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Well, that’s the more to the story part that I was waiting for.

She darts a look at me but glances away just as quickly.

“It sounds like it’s a good thing the two of you found your way here,” I say to hopefully set her at ease. “No one will bother you. You’re safe. You have my word about that. Does Echo have a microchip? What about a GPS tracker on her collar or harness?”

Abby’s dark blue eyes fly to mine, and she blinks repeatedly.

“He can’t track her microchip,” I say to get that out of the way. “They don’t have a battery, so they can’t send out a location signal. A GPS tracker on her collar or harness is a different story. I didn’t notice one when I was playing with her, but if you have any of her other belongings, you might want to give them a look.”

“All I brought was her harness, leash, dog food bowls, and the rest of the bag of her dog food,” Abby says with wide eyes. “Oh, God. I’m probably going to prison for dog theft.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s only a misdemeanor.” I chuckle, winking. “Seriously, don’t stress. I’ll help you check over her things for a tracker.”

I’m more worried about him showing up here and trying to get Abby to leave with him. If she left while he was at work, she must have had a damn good reason to take such drastic measures.

I don’t play when it comes to the safety of women or children…or pets, for that matter.

Chapter Eight

Abby

Iway overshared at dinner, but I couldn’t seem to stop talking. It’s Lawson’s fault for being so damn relaxing. After dinner, I feed Echo, and Lawson gives her about thirty minutes before taking her out for another bathroom break.

Once they get settled in, he sits on the opposite end of the couch, and we watch the news. The storm should peak tomorrow morning, and by late tomorrow night or early Sunday, Lawson says the roads should be cleared.

His is definitely the scent that I caught a whiff of while putting on the pillowcase. Some type of citrus mixed with strong undertones of pine. It’s delicious, reminding me a little of a Christmas tree.

It’s a struggle to fight the urge to move closer to him on the couch.

People say I smell like raspberries with soft hints of lemon zest. I’ve always been a little self-conscious that my scent isn’t as sweet as a typical omega’s. I’ve met a fair number of omegas over the years, and they often smell like desserts. Maybe I do too, but more like the pastry with fresh fruit that most people overlook to go after the chocolate cake or vanilla bean custard.

Lawson has been nothing but a perfect gentleman, and now I’m questioning how scent matches work.

I’m positive that he and Bryant are compatible matches for me. Upon smelling them, I’ve been incredibly drawn to each one.

Is it possible to have a one-sided scent match?

Has he just been such a gentleman that he hasn’t gotten close enough to smell me?

Has he smelled me, but he’s trying to be respectful under the circumstances?

I should have skipped that shower earlier. If I was still sweaty from walking Echo, I bet he would have had a much harder time ignoring my scent.

Holy shit.

I’m losing it.

* * *

“You really should take the bed,” I say a few hours later as Lawson grabs a pillow to take to the couch. “You’re going to hang off the sofa. I, however, will have plenty of room.”

“Nah, you and Echo take the bed. I’ll be fine.” He circles around the end of the mattress.

I step into his way, planting my hands on my hips. Much like Bryant was too respectful of my personal space, Lawson has done the same.

How am I ever supposed to determine if this scent-match thing goes both ways if he won’t get close enough to smell me?

“This is your place,” I say, smiling. “That means it’s inappropriate for me to kick you out of your bed.”