She exhales, long and heavy, shaking her head. “I appreciate it, Beau. Really. But no. I can’t say yes to that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t like being dependent on Alphas.” Her voice is steady, not sharp, but the words still land like steel. “I grew up watching my mom bend herself in half around my dad. I saw what it did to her. I swore I would never put myself in that position.”
I let that sit, my jaw tight. It’s not the first time I’ve heard something like it. Plenty of Omegas here don’t want to risk the weight of an Alpha’s control.
And hell, they’re not wrong—there are too many examples of Alphas taking advantage of their place in the hierarchy. But still, hearing it from her… it cuts deeper than I expected.
“You know that’s not me,” I say finally, voice low.
“I do. That’s why I’m saying thank you and not just walking away. But Beau… I don’t want to use you. I want you. There’s a difference.” Her eyes soften as she brushes her fingers along my forearm, a fleeting touch that sends heat rippling under my skin. “I’ll figure it all out. I always do.”
I swallow hard, nodding slowly. “Fair enough. Offer stands, though.”
“I know.” Her lips twitch in a small smile. “But maybe instead of stressing about money, we can revisit that Harvest Festival talk. Because now I’m picturing it—me entering a pie, you standing there heckling the judges.”
That earns her a grin from me, wide and unguarded. “I don’t heckle. I cheer aggressively.”
“Same thing,” she teases, scooting closer until our shoulders brush.
We sit like that, watching water crash down into the pool. Warmth radiates from her, and I can smell a mix of flour, sugar, and her own sweet Omega scent, threaded with the faintest trace of Simon still clinging to her skin.
My body aches to press closer, but I force myself to keep still.
“Did you have waterfalls back in Idaho?” she asks suddenly.
“Plenty of rivers, lakes, even hot springs if you knew where to look. But nothing like this.”
She hums thoughtfully. “I guess that makes this even more special, then.”
“Exactly.”
The sun shifts higher, light sparkling over the surface of the pool. The air is warm, the kind that clings to skin and begs for relief. I glance at her, then at the water, and an idea sparks.
“You know,” I say slowly, “the weather’s nice enough that if you wanted to go for a dip, you could. Water’s safe.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re serious?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.”
She studies the pool for a long moment, then nods. “Alright. Why not?”
“Atta girl.” I push to my feet, tugging off my boots and stripping out of my shirt. She pretends not to watch, but I catch the flick of her gaze as I shove my jeans down, leaving me in nothing but boxers.
When she stands, she tugs her pink top over her head, and I nearly forget how to breathe. Her bra is hot pink, hugging her curves perfectly, the bottoms tied at her hips with little bows that make my mouth dry.
“Jesus,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
Her smile is shy but wicked at the same time. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, even though the truth is written all over me. “Just… you’re gonna kill me, Wren.”
She laughs, shaking her head, and steps toward the edge. I join her, our shoulders brushing again as we stand side by side. She slips her hand into mine, her grip small but sure.
“On three?” I ask.
“On three.”
