Page 4 of A Pack of Pumpkins
“What kind of scent?” he asks, his tone sharpening.
“An alpha scent.” My throat goes dry. “Like… bread. It’s distinct. Strong.” My omega stirs uneasily inside me, purring at the memory in a way that makes me feel both hot and sick at once.
“Are you in the house now?” His voice is clipped, concerned.
“No, I’m—I’m outside. On the porch.” I glance over my shoulder at the dark yard, hugging myself tighter.
“We’ll be right over,” he says immediately. “Do you want to stay on the line while I drive?”
I shake my head before realizing he can’t see it. “No. It’s only five minutes.” My voice is steadier than I feel.
“Fine but stay on the porch. Don’t go back in.” I assure him I won’t and hang up.
Less than five minutes later, a police cruiser glides into the steep drive. The Sheriff is a tall alpha with a scar along his face and grey streaks in his hair. He seems like a nice guy. He hasn't made me, or any other omega I know, feel silly so far. Trust me, in this world, it can be hard for an omega to avoid feeling chastised or alpha-splained.
He’s brought Deputy Henry Lowe.
And oh, Henry is handsome. In that Western cowboy movie sort of way. He has a strong jawline, wind-whipped wavy brown hair, and piercing blue eyes. His uniform fits like it was tailored, and it’s hard not to notice the way it hugs his arms.
We’ve danced around each other a few times. We’re scent matches, but not scent sensitive. He smells of fresh-cut pine with light hints of earth—pleasant, but without that addictive edge a scent-sensitive match is supposed to have.
I think of the baked bread scent in the room. Warmth and spice, heat and want. I didn’t even see anyone, but I felt it.
Bottom line, Henry’s scent isn’t it.
And yes, my aunt and therapist have both told me I’m being unrealistic. That scent sensitivity is rare. That I’m holding out for something I’ll probably never find.
But I want what I want.
And I’m not giving up on it.
It’s not like I’ve never dated or hooked up. I’ve just always known it wasn’t permanent, and acted accordingly.
“Hey, Clara,” Sheriff Corbin says as he makes his way up to where I’m sitting on the porch swing. “Me and Deputy Lowe are going to do a sweep, okay? We’ll be opening closets and everything, if that’s alright.”
I nod. “I just got here, so it’s not like you’re invading my privacy.”
He nods back. Henry offers a small smile as they pass, and I return it.
Still handsome. Still not the one. We’ve never acted on anything. We both know that if we started, it wouldn’t feel casual, and I’ve never been willing to pretend. So, I stick to occasional scent matches from Traverse City dance floors or tourists passing through town.
While they search, I sit. And sit. And sit.
Finally, they return with puzzled expressions. My heart sinks. As much as I’d promised myself I wouldn’t feel embarrassed if I was wrong, saying that and actually feeling it are two very different things.
“I want to assure you,” the Sheriff says, “that we swept the house thoroughly. There’s no way someone doubled back behind us. We looked everywhere we could.” He crouches so we’re eye level, voice calm and steady. “That doesn’t mean no one was here. They may have slipped out the back door when you were waiting. Do you have the key code?"
“Good,” he says. “We’ll send a cruiser by all night. We’ll be close if you need to call.”
I nod again.
Henry shifts his weight, watching me too closely.
“Did you smell a scent? Like an alpha scent?” I ask.
The two men exchange a glance.
“We picked it up too,” Sheriff Corbin admits. “But faint. Old. Like someone was here hours ago.”
