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“Oh my God, he was so cute,” Devyn says as I assist with the dish washing. I can’t help but crack a smile at her enthusiasm. “That shirt fit his arms perfectly, Skye. Ugh!”
“Yeah? I didn’t notice,” I say, scrubbing at a teacup. “He was cute enough, I guess. He’s also mated.”
“I can’t wait until I have a pack,” Devyn babbles on, ignoring me. “I’m going to have like ten Alphas.”
I snort, amused at her bubbliness. There’s a reason April hired her; she’s great with customers and personable. “You’re like, sixteen. You have plenty of time for that,” I chuckle, wiping my hands with a towel.
“I’m nineteen!” she says, incensed. “My clock is ticking.”
I audibly groan. “Oh, dear God. If your clock is ticking, mine has exploded and evaporated into thin air.” I grab a towel and work on drying the cutlery, trying not to let bitterness seep into my tone. She’s ten years my junior, and I’ve never felt so old or jaded as I stand next to the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Omega. Her natural scent blends in perfectly with the café; she’s honey with the slightest hint of cinnamon.
She really was the perfect hire. Props to April.
“Are you dating anyone?”
It’s an innocent question and I should have expected it. Still, I can’t help but flinch as I answer her.
“Nah. Not at the moment,” I mutter.
Devyn scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. Alphas come in all the time and drool over you and April! You could make a super pack!”
I stare at her dumbfounded until she laughs, causing her eyes to crinkle in the corners. “I’m just joking.”
She must see something on my face, because her smile quickly falls. “Sorry if I’m being too nosy. People tell me I talk a lot and ask too many questions,” she says with a hint of insecurity in her tone.
I shake my head. She’s adorable and it’s difficult to stay in a shitty mood when she flits around spreading positivity everywhere.
“You don’t. You’re friendly, and it’s a great quality,” I say gently. “You’re naturally energetic. But sometimes, I’m not going to meet that positivity as much as April or the others might, okay? Don’t take it personal.”
She nods. “I won’t. But if you ever want to talk about Alpha stuff, I’m all ears.”
I huff. If she knew my “Alpha stuff” she would run screaming.
But I nod and give her the best smile I can.
“Sounds good. Let me get the closing checklist done, and we can head out of here.”
* * *
April doesn’t text me after work.
It’s fine, really. Part of me is relieved that I can just crawl under the covers of my bed and pass out early, but it’s a bit out of character for her.
The next morning, I arrive at the café and prep the macarons. It’s my week to come in early, and I pass the time listening to self-improvement podcasts as I separate egg whites and sift almond flour over and over.
Our macarons are incredible, but they’re time consuming to make. But ever since April’s mother taught me how to make them years ago, I’ve worked at the café on and off through college, mastering my craft.
After college, the café became a more permanent job. Instead of just a barista or cashier, I practically run the entire business with April, which is perfect for me.
With a busy schedule and constant tasks, running the café keeps me organized and sane.
If I stay idle too long, I can drown in my thoughts, and the last thing anyone needs is a twenty-nine-year-old Omega weeping on the ground.
You’re still healing. It’s okay to cry.
You need to be nicer to yourself.
The podcast blares in my headphones and I repeat mantras over and over, desperate to find some truth in them.
