Despite everything, I found myself smiling. This was what I’d needed. Easy conversation with someone who made me laugh. Someone who saw through my walls but didn’t push.
“So,” Silas said, leaning back in his chair. “You going to tell me what’s really going on, or are we pretending you just needed a mental health day?”
“Can’t it be both?”
“It can be whatever you want it to be.” His voice went softer, more serious. “But for what it’s worth, you don’t have to pretend with me. We’re friends. Friends tell each other when things are hard.”
Friends. The word should have felt safe. Instead, it felt like a placeholder for something neither of us was brave enough to name.
“My suppressants are struggling,” I admitted before I could stop myself. “I upgraded the dose this weekend, but my biology is fighting harder than it has in years.”
Silas went very still. “That happens sometimes. Bodies adapt. Build tolerance.”
“Or bodies recognize something they want and refuse to be suppressed anymore.”
The words hung between us, heavy with implication. I waited for the ground to open up and swallow me but for some cruel reason it never happened.
“Is that what’s happening?” Silas asked carefully. “Your body recognizing something?”
I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw understanding in his eyes. He knew. Of course he knew. I suspected from our previous conversations that he was scent-sensitive. He’d probably noticed the moment my suppressants started struggling.
“I think so,” I said quietly. “I think I’m scent-compatible with all three of you. And my body figured it out before my brain was ready to deal with it.”
Silas was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached across the table and touched my hand, just briefly, his fingers warm against mine. “For what it’s worth, I think your body might be smarter than your brain about this.”
“My body doesn’t remember standing at an altar while someone told me I wasn’t enough.”
“No,” he agreed. “But your body remembers that youareenough. Exactly as you are. And maybe it’s trying to tell you that we see that too.”
I pulled my hand back, not because I didn’t want his touch, but because I wanted it too much. “This is complicated.”
“Most good things are.” He smiled, but there was something serious underneath it. “Take your time, Sable. We’re not goinganywhere. But don’t punish yourself by staying alone just because someone else was an idiot five years ago.”
Our sandwiches arrived, and we spent the next hour talking about work and terrible calls and everything except the conversation we’d just had. But something had shifted. An acknowledgment. A recognition that we were moving toward something neither of us could stop even if we wanted to.
When I left The Brew, I felt lighter than I had in days. Scared, yes. But also hopeful in a way I hadn’t let myself feel since Nathan.
Maybe my body was smarter than my brain about this.
Maybe three alphas who kept showing up and being patient and respecting my boundaries were worth the risk.
Maybe this time would be different.
Chapter 9
Beau
The coffee routine had started accidentally and became essential without either of us acknowledging it out loud. My apparent inability to think of any other reason to be in Sable’s presence apart from bringing her coffee had somehow not backfired on me.
That first Monday, six weeks after she’d fixed the coffee machine at the station, I’d brought Sable coffee because I’d been at The Brew anyway. It seemed wasteful not to grab her one too, knowing she’d be at her desk by six-fifteen like clockwork.
She’d looked surprised when I showed up at her office door.
“Thought you might want this,” I’d said, setting it on her desk. “Oat milk, two sugars.”
“You remembered.” She’d said it like it was significant. Like people didn’t usually remember the small details about her. After the way she completely captivated me, it would have said a lot if I hadn’t remembered something as simple as how she took her coffee. And it hurt to think that there had been people inher life at some point that made her even consider that this was something which could feasibly happen.
“Hard to forget when Silas texts reminders in the group chat about your dairy issues,” I said, instead of what I really wanted to say. Instead of acknowledging that she meant something and accepting anyone into her life who didn’t treat her like the gift she was would have been a mistake.
