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When I arrived home last night, I wasn’t in the right mindset to make a fresh batch of cookies. I’d fallen straight into bed and stared at my alarm clock until it buzzed for me to get up the next morning.
From the tea station, Steve gives me a concerned look as I prep the customer’s order and direct her down the counter to wait for her beverage. If Mia hadn’t already asked for the next three days off for her Heat, I would have called in sick today. Being here, in the place I love, knowing it will be torn down and made into something different, hurts too much to bear.
All night, my mind shuffled through different options on how I could save my dreams and my freedom. But even if I could come up with a business loan in time to buy the place, Mother would never sell it to me, and I can’t spend the next five years rebuilding in a different location. I can’t afford to pay back a loan, either. The current income just covers expenses and my living, with a small amount set aside for savings. Yes, my business projections said that would only improve, but not with adding a bank loan and starting over in a less ideal location.
And those friends Mother mocked me about? They don’t even exist. Sure, I had my fair share in school, but they hadn’t understood my desire to work while they traveled the globe on their family’s dime. We’d drifted apart and fallen out of contact.
Mia would probably let me sleep on her couch for a few nights, but an Alpha in an Omega’s house is dangerous when they have their Heat, even an Alpha who can’t smell an Omega’s pheromones, like me.
I’ve heard stories about the drive to mate, the overwhelming need that the Heat brings. And as much as I like Mia, I don’t want her jumping me because she can’t control herself.
Betas, like Steve, have it easy. They aren’t driven by the same primal urges, nor are they subjected to an Alpha’s will. Command slides over them just as easily as an Omega’s pheromones.
If not for how readily I submit to an Alpha’s Command, I would have labeled myself a Beta long ago. It would have brought shame to our family, who has bred Alpha’s for the last five generations, but at least I would have been allowed to live my life free. No one is going to pay a huge dowry to marry a Beta.
Steve sets the to-go cup on the high bar and walks over. “It’s my break time, but if you need me to stay on the floor…”
“No, go take your break.” I force a smile that strains my cheeks. “I can handle the shop for fifteen minutes.”
Behind his gold-framed glasses, his eyes pinch in concern. “Are you okay? You look pale. Are you feeling sick?”
Now that he mentions it, I do feel sick. And a little warm. But I shake my head. “I just had a hard time sleeping last night.”
The worry doesn’t leave his face. “Want me to brew you a cup of tea before I go?”
My smile gentles into something more genuine. “No, I’ll make one for myself. We’re slow today.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” He heads for the door to the back. “I’ll be in the break room, so if you need me, I can come back out.”
I wave him away and go to brew a cup of black tea. I should probably eat something, too. The gazpacho from last night wore off before I even left the mansion, and I hadn’t stopped for my planned burger on the way home. Caffeine on an empty stomach is never good, but the pastries in the display case make my stomach roll with nausea.
When the bell over the door jingles, I glance up and stifle a groan as Roman heads for his usual table. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with him today.
Quickly, I brew a cup of earl grey for him and use the tongs to pull two biscotti from the case, sliding them onto a plate. Removing the strainer from the cup, I set it aside, take his order to his table, and walk away before he can start up a conversation.
A minute later, though, he joins me at the counter, his teacup in hand.
I can’t fight my frown. “Is there something wrong with your order?”
He studies my face. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.” I drag in a steadying breath and catch the smell of his cologne. It’s stronger today, with a hint of spiciness that catches at the back of my throat and makes my gut clench around the sour ball in my stomach.
Brows sweeping together, he leans across the counter for a better look at my face. “Are you sure? You don’t look well.”
“Do you need something?” I snap.
“Honey.”
Unwillingly, my eyes drop to his lips, watching as they shape the word, before my attention jerks up. “What did you say?”
He lifts his cup. “You forgot the honey.”
“Oh, sorry.” I reach for the cup and almost drop it when our fingers brush.
Steadying it, I walk back to the prep counter and drizzle in the sweetener, then stir the tea until it dissolves. I should have forced myself to sleep last night. The fuzziness in my head is taking a toll. I never mess up Roman’s order. Why would I? He hasn’t deviated from it in five years.
I take the cup back to the counter, set it down, and slide it across to him. “It’s on the house. Sorry for the mistake.”
