Page 15 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
I could feel my temper rising, but I forced myself to stay professional. This was my workplace, Hollis's business, and I wasn't going to cause a scene just because some busybody omega thought I needed to be managed.
"I appreciate your concern," I said again, moving back toward the counter where I'd feel less trapped. "But I'm doing fine on my own."
"Are you, though?" Mrs. Vaughn followed me, clearly not picking up on my signals that this conversation was over. "Because from what I've observed, you seem quite isolated. No bonds, no creative outlets, no proper nesting space. That's not healthy for someone your age."
"What makes you think I don't have creative outlets or a nesting space?"
"Well, do you?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge. I could feel her watching me, waiting for an answer that would either satisfy her curiosity or provide more ammunition for whatever point she was trying to make.
"I'm still settling in," I said carefully.
"Of course. Though you know, there are wonderful opportunities for omega creative expression right here in Hollow Haven. Art classes at the community center, photography groups, crafting circles. The kind of activities that help young omegas develop proper skills and social connections."
Photography groups. The words hit me like a physical blow, and I had to grip the counter edge to keep my expression neutral.
"Photography?" I managed.
"Oh yes, very popular among artistic omegas. Such a lovely way to document family life, pack milestones, community events. Much more fulfilling than..." She gestured around the bookstore. "Service work."
"I'm not particularly artistic," I lied.
"Nonsense. All omegas are artistic in some way. It's part of our nature. You just need to find the right outlet, the right guidance. I could introduce you to some lovely people who could help you explore your creative side."
"That's very kind, but—"
"No buts, dear. Community is essential for omega wellness. You can't just hide away in a bookstore forever, avoiding proper socialisation and creative expression. That's not how healthy omegas live."
The condescension in her voice was finally too much. "And how exactly do healthy omegas live?"
"With purpose, dear. With bonds and creative outlets and the kind of community support that helps them thrive instead of merely survive."
"Maybe I'm thriving just fine."
"Are you?" She tilted her head, studying me like I was an interesting specimen. "Because you seem quite... guarded. Defensive. Like someone who's been hurt and is now too afraid to trust anyone enough to build proper relationships."
The accuracy of that observation felt like a slap. I stared at her, momentarily speechless, while she continued her assessment.
"That's not thriving, dear. That's surviving. And omegas are meant for so much more than that."
"I need to get back to work," I said, desperate to end this conversation before I said something I'd regret.
"Of course. But think about what I've said. This community wants to support you, help you find your place here. All you have to do is let us."
She gathered her purse and headed for the door, pausing to call back over her shoulder. "I'll be in touch about those photography groups. You might be surprised what you discover about yourself."
I was still standing behind the counter, hands shaking with a combination of anger and something dangerously close to panic, when I noticed that someone else was in the store. A man in an expensive-looking coat stood near the history section, clearly having entered during the final minutes of Mrs. Vaughn's interrogation.
He was probably in his early thirties, with dark hair and the kind of polished appearance that screamed money and city living. Everything about him looked out of place in Hollow Haven, from his Italian leather shoes to his perfectly tailored coat. His scent signature marked him as alpha, but unlike Wes, Elias, or Rhett, there was no pull, no instinctive omega response. Just neutral recognition of his designation without any of the awareness that seemed to crackle around the other three alphas I'd met.
He approached the counter slowly, his expression genuinely concerned.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice carrying real worry. "I came in toward the end of your conversation with that woman. I wasn't sure if I should interrupt, but she seemed to be upsetting you quite a bit. Are you all right?"
The genuine concern in his tone caught me off guard. Most people would have pretended not to notice or awkwardly avoided getting involved.
"I'm fine," I said automatically, then realized how unconvincing that probably sounded given that I was visibly shaking. "She just had some... strong opinions about how I should be living my life."
