Page 77 of Small Town Shy Omega
Then I turned to my Alphas. “Really in trouble here, guys.”
Blake snatched the key ring from my hand, then tried each key until one magically locked the door. “Success.”
“You make it look so easy,” I joked, grateful for his assistance.
Blake wrapped me in his big arms, holding me tight. “No worries.”
“All I am is worries,” I snorted, liking the way he bear-hugged me. If I had to choose between a bear and Blake, I’d pick Blake any day. “I think most of us are. We keep it under wraps.”
“There’s medication for that, you know,” Blake reminded me.
“I don’t want the government putting words in my brain,” I laughed, scanning the sky for drones. “Okay, let’s go in.”
My glassworks studiobrimmed with sparkles. Maybe it was time to dust. Little dots of light floated around, illuminating my magical creations.
My purple vase that a neighbor commissioned last month sat on my worktable, waiting for me to put the finishing touches on. The gourd vase I was entering in the Applewood Falls State Fair in August waited to be baked.
Josh’s jaw dropped. “Babe…”
“Youmade all these?”
“No, a fairy enters in the middle of the night. I just cash the checks and take the credit.”
“Wow,” Blake muttered, eyes flitting around. “This is incredible.”
“Your praise means a lot to me, guys. I’ve never showed an Alpha this part of my life before.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
Dreydon whistled, lifting up a glass bowl. “You could put anything in here. Pears, grapes, apples, oranges.”
“Not the compliment you think it is, but thanks anyway,” I mutter. Yes, you could put fruit in… a fruit bowl. In fact, many have done just that. In fact, I’ve done that. With this very fruit bowl, in fact.
A grape tumbled out of the bowl.
“Oops,” Dreydon said, dropping down to pick it up.
“See?” I said sweetly. “I do use to for fruit.”
“I wonder what else you could store in here. Mail? Letters?”
“Not helping my confidence level,” I murmured, going to Dreydon. “It’s a bowl, Dreydon. I get it.”
“Well….”
“There’s no well,” I said. “Not but or and either. It’s a bowl, it’s stupid, I know. Big freaking deal, I make bowls.”
Josh’s eyes traveled over to a little device on my windowsill, and he huffed. “You smoke bowls too,” he muttered, spanking my ass.
I snorted, wriggling under the touch. “Different kind of bowls,” and then I swatted him right back.
Josh picked up an urn I was making for Irene. “What’s this?”
“Oh, when Irene’s grandfather passes away, she wants him cremated.”
“WTF?!”
