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And I fucking left.
“I don’t owe you anything,” I say slowly, doing my best not to repeat the last interaction River and I had two years ago.
River sighs loudly and rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he grits out. “Whatever is left of your cold, dead, whatever-the-fuck you have for a heart, could you please just talk to her?” He looks like he wants to vomit as he says it. “Just once. And if you really want nothing to do with any of it, then you can fuck right back off into your hovel of an apartment.”
We hold each other’s gaze, neither of us daring to blink.
Fuck.
I finally turn away from him and swallow the whiskey down, letting the alcohol burn my throat.
“Tell me where to meet her,” I say finally, staring into the empty glass.
I don’t want to do this…
But for once, River is right.
I probably owe them this.
* * *
My fingers twitch as I grip the steering wheel.
I haven’t been out much in the last two years, much less driven this far out of my town.
I don’t want to fucking do this.
I’d like to be anywhere but in the parking lot of April’s Café.
Fuck.
That’s the name of the missing girl, isn’t it?
Fuck Fuck Fuck
But I force myself to open the car door, ignoring the absolute shitstorm that swirls in my head.
I’m supposed to be the one in control. I’m not supposed to act like River, like a loose cannon that can barely function every day.
But the crunching of leaves and the snap of twigs under my feet in the parking lot remind me of a tangled mess of hair caught in branches…
I exhale slowly and pull open the door to the café, and I’m welcomed with warmth.
The noise in my head quiets enough for me to focus.
The scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and other sweets fills the air, along with the dark smell of coffee.
It’s just like any other café. I catch whiffs of sweet Omegas mixing with the freshly baked cookies. Subtle Alpha scents fill the air as well, tempering down the aromas. The well-lit cases are full of different baked goods, and on the counter there’s a Macaron Flavor of the Day sign next to the cash register.
As I walk up to the counter, I notice the flavor is April’s Apricots.
The café is quaint, well-kept, and welcoming.
“Hi there! Can I help you?”
I’m greeted by a petite blonde girl with a warm, friendly smile, likely in her early twenties. She’s an Omega, her scent sugary but subtle. Devyn is written on her name tag.
“Hello,” I say, trying my best to act like a normal person. “I’m looking for Skylar Bloom. Is she around?”
