Luna
I slide my bamboo tray down the aluminum rails of the Serenity Ridge vegan cafeteria, my nose twitching in the smell of steamed kale and roasted chickpeas.
I rub the side of my nostril hard, but the phantom itch refuses to settle. It’s been happening since I got out of the tub last night, a low hum right at the back of my sinuses, paired with a dull ache in my hips.
Breathe Luna, breathe...
“I’m just saying, it’s criminal,” Jess from my yoga class says from behind me. She leans in, her blonde ponytail swinging over the shoulder of her athletic top. “They hide the hot onesinsidethe kitchen.”
“Wrong,” Tara, my other classmate says, says, bumping her tray against Jess’. “‘Cause I wouldn’t mind that hunk doing dirty things to me.”
I follow their gaze past the glass sneeze-guard, to the far end of the line.
There’s a man working the hot-grains station, behind a pyramid of avocados. He’s massive. Unreasonably large for akitchen line employee. His shoulders stretch the fabric of the beige uniform shirt so tight I’m surprised the seams aren’t tearing. He’s scooping quinoa into a shallow bowl, staring blankly—
Wait. Bram?
My fingers lock onto the edges of my tray. Heat flares at the base of my spine, dropping straight to my thighs.
Alpha,my omega snaps, clawing for control.Mine. Bram.
I stare at the sharp line of his jaw, the dark, stern slant of his brow.It’s him.Except... that alpha has blond hair, and he’s wearing a mesh hairnet. Bram’s hair is brown. There’s no way he’d dye it, and there’s definitely no way he’d wear a hairnet. Plus, why would he be here, serving quinoa?
I take a slow breath in, desperately searching for the leather and warm coffee that meanshim.
My nose finds nothing. Just the sterile, damp steam of the kitchen and the sharp sting of onions. My shoulders slump, and I’m half a breath from whining in the middle of the salad bar.
Are you losing your mind?
But his face... is there a fourth brother they never told me about?
I have to get a closer look.
I leave my tray on the rail and take a step toward the hot-grains station. But my hip clips a tower of ceramic salad bowls. They clatter against the metal rail, loud enough that half the dining room looks up. I grab the top bowl, steadying the pile before it can go over, and when I look back—
He’s gone.
The grain station is empty. There’s just a stack of bowls and a pyramid of avocados.
I stand there, my chest heaving, staring at the blank space behind the sneeze guard.
“Uh, Lu?” Tara asks gently. “You good?”
I blink, forcing my eyes to focus on the avocado pyramid, my stomach pitching, the itch in my nose getting worse.
You’re officially crazy, babe. If that was Bram, you’d be able to smell him.
I turn back to Jess and Tara.
“You know what,” I say, my voice tight. “I don’t think I’m super hungry right now. Must be the ginger in my morning detox juice not sitting right.”
“Oh, no,” Jess coos. “Do you need some matcha?”
“No, no. I’ll eat and drink later.” I take a step backward. “I think I’ll attend the lunch-time meditation class instead. Clear my head.”
***
The meditation studio is dim and smells like someone set a salad on fire. Sage, technically. The chalkboard by the door called the session aMindful Reset, which I am completely down for.
