She holds my gaze. Her eyes are bright blue but also a little glassy, like the tide when it’s pulling away. “That’s the problem,” she says quietly. “I don’t knowwhatI want anymore.”
I reach out and take her hand. Just a light touch to let her know it’s okay, and that she’s not alone. “If you ever want to moonlight as Seamuse’s marketing director, you have a job. I mean that.”
Her smile this time is genuine, soft at the edges. “You’re too good to me.”
I grin as a boldness takes root in my chest. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
The overhead timer beeps. Closing hour, officially.
I stand. “There’s gotta be some way to repay you for all this.” I’m only half-joking.
She shakes her head and reaches for her bag. “You really don’t need to.”
She stands. For a breath, we’re only a foot apart, both awkwardly waiting for the other to break the tension. She movesfirst, brushing past me, and I catch a flash of honey that feels suddenly strong enough to draw me in own its own. Like a gravity I can’t fight.
It’s stupid how easy it is to just reach out and stop her, one hand closing gently around her wrist. Her skin is warm. I mean to say something, to thank her again, but instead, I pull her in and kiss her.
She gasps, then melts into it, her fingers gripping the front of my shirt. Her mouth is insistent and hungry. I taste honey and coffee, and under that something dazzling, a buzz that feels like pure summer. She’s taller than most omegas, so I don’t have to bend much. I back her into the wall next to the pastry case, careful not to knock her head. She laughs into my mouth.
It’s hands-down the best sound I’ve ever heard.
The kiss deepens. She tucks her hands under the hem of my shirt and runs them up my back, digging her nails in. I growl into her mouth and let my own hands wander the swell of her breasts as I grind our hips together. I’ve dreamt of kissing Helena since the day we first met, but now… Now I’m willing to take my time. To savor this.
We’re lost in this reverie until the timer on the proofer dings—loud and insistent. I pull away, dizzy, my hand still on her waist. She’s breathing hard, cheeks red.
“I need to… get the pasties.” My brain is completely blank except for thoughts of kissing Helena some more.
I feel like the pasties could wait.
But old habits are hard to break, especially as they relate to your livelihood.
She grins and straightens up. “Go rescue them. I’ll wait. We have all summer.”
We have all summer.
Fuck. Those words change something in me. I’m instantly lighter, floating off into space because—because my scent-matched omega wants me, too.
A pack might be building.
I hustle to the kitchen, cursing myself for not timing things better, and pull the tray before it burns. I set it on the rack and try to compose myself, but my reflection in the steel feels absurd.
Flushed. Hair mussed.
Changed.
Everything’s just changed.
But it’s all still hanging on the precipice of a question, one no longer about whether or not Helena might be interested.
Now it’s: will Helena stay?
Helena is waiting by the door with her bag slung over her shoulder when I return. “Walk me home?”
I’d walk her anywhere.
We step out into the darkening street, the salt air biting but not unpleasant. I lock the door behind us, and as we turn toward the path that leads up the cliff, she slips her hand into mine. We make it about halfway toward her rental when she pulls me up against someone’s stone garden wall and kisses me again. I drink in her scent, dip my lips down to her neck. Helena moans in my ear and then holds my head to keep me there.
“Helena,” I warn. “We’re still very much in public despite the sun having set.”
