Page 2 of Small Town Shy Omega
My next heat would be upon me soon, and my pink raspberry scent that would start perfuming soon would make me very attractive to Alphas. My eyes, which were mauve with sparkles, would be irresistible to packs with their blown pupils, despite my glasses. If I wasn’t careful, I’d wind up with a new pack, and that was the last thing I wanted. My ideal way to pass my heat was to settle in my nest, and comb through my paperback romance collection. Most of my books had pretty pastel covers, and I preferred the ones that concealed what I was reading.
A pack in my life would mean the death of my solitude. They’d require me to cook, clean, and they most certainly wouldn’t take care of me. Oh, all Alphas claimed they cared for their Omegas, but we Omegas knew what really transpired. Once a pack of gorgeous Alphas roped you in, you were at their beck and call. They enslaved you in the kitchen, commanding that you preparetheirmeals. They hardly cooked for you, and when theymanaged to do theirownlaundry, they demanded thanks and praise.
Unbonded Omegas were often frowned upon, but I viewed them as sages. Why on earth would I ever return to a pack who would only disrupt my solitude? Everything I needed, I possessed in the cozy, yet slightly dilapidated cottage Grandpa left me in his will. And because my monthly allotment granted me independence, I had no real need for financial support.
Though my pink raspberry fragrance that would start to perfume the closer I got to my heat would make me very attractive to Applewood Falls’ Alphas, I was convinced that a pack was the last thing I needed.
Beautiful.
The word came out so suddenly, I almost thought I imagined it.
To others, I was Layla: an unbonded, very shy purple-haired Omega. The glassworks artist. The recluse who lived in a solitary cottage, hardly sharing her presence with anybody.
When he called me beautiful under his breath,I listened.
Turning my head up, I laid eyes on the most handsome Alpha I’d ever seen.
He was cutting peaches, his wide, muscular arms on full display. He worked diligently, swiftly sorting the fragrant peach slices into plastic cups, with small spoons.
His brown locks fell to his cheeks, and I instantly sensed there was something different about him. Different from all other Alphas in town.
He looked like a farmhand. An Alpha who worked the fields, selling his wares at the market every weekend.
Pushing up my glasses, I regarded him with a confused air.
“Are you talking to me?”
The Alpha muttered something, swiftly hiding his knife under cloth.
“Beautiful,” he purred, and instantly the smells of cinnamon and sugar reached my nose. Something masculine radiated off this man, even though the peaches he sorted contained a softness, almost like a soft palm that surprises you when touching a very suntanned arm.
The Alpha was charming, his dark blue eyes light with life. He looked to be about my age, though slightly older.
“I’m not looking for a pack,” I said by way of apologizing, not wanting to give the Alpha the wrong ideas.
“Baby, you are the most beautiful Omega I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m not on the market.” While I wasatthe market, specifically the farmers’ market, I had to lay down the law.
“Your name, Omega?”
“Layla.” I didn't think it was wrong to tell him my name.
“Blake,” he purred, and something broke inside of me.
Something just… snapped, the way it does when you finally give in to that holiday movie you’ve been wanting to watch all autumn, one lonely night unable to resist its spell.
Blake… a poet’s name, and truly the way he gazed upon me was poetically enrapturing.
Beautiful.
I never forgot the way he said that one word, as if I was so beautiful it simply slipped out. Unbidden, unprompted, and… unstoppable.
He justsaw beauty…and his Alpha had to express it.
Me: the twenty-seven-year-old bookish Omega, who read far more than she socialized. Who rarely left her cottage, specifically her nest.
I went home that day.I did not give in to fair Blake’s advances, though visions of him cutting peaches swirled through my mind.
