Page 20 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
“Like being released into a world that doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Exactly.” I met her eyes, seeing something there that made my chest tight. “Sorry. I don’t usually dump environmental politics on people during owl updates.”
“Don’t apologize,” Willa said firmly. “Some things are worth fighting for, even when the fight feels impossible.”
There was conviction in her voice that told me she knew something about impossible fights. Whatever battles she’d faced, whatever had brought her to Hollow, she understood what it felt like to care about something everyone else wanted to ignore.
“Well,” I said, stepping back toward the door before I could share any more vulnerabilities. “I should let you get back to work.”
“Wes?” She called after me as I reached for the door handle. “Thank you. Really. For caring enough to follow up. You should… you should text me so I have your number,” she said uneasily.
I turned back to find her watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Grateful, but also curious. Like she was trying to figure out what kind of person made special trips to deliver good news about animals to strangers.
The kind who can’t stop thinking about the way you asked for updates, I thought.The kind who’s probably going to drive past this bookstore more often than is professionally necessary.
“I will. Take care of yourself, Willa,” I said instead.
Walking back to my truck, I found myself thinking about timing and healing, the way some connections developed slowly, like trust built between wild animals and the people trying to help them. Maybe that’s all this was—professional interest in someone who clearly understood wildlife rehabilitation from an emotional perspective.
But as I pulled away from the curb, already planning tomorrow’s patrol route to include Main Street, I had to admit I was lying to myself. This wasn’t just about shared concern for an injured owl. This was about the way she’d looked at that photo like it represented hope she’d been afraid to feel. This was about wanting to be the kind of person she felt safe reaching out to when she needed to know that broken things could heal.
I pulled my phone out of my jacket and fired off a quick message to her before I could talk myself out of it,Hey this is Wes. This is my number if you ever need me for anything.
I rolled my eyes at how lame it sounded and then sent it anyway.
My phone buzzed with a text message as I reached the first stoplight.
Thank you again for the update. It made my whole day brighter.
I stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back.
Mine too. I’ll be in touch about the release.
Her response came quickly.
Looking forward to it.
Four simple words that shouldn’t have made my chest feel warm, but did. I pocketed the phone and headed home, already looking forward to having a reason to text her in a few weeks. Already hoping she might reach out before then if she needed anything else.
Already acknowledging that whatever this was between us, it had moved well beyond professional interest in wildlife conservation.
But that was a problem for future Wes to solve. For now, it was enough to know that somewhere in Hollow Haven, an omega was smiling at a photo of a healing owl and maybe, just maybe, thinking that broken things really could find their way back to where they belonged.
Chapter 9
Wes
Ispotted him the moment I walked into the community center. Cassian Black, leaning against the back wall like he owned the place, expensive suit and polished shoes that probably cost more than most people in Hollow Haven made in a month. His presence hit me like a punch to the gut. Corporate money incarnate, the face of everything that was about to destroy the watershed I'd spent two years documenting and protecting.
What the hell was he doing here? This was supposed to be a routine council meeting, not some corporate dog and pony show. But there he stood, checking his phone with the casual arrogance of someone who knew the outcome was already decided, his cologne cutting through the room's usual mix of small-town scents like an invasive species choking out native plants.
Cassian Black. Son of the Black hotel empire, heir to a fortune built on turning pristine landscapes into profit margins. I'd done my research when Pinnacle Development first started sniffingaround Hollow Haven. The Black family specialized in luxury resorts that promised economic opportunity while delivering environmental destruction and minimum-wage service jobs. They'd done it in Tennessee, in Colorado, in three counties across Montana. Now they wanted to do it here.
The sight of him made my alpha instincts surge with territorial fury. This wasmycommunity,mywatershed,myresponsibility to protect. And this corporate prince was here to smile and charm his way into destroying fifteen acres of irreplaceable habitat so rich people could have spa weekends in the mountains.
I was still staring at Cassian, hands clenched around my folder of environmental studies, when movement in the middle section caught my attention. Willa, sitting three rows from the back, wearing a navy sweater that made her jasmine and summer rain scent carry even in a room full of competing signatures. She looked nervous, uncomfortable, like she wasn't sure she belonged here but had come anyway.
The sight of her settled something tense in my chest. She was here. At a town council meeting about environmental protection, something that mattered to me more than I'd been willing to admit to anyone, including myself. She caught my eye and gave me a small, awkward wave, her expression uncertain but encouraging.
