Page 6 of The Alpha Under My Bed

But Mal had never been interested in sharing. Not with an alpha. Not with anyone. If we ever ended up together, he would want it to be just us. And I didn’t know if that was something I could survive.

I swallowed down the ache in my throat, pushing the thoughts aside.

Mal nudged my hip with his, arching a brow. “You gonna stand there looking at me all morning?”

I rolled my eyes, bumping him back before taking another sip. “Nah,” I murmured, letting the warmth settle low in my chest. “Just thinking.”

He didn’t push. Just smirked, turning back to rinse out his mug.

I lingered for a few more seconds before forcing myself to set mine down and head toward the door. “I’ll see you later?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Mal glanced over his shoulder. “Always.”

I shouldn’t have let that word settle as deep as it did.

The crisp morning air hit the second I stepped outside, the warmth of Mal’s apartment fading as I pulled my coat tighter around me. But his scent still clung to my sweater—clove and citrus, a phantom trace of something that had been there for too long.

I didn’t have time to dwell.

The short walk across the hall to my own apartment was muscle memory. The moment I stepped inside, routine took over.

Jacket off. Hair up. Shower running.

I let the hot water wash the night away, rinsing the exhaustion from my bones. Mal’s scent had settled deep into my sweater, but it was already fading, lost in the rising steam, replaced by the floral warmth of my shampoo and the familiar hint of vanilla in my soap.

Fifteen minutes later, I was dressed in clean jeans and a soft knit sweater, slipping my apron into my bag before heading out again.

The walk to work wasn’t long—just a few blocks down quiet streets lined with brick storefronts and iron lampposts. Oakhaven wasn’t a big city, but it had its charm—enough that I never wanted to leave, even when my friends drifted to bigger places.

The sidewalks smelled of rain-dampened pavement and cooling pastries, the scent of espresso curling from the café on the corner.

And beneath it all, something deeper.

A familiar blend of sandalwood, vanilla bean, and soft florals drifted from the boutique before I even reached the door.

Home.

I unlocked the shop, the brass key warm between my fingers as I stepped inside. The perfume boutique was small but cozy, its shelves lined with delicate glass bottles, soft lighting catching on golden labels. It was a haven of scent—a place where the air was thick with stories waiting to be uncorked.

I took a slow breath, letting the familiar layers settle around me—vanilla bean and bright citrus, sandalwood and smoke, jasmine curling like lazy tendrils through the heavier base notes.

Most people found it overwhelming.

For me, it was everything.

I flipped the sign on the door to open, my fingers grazing the glass bottles at the front display. Everything was arranged just how I liked it—top notes at eye level, mid notes below, bases stacked at the bottom. Scents had layers, stories. A single shift in balance, a drop too much of something, and it could change everything.

I loved that.

Setting my bag down behind the counter, I pulled out my notepad and flipped through the handwritten formulas from the past few weeks. The boutique didn’t just sell perfume—we created custom blends, matching scents to the people who walked through the door. It was an art, one I had learned under Claudia’s careful guidance.

Right on cue, the bell above the door jingled.

I turned, smoothing my hands down the front of my apron as my boss stepped inside.

“Morning, Eleanor,” Claudia said, unwrapping her scarf with a warm smile.

“Morning,” I echoed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

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