She reaches under the counter and pulls out a small vial of liquid, the color somewhere between amber and green. She presses it into my palm.
“What is this?” I ask cautiously.
“A blend of your scents,” she says matter-of-factly. “Yours, Levi’s, Beau’s. Together. For her.”
My fingers curl tight around the glass. My chest heats. “You’ve been mixing our pheromones?”
Her smile is gentle. “Not directly. I work with resonance. Herbs that possess certain properties are layered until they mimic the bonds. It isn’t perfect, but for an Omega, it brings comfort. Something she can use when nesting. I think it could really help with the issue she has been having with her heat. The scents could help calm her nerves.”
I clear my throat, stiff. “Thank you.”
Her eyes soften. “I hope I didn’t offend you. As far as I knew, you and I had a cordial understanding. But I feel a… coolness now. Did I overstep?”
The words hit too close. My jaw tightens. “You didn’t offend me.”
“Then speak, boy!”
“Some of the herbal concoctions you handed out last week—during the flu—aggravated symptoms. Made fevers spike. We had patients sicker than they needed to be.”
Her lips part. She stares at me for a long moment. “I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. “I should have said something sooner.”
Her voice sharpens with gentle reproach. “Yes, Doctor. You should have. How else would I know if no one tells me? You can’t expect people to correct what they don’t realize is wrong.”
The rebuke lands squarely in my chest. I open my mouth, but no words come out. She’s right.
She lays a wrinkled hand over mine where it grips the counter. Her touch is light, but unshakable. “Communication, Simon. That’s how bonds are built. With patients. With neighbors. With the ones we love.”
The last word cuts me clean open.
Something in me stills, then cracks.
Because she’s right, I do love Wren. I’ve been circling it, burying it under propriety. But part of me has known since the moment she turned those green eyes on me, feverish and wild, begging for help.
It’s been clawing its way up ever since.
I swallow hard, heat burning behind my eyes. “Thank you,” I say hoarsely.
She studies me for a long moment, then shifts back into her booth. “Do you need more peppermint?”
My lips twitch faintly. “I’m fine.”
She nods. “What you have with her—with them—is rare. Special. Take care of it. And remember, just because your past didn’t work out doesn’t mean you should let fear keep you from trying again.”
The words scrape something raw inside me. My jaw flexes. “I’m not afraid.”
Her smile is slight, knowing. “Of course not.”
But I hear the truth in her voice.
I slip the vial into my pocket and walk back toward the tent, the sound of the crowd rushing in around me, my pulse stillhammering. And for the first time, I let myself admit it fully, silently, where no one else can hear.
I’m in love with her.
The announcement carries across the square in Riley’s clear, confident voice. “Second place goes to Wren Aldridge for her apple brown sugar pie.”
For a second, I think I’ve misheard.
