Page 15 of Pumpkin Patch Pack
Our mate.
The knowledge sits heavy in my chest, a secret I’m not ready to share. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“We need to respect her privacy,” Rowan says, ever the voice of reason. “If she’s hiding her designation, she has her reasons.”
“Agreed,” Theo nods. “No, confronting her about it. We just make sure she knows she’s safe here.”
I push my chair back, suddenly needing to be alone. “I’ve got to check on the animals.”
“Liam,” Rowan’s voice stops me at the door. “You good with this? Having an unbonded omega around?”
The question hangs in the air, loaded with implications. They know my history, know why I’ve kept my distance from omegas for years—they’re the only ones who do.
“It’s fine,” I say flatly. “She’s an employee. That’s all.”
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
Outside, the night air cools my heated skin. I stride toward the barn, breathing deeply to clear my head.
Inside the barn, the animals stir as I enter. I move through my routine on autopilot: checking water, adjusting bedding, and soothing with a gentle hand. The repetitive tasks usually center me, but tonight, my mind keeps circling back to her.
Emma.
I’d known the moment I’d smelled her true scent. Known with bone-deep certainty that she was ours. The mate we weren’t even looking for. The missing piece of a puzzle I’d convinced myself we didn’t need.
A year ago, after years of dancing around it, I’d finally accepted Rowan and Theo’s offer to form a pack. We’d been friends for years, then business partners, and finally, after much persuasion on their part, packmates.
“None of us are in any hurry to find an omega,” Rowan had said.
And I’d believed him, believed in the safety of that arrangement. No pressure, no expectations. Just three males who worked well together balanced each other’s strengths and weaknesses.
Now this.
I run a hand through my hair, tugging in frustration. I should tell them. They deserve to know that their potential mate is living in a cottage a hundred yards from the main house. Every instinct I have is screaming to claim, protect, and bring her into our pack.
But I can’t form the words.
Because what if history repeats itself? What if I’m wrong? What if I’ve been alone so long that I’m imagining a scent match where there is none?
Or worse, what if I’m right—but she rejects us?
Rejects me?
I lean against the stall door, pressing my forehead against the cool wood. Maple bleats from inside, butting her head against my hand where it hangs over the door.
“What am I supposed to do, huh?” I murmur to the goat, scratching behind her ears. “Just walk up and say, ‘Hey, by the way, I think you’re our mate, but I’m terrified of being wrong because the last time I thought I found my mate, it nearly destroyed me’?”
Maple looks at me with those oddly expressive eyes, then bleats again as if in agreement.
“Great advice,” I mutter.
I finish my barn chores and make my way out. The lights of her cottage at the end of the row glow softly in the darkness. Through the window, I can see her silhouette, sitting by the table, head bent over what’s probably her laptop.
I should keep walking. Go to my own cottage. Try to sleep.
As I turn, I see Maple’s door is ajar, and she is nowhere to be seen. That goat can escape from Fort Knox when she puts her mind to it.
I type a quick message: “Maple’s loose. Probably headed your way.”
