Page 44 of Into the Fire: Before

Jennie breezed by from the back room, blonde ponytail bobbing and her long turquoise raincoat rustling as she passed by behind me. “No cats, no bunnies. No dogs, ferrets, turtles, or snakes either.” As she rounded the counter, she caught my eye over her glasses. “Pet rocks are acceptable, so long as they’re leashed.” And then she carried on, grabbing an umbrella from the stand by the door and exiting into the rain.

The laughter would no longer be contained. “You totally saw her coming!”

“I didn’t!”

“My dirty puns are for the partners of my choosing! No general admission here!”

“I swear I didn’t see her coming!”

I gave him a faux-suspicious look and hummed my disagreement. “Well, I should probably actually do my job before I don’t have one anymore. What’s your poison?”

He eyed the menu board for a moment. I knew the second he saw what he wanted, as the corner of his mouth twitched up. “Iced pomegranate tea,” he said, meeting my eye. My flush deepend as he added, “and a shot of cream too, please.”

Pomegranate and cream. A bit of Brea, a bit of me.

My omega fucking beamed as I made the drink, squeezing a shot of the—admittedly, delicious—vanilla cream into the tea. “Here or to go?” I asked over my shoulder as I finished up.

A reluctant sigh. “Alas, to go. I have another bank meeting at three.”

“Ew, gross,” I said as I snapped a lid onto the plastic cup. When I turned to hand it over, my omega absolutely shimmied with contentment at the hungry look still in his eye. “My condolences,” I added as I handed the cup over.

Lin made sure to brush his fingers along mine as he took the cup from my grasp. “Bye, Taryn.”

The next few hours passed much more slowly. The rain slowed from a downpour to an off-and-on drizzle. The sun even made a shy reappearance in the offs, weak and low in the sky, but sunshine nonetheless.

Brea was meant to meet me at the shop around six for the walk home. Hopefully the rain would have let up entirely by then and the walk home wouldn’t be a swim.

By five o’clock, with an almost empty shop due to the on-again rain, I made my way through the end-of-shift checklist. My attention was fixed on wiping down the frother machine when the bell over the door chimed and footsteps squeaked toward the counter.

“Be with you in a sec,” I said as I finished up. I sighed with satisfaction as I finished wiping up, standing and turning toward the sink to wash and dry my hands before returning to the counter. “Now, what can I g—”

Fuck. Fucking fuck fuck.

Heath Torrington stared at me. I stared back at Heath Torrington.

Heath Torrington. Here. In Farendale. Which was supposed to be Heath Torrington-free.

My brain kept repeating the name. Trying to process the presence right before me. I hadn’t seen this man since Brea and I fled Pockston over two years ago. It wasn’t so much that I hadn’t expected to see him, as it was that the moment we’d been free, I’d done my very best to delete Heath Torrington from my mind.

But there he stood. Too tall, too solid, right in front of me. Heath.Fucking.Torrington.

My heart sped as I wiped my hands nervously on my apron. “Hi,” I said, anxious. “Wh-what can I get started for you?”

Heath said nothing. Simply stared. I didn’t repeat myself, afraid to. I watched him, studied him. His dark blond hair was mostly dry, thanks to the umbrella hanging from his hand that puddled the floor. He looked…normal enough, I supposed. But something about those wide blue eyes, locked on me, put every hair on my body standing tall. It suddenly felt like what it must’ve been like centuries ago.

Alpha, predator.

Omega, prey.

I swallowed, sick to my stomach. “Heath?” I whispered.

Hearing his name must’ve ripped him from his stupor. His normal garlicky scent turned burnt. Those wide eyes narrowed, hatred overtaking the surprise there. “Fucking figures,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“Heath—”

He didn’t say another word, turning on his heel and practically sprinting from the shop, back out into the rain without opening his umbrella. A blink later, he was gone. The only evidence he’d been there at all was my racing heart and the slip hazard in front of the counter.

“Andhedidn’tsayanything? Nothing at all?” Brea asked for the third time as we turned the corner to our block.

---