about Granger’s place above his garage was that not only was it fully furnished, but there were also plates and silverware and other useful items. I wasn’t much of a chef, but I had to cook for myself until I found some kind of job.

I needed to buy a new set of sheets and a comforter, which I ordered online.

With all those things settled, I had my first counseling appointment. I was told the office was right next to the healer’s, but that didn’t really help me since I hadn’t had the time to get the lay of the land with all the unpacking and such.

Granger waved at me through the window over the sink as I walked down the driveway. I had my map app running on my phone because, sure, it was silly in this small town, but the last thing I wanted to do was arrive late.

Oliver Creek was such a cute place. The more I walked the streets, the happier I was about my decision.

What I wasn’t happy about was going to the counseling session to talk about me and Jacob. Starting over with a therapist would be hard since telling the story always ripped me open but as my former counselor said, the only way to the other side of emotions was trudging right through them.

“Good morning.” The receptionist smiled at me. “You must be Edwin. You’re right on time.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh. Shay only takes three patients a day, so unless you were four hours early, then you’re Edwin. Plus, it’s a small town, and I know the other patients.”

Ah. Right. So different from the city.

“Thank you. Is there anything I need to fill out? I didn’t get a link for the paperwork.”

“We’re just getting those digital things up and running. For now, would you mind filling out this paperwork? Old school? With a pen?” He handed me a clipboard.

I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d used a pen and a piece of paper.

I’d just filled in the last line and signed and dated when a man in his fifties arrived. He had a sweater vest of all things and glasses that sat low on his nose. Readers for sure. “Good morning, Edwin. I was on the phone with my mate. Sorry about that. Please, come in.”

Before following him, I handed the clipboard back to the receptionist.

We walked to his office. There was only one other door, and it was marked restroom.

“Sit down. I’ve already gone over the notes from your other counselor. And welcome to Oliver Creek. How are you feeling about your new start? Being in a new place?”

I took a long breath and held it a few seconds before letting it go. Another actionable device recommended by my previous therapist. “I feel like it’s a new start, but my mind is clinging to what happened before. I didn’t know a breakup could cause so much pain. It wasn’t my first relationship, but things just happened so fast.”

Shay, no last name, set the folder aside. “Sometimes when there’s been no closure, it makes it hard to move on. Do you truly think you were in love with Jacob? Was he your mate? I saw no note about that.”

He knew my partner’s name so, yeah, he’d read or at least skimmed the notes. Reassuring? Maybe.

“He wasn’t my fated mate. I knew that from the beginning. The relationship moved fast. I think a big part of it was that he was my dancing partner. We were always cast as the lovers, and we filled those roles on and off the stage. Then he started taking classes somewhere else. Said he needed a break from ballet. Not uncommon. Everyone needs something to spice things up once in a while. Except, he spiced up more than his dancing skills.”

“He cheated on you?”

The conversation went on and on, and thankfully I felt no judgment from Shay. He listened well and asked questions I hadn’t thought to ask myself, and the other therapist hadn’t either.

He challenged me to get to know myself better. To grow my self-worth, and his advice wasn’t simply words. He wanted me to journal about new things I learned—ways that I loved myself.

I told him it was hard to do. His answer was that I had to pick my hard—continue the way I was or learn to take a new path.

At that moment, I knew without a doubt I had chosen not only this town but my new therapist well.

The last thing I needed was someone to coddle me. The session went well. I had things to work on and was glad for it.

On my way home, I stopped at the local bakery and bought a larger-than-life cinnamon roll and a hot coffee. It had been a long time since I allowed myself such a big treat, but after the intense session with Shay, I deserved it.

On my way out of the bakery, I noticed a poster on the community cork board. A spring festival was coming up soon, next month in fact.

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