Page 29 of Harvest Moon

I stopped and turned to him. “You’re the pie guy.”

“That’s me,” he agreed. “I bake half the pies people in Grovetown eat.”

“Well then, it’s probably for the best you stay in the kitchen and don’t come out to the woods with me. I think the pack might kick me out if I stopped pie production.” I rolled the map up and stuck my hand back out. “Seriously, though, thank you so much. This is better than I imagined.”

His return smile was brilliant, and I had the notion that maybe Rowan Grove needed to hear nice things about himself more often.

I took my leave, that rolling around in my head. Claudia was the pack second, and she was constantly busy trying to mediate disagreements and negotiate... I didn’t know, whatever it was she negotiated. But somehow, there was still a distinct lack in the Grove pack, when people like Brook and Shiloh and Rowan clearly all needed something they weren’t getting.

It wasn’t a lack that meant they were failing as a pack though. No, it was something else entirely. I grinned as I headed back toward Claudia and Birch’s house.

It wasn’t a lack, if you looked at it from the right angle. It was an opening. It was a place in the pack for someone new. Someone, maybe, a little like me.

16

Ridge

There was plenty to do out on the Hills’ farm to keep me busy and stop me from focusing too much on what Alexis was up to. Grovetown was beautiful—just like home, it was surrounded by wild forests, plenty of streams and hiking trails, though I didn’t think Lex was all that impressed with what passed for a “trail” back home. He must love every minute out here.

But we’d hardly had a town center to speak of back home. There’d been one road that cut through the middle, and a gas station that sold some local produce in crates out front. The sign in the window said, “Closed Sundays,” and people came from miles around to get the barbecue sauce they stocked inside, but that was about all the culture we had.

Grovetown was something different—there were the orchards, sure. And every once in a while, I’d gotten to sneak a piece of delicious leftover apple pie when Alexis’s family was done with it, back before I’d gone off to school.

But it was more than that. These wolves supported their own. The pack bought local, supported local restaurants run by the people who lived there, bought their produce at a market that wasn’t part of any chain store. It was nice to see the way they invested in their own community, and while that might’ve made me long for a way things could’ve been different back home, I was starting to feel a prick of excitement too.

I wasn’t back home anymore; I was here, in this community, where I could see the kind of support system I could weave myself into, the ways I could help provide for a pack and the ways they were already inclined to look out for me.

Well, maybe they weren’t looking out for me specifically, but they were already looking out for Ford and Mr. and Mrs. Hill. If I was part of their household, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to think there might be some kind of place here for me, especially after a couple days busting ass planting all kinds of stuff for harvest later that fall into the beginning of winter, side by side with Ford.

That morning, he’d taken me into town to introduce me to the grocer, Isaac Tartt. Back home, there wasn’t any kind of omega who’d have had an easy time running his own business, especially one that required talking to so many people. But the Grove pack had Mr. Tartt, and even Mr. Hill on the farm—sure, Ford ran things mostly, but it was a symbiotic kind of relationship. Nobody was growling anybody into submission.

Isaac was quick to smile as he showed me around Ambrosia Grocery. He told me where all the different produce came from, taking special care to show me what he got from the Hills.

He seemed especially pleased with the apples, which had signs announcing they were from Grove Apple Grove. He chuckled when he said it out loud.

“But the Groves do like to make fun of themselves,” he said, “more than any other alphas I’ve ever known.”

I grinned. “In my experience, Mr. Tartt, most alphas do take themselves too damn seriously.”

For a second, he blinked at me. Then a grin split his face and he nodded. “Indeed they do, but I’d thank you not to share that opinion with my wife.”

While he was rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed, I cocked my head and looked around the store.

“You mind if I ask what’s selling especially well this season? Or if you’ve got any special requests for us, I’d love to hear ’em. If it’s possible to make things downright perfect for your customers and the pack, I’d sure like to try.”

Isaac laughed. “And here I thought you weren’t for all that alpha ego. Perfect’s a pretty high mark to shoot for.”

I shrugged, hooking my thumbs in the pockets of my jeans. “An alpha’s got to try. So, you got anything for me?”

His lips screwed to the side. He rocked back and forth, looking around at his produce section, which was small but filled with fresh fruits and vegetables in bright colors that made my heart sing. The soil was healthy here, and Ford clearly took good care of his plants. Even while he was standing against the counter, arms crossed and eyes averted while Mr. Tartt and I had our talk, everything I saw in the little grocery store reaffirmed we’d get along just fine.

“Yams. We keep selling out. I take it there’s been some articles lately about fiber content and how much better they are for you than regular potatoes? We sell out practically every week.”

I nodded. “It’s a little late to try planting more, but next year, if that trend holds, we can increase the yield.”

They grew better in Virginia than other cold-loving potatoes, anyway.

He nodded, then pursed his lips. “How do y’all feel about flowers?”

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