Wren
The festival isalive before I even get to the square. The air is heavy with scents—pies cooling on long tables, roasted corn, candied apples, and beneath it all the unmistakable tang of Alpha pheromones carried on the autumn breeze.
It presses against me from every side, and I feel lightheaded the second I step closer to the crowd. I grip the edge of the booth, my stomach twisting.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I whisper.
Norah squeezes my hand, her fingers warm and certain against mine. “No. You are not. You’re not throwing up again in front of this many people, Wren Aldridge. Do you hear me?”
Her tone is bossy in that way only she can get away with. I breathe in, shaky, forcing myself to nod. “Okay. Fine. But I swear, Norah, it feels like everything is spinning.”
“That’s nerves. And excitement. And maybe a little too much sugar because you’ve been taste-testing crusts for three days,” she says with a smirk. “But you’re fine.”
I press a hand to my stomach, willing myself to believe her.
Levi left earlier to pick up his family, and the absence of his grounding presence makes me want to crawl right out of myskin. My best friend studies me, eyes narrowing like she can read every thought flashing across my face.
“What?” I ask, defensive.
“You’re buzzing like a live wire. So? What’s going on?”
I bite my lip, then give up the secret. “He told me that he loved me, and I said it back.”
Her eyes widen, and for once, Norah’s mouth goes silent. “Who? Simon? Beau? Levi?”
“Levi!”
She blinks at me, then lets out a slow whistle. “Wow. That’s… big.”
“I know.” My throat tightens just repeating it. “It just came out. I didn’t plan it, I didn’t even think about it. He said it first, and then—I couldn’t not.”
She softens, her whole face shifting into something gentle and protective. “And how do you feel?”
“Like I meant it.”
That earns me a hug so tight I almost lose my balance. Norah kisses my cheek, whispering, “We’ll dissect every detail after this festival is over, I promise. For now, you’ve got pie competitions to win.”
When we pull back, I see movement beyond her shoulder, and my heart stutters. “The guys are here.”
I turn, and sure enough, Simon and Beau are striding toward the booth. Simon looks impossibly put together in dark jeans and a crisp white shirt rolled at the sleeves, his glasses catching the sunlight.
Beau, on the other hand, is all casual fireman charm in worn denim and a navy Henley that clings to his shoulders. The sight of them together does something low and dangerous inside me.
My body lights up like a struck match. My cheeks flush, my pulse kicks, and I swear my knees weaken just watching them cross the square.
Simon leans in first, brushing a soft kiss against my cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” I murmur, my voice thinner than I want it to be.
Beau’s arms are around me before I can blink, warm and strong, pulling me into his chest. “You smell like sugar and nerves. You sure you’re okay?”
I nod again, a little more firmly this time. Their presence is a balm, anchoring me in a way I didn’t know I needed.
Norah claps her hands like she’s corralling children. “All right, gentlemen. The pie contest kicks off in about twenty minutes, and our girl here needs a distraction. Keep her from spiraling, please.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need a distraction. I want to help you with the booth.”
Norah arches an eyebrow. “I sell flowers, Wren. I can handle a little sales table.”
