Page 17 of A Pack of Pumpkins
Instead of going to the counter, he weaves through too-tight café tables like he owns the place, headed straight for Clara. He’s got that disgustingly hopeful smile. When you grow up with a twin who can’t hear well or speak, you get damn good at picking up the same skills. I don’t have to be close to read their entire conversation.
Small talk. Boring as hell. She’s humoring him.
I’m just about to slip out before she sees me when one word on his lips catches me.
Date.
Now I can’t look away.
Her eyes widen. Her mouth forms a soft, surprised O.
“I—” she stammers, glancing around. But I’ve already moved into the shadows. Some bitter part of me feels vindicated. Another part—some dumb, traitorous piece of my heart, drops like a stone.
She doesn’t know how obvious she is. Or that we’ll notice. The Deputy’s probably been sniffing around for a while. He's safer, more stable. That’s all omegas need, right? Security.
Her scent is nice, sure. But that doesn’t mean anything. There’s no psychic link. No perfect fate-tied person. That’s all bullshit made up by Romance novelists like her.He’sthe right choice. She’s going to take it.
And when she doesn’t tell the guys, it’ll be the ammo I need to get Bram to break the lease. Get us the hell away from this psycho omega.
“No.”
I blink, thinking I misread her lips.
“I’m sorry,” she adds. “I’ve found scent sensitivity.”
The Deputy frowns. His jaw tightens, a flicker of something sharp passing through his eyes before he smooths it away. He exhales, the sound measured, too even, and finally nods.
“I didn’t know,” he says.
She shakes her head, brushing it off.
I can’t watch the rest. My stomach twists. A lead weight settles low and hard.
She can’t actually believe in this. That we could be mates?Allof us?
I slide along the edge of the café and push out the front door. The bell above it jingles, too bright against the weight pressing on my chest. Just as I pass the display window, I glance back. She’s helping an elderly man box up his order, her smile soft and easy in a way it never could be with me.
Rain drizzles steady over Main Street. I tug my jacket higher around my neck, sparks from my lighter flaring as I cup it against the wet. Smoke curls up, mixing with the damp air.
For a second, I just stand there under the awning, watching her laugh through the glass. Warm light spills over her like she belongs in it. My reflection in the rain-streaked window is nothing but a shadow.
If she really is my mate… I’ll ruin her.
Jack
Whenwegotinlast night, Clara had already been asleep. It was only ten, but I’d checked the hours of the café she said she works at and they open at six. She probably has to be there by five for early morning shifts, and who knows when she wakes up to get ready.
That’s why I’m in the kitchen at four-thirty in the morning, and breakfast is just about done when I hear her come down the stairs at five. My bedroom is right below hers, and I’d heard her tossing and turning all night. Is that her natural sleep state? Stress from the situation? Or is her omega still on edge after Victor’s constant rejections?
I don’t know.
But Idoknow she needs to understand she’s not alone in this house. She has someone to lean on.
Her eyes go wide when she steps into the kitchen. I’ve kept the lights low, autumn-scented candles flickering against the counters, and soft jazz humming from a little speaker in the corner. The air is warm with the scent of cinnamon and butter, roasted pumpkin, and maple syrup.
I’d noticed the candles in her room the first night we walked in on her—the way she carved out little nests of light and comfort. The teacups tucked away in the cupboard, mismatched and delicate. So I brewed loose-leaf tea and poured it into one of them, hoping she’d notice.
Shehesitates, then slips onto a stool at the island. Her cardigan brushes the counter as she folds her hands in her lap.
