Page 56 of Marked By Alphas 2: Claimed

Scout bounded into the back seat between Luke and me, clearly deciding that whatever was happening in the garden was above his pay grade. Through the rear window, I could see Imo now performing what appeared to be a spirited negotiation with a particularly stubborn patch of herbs.

“Your mom’s amazing,” I told Luke as we pulled away from the manor, Imo’s cheerful chanting fading behind us.

“Yeah.” Luke sighed, though he was smiling. “Just wait until she finds the wine cellar. We’ll come back to find all the bottles rearranged by spiritual resonance.”

“Jorge might actually cry.” Caleb laughed, turning onto the main road toward town.

I settled back in my seat, Scout’s head resting contentedly on my shoulder. Behind us, I could have sworn I heard one final “YAH!” followed by the sound of bells and Maria’s delighted laughter. Whatever spiritual realignment the manor was getting, at least it would be thoroughly entertained in the process.

The drive into town was its own kind of entertainment. Luke kept alternating between taking artistic shots of the forest-lined road and eyeing Caleb’s casual display of wealth—from the custom leather interior to the ridiculous number of electronic gadgets.

“So,” Luke said, swiping through his photos, “is everything in Cedar Grove this…”

“Unnecessarily expensive?” I supplied. “Yeah, pretty much. Wait till you see the coffee shop. They have gold-leaf lattes.”

“They what now?”

“Don’t ask,” I groaned. “Marcus keeps ordering them for me because apparently regular coffee isn’t ‘suitable for their mate.’” I made air quotes with my fingers, earning a low chuckle from Caleb.

“You love those lattes,” Caleb pointed out, smoothly turning onto Main Street.

“That’s not the point,” I said, though he wasn’t wrong. The gold-leaf honey lavender latte was basically liquid heaven, but I’d never admit that out loud.

The town square was already buzzing with festival preparation. Strings of lights crisscrossed overhead, waiting for dusk, while volunteers wrestled with banners announcing the “57th Annual Cedar Grove Harvest Festival.” Scout pressed his nose against the window, tail wagging at the sight of the food stalls being set up.

“Oh my God,” Luke breathed, phone already up. “This is like every Hallmark movie ever, but make it rich.”

He wasn’t wrong. Cedar Grove had that perfect small-town charm, if small towns usually had designer boutiques and artisanal everything. Mrs. Rivera and her friends were directing the setup of their famous tamale stand, while the college guys I recognized from the bookstore were hauling boxes of fresh produce to various stalls.

“Is that…” Luke squinted at where Johnson and his team were constructing an elaborate booth. “Are those gold-plated churro displays?”

“Jorge’s special recipe,” Caleb explained, finding a parking spot that definitely hadn’t existed a second ago. “They only make them for the festival. The line usually starts forming at dawn.”

Scout bounded out as soon as the door opened, immediately assuming his dignified guard dog pose. Several people waved at us—well, at Caleb, though I was starting to get recognized too. The whole town probably knew I was the Stone brothers’ “special friend” by now.

“Perfect light,” Luke declared, positioning me and Scout in front of a particularly picturesque display of autumn flowers. “Social media needs to see this.”

I rolled my eyes but complied. Living with three alpha werewolves had taught me to pick my battles, and this was definitely easier than arguing about gold-leaf lattes.

“Hashtag small-town charm, hashtag harvest festival, hashtag why is everything so extra,” Luke narrated as he typed. “And… posted. We’re coming back tomorrow, right? I need to document everything.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Caleb said, though I noticed he’d carefully stayed out of frame. “The real festival doesn’t start until tomorrow. This is just the setup.”

“Come on.” I tugged Luke’s arm. “I’ll show you where they’re setting up the cooking competition. You can get some ‘before’ shots to compare with tomorrow’s chaos.”

“Two gold-leaf honey lavender lattes,” Mrs. Benson called out as we approached The Golden Bean. She was arranging what looked like a mountain of pastries at her stall next door. “On the house, of course.”

“I didn’t even—” I started.

“Marcus called ahead.” She winked. “Said you’d be showing your friend around.”

Luke’s eyes widened at the sight of actual gold leaf floating on top of the lavender-colored drink. “This is…”

“Ridiculous?” I supplied.

“I was going to say beautiful, but yeah, that too.” He immediately started arranging the drinks for the perfect photo. “This lighting is incredible.”

Scout sat patiently at our feet, knowing from experience that photos had to happen before drinking was allowed. Several people stopped to pet him, which he accepted with regal grace while not-so-subtly eyeing the growing number of food stalls.

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