Page 32 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
After he left, I stood in my garage staring at his business card and thinking about second chances and the courage it took to betray everything you’d been raised to value for the sake of what you actually believed in.
Cass always saw through my loner act like it was made of glass. Some people really couldn’t hide from being decent.
The Cassian I’d known in college would have done exactly this. Would have used whatever access and resources he had to protect something that mattered, even if it cost him everything. Maybe especially if it cost him everything.
I thought about Willa, about the way her face had lit up when she’d talked about photography. About Wes’s passionate defense of the watershed at the council meeting. About the community I’d been pretending not to care about for the past ten years.
Some things are worth fighting for, I realized, pocketing Cassian’s card. Some people are worth taking risks for.
And maybe, just maybe, some old friendships were worth believing in again.
I got back to work, but my mind kept circling back to timing and sabotage and the way complicated loyalties could lead to unexpected alliances. Whatever happened with the land development, whatever games the corporate world wanted to play, at least now we had someone on the inside.
Someone who remembered what it felt like to choose principle over profit.
Someone who was willing to lose everything to protect what mattered.
Welcome back, Cass,I thought.I’ve missed you.
Chapter 14
Willa
Saturday afternoon at Pine & Pages should have been routine. Sort returns, help customers, handle the register during the weekend rush. Simple tasks that usually felt manageable, even pleasant after two weeks of settling into small-town rhythms.
Instead, I was fighting to keep my hands steady while ringing up Mrs. Peterson’s romance novel purchase, hyperaware of every customer who walked through the door and the way their nostrils flared slightly when they passed the counter.
My suppressants were failing.
The shaking had started that morning, subtle at first. Easy to dismiss as too much coffee or not enough sleep. But by noon, I could barely grip books without dropping them, and my jasmine and summer rain scent was definitely stronger than it should be with functioning medication.
“You okay there, honey?” Mrs. Peterson asked when I fumbled her change for the third time.
“Just a long week,” I said, forcing a smile while my hands trembled betrayingly.
She gave me the kind of look that suggested she wasn’t buying my explanation, but thankfully didn’t push. Small-town politeness had its advantages, even when it felt like pity.
By two o’clock, I was gripping the counter edge to stay upright as waves of dizziness hit without warning. My suppressants weren’t supposed to fail for another week, but my body apparently hadn’t consulted the medication schedule.
This couldn’t be happening. Not at work. Not in public, where people could see.
But denial wasn’t stopping the biological crisis unfolding in my endocrine system. My scent was definitely destabilizing, growing warmer and more complex with each passing hour. Customers were noticing, their conversations trailing off when I approached, their instinctive awareness of omega distress making them uncomfortable.
I was trying to shelve returns in the nature section when the worst wave of dizziness yet made me grab the bookshelf for support. Books scattered to the floor, and I found myself sinking down among them, vision swimming dangerously.
“Willa?” Hollis appeared at my side, his normally friendly face creased with concern. “What’s going on?”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically, though we both knew it was a lie. “Just moved too fast.”
“Mm-hmm.” His expression suggested he wasn’t buying my explanation any more than Mrs. Peterson had. “When’s the last time you saw a doctor about your suppressants?”
The question hit too close to home. Dr. Walsh had warned me that moving to a new environment, especially one with multiple alpha scents, could destabilize my medication. But I’d been so focused on staying invisible, staying controlled, that I’d ignored the warning signs.
“They’re supposed to last another week,” I said weakly.
“Bodies don’t always follow the schedule medicine expects,” Hollis said gently. “Especially when you’re under stress or experiencing major life changes.”
Before I could respond, the bell above the door chimed and Wes walked in. He took one look at me sitting on the floor surrounded by scattered books and his entire demeanor shifted from casual to concerned.
