Page 10 of Lilacs and Leather

The cycle of my thoughts has my skin flushing, sweat beading on my spine. I walk to the back and discard my hoodie, putting my apron on over my tank top. I yank my hair out of its bun and run my fingers through it, trying to settle my shaking hands. I pull my cell phone from my pocket and open my messages, finding my thread with Jason.

Me: Mom just called me at my job. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me Darren was at the funeral?

The typing bubble pops up moments later. I watch it for what feels like an hour. Is he writing a fucking novel?

Jason: I thought I handled it. I didn’t realize he asked Mom about you, too.

Me: Well, she knows where I work now. And if she knows, everyone and their fucking mother are going to find out.

Jason: He won’t find you. You are safe. I promise.

Jason: I’m taking care of it.

I roll my shoulders again, letting out an irritated sigh. I pull up my bank app, wondering how much I have in my savings and if it’s enough to move. I like Everton, so maybe I could get away with just moving across town.

Jason: You are not going to run again, Lydi. I’ve got you. Trust me. Please.

He knows me too well.

Me: Fine. But if he shows up here, I swear on all that is holy, Jason, I will fucking end you.

Jason: The only way he’s finding you is over my dead body.

I chuckle, my raw nerves feeling a little better. Jason on the warpath is a force to be reckoned with. I just have to trust him. Even if it means doing nothing. I still look up replacement deadbolt locks, trying to find a good option that my landlord would approve of. But my search is interrupted as the front door opens, and the bell chimes. I throw my hair back up in a quick messy bun before heading back out to the front, swearing under my breath.

“Hi, is there anything I can help you with?” I ask, my head ducked as I finish my hair.

I look up and stop dead. The blond alpha from Wickland House is standing in the middle of the shop.

Five

Rhett

I throw myself into the driver’s seat of my car with a heavy sigh.I tip my head back, and it thumps and bounces slightly on the rest before I close my eyes. This was pointless. Why do I keep doing this to myself? I just left a record shop with a stack of informational fliers and three DJs’ business cards in my pocket for an event that isn’t happening. There was no trace of that lilac-and-honey omega scent anywhere in the building.

I pull out my phone and look at the list of vendors. I’ve visited four bakeries, two photographers, three furniture rental companies, and this establishment since Lex sent me the list a week and a half ago. I was running out of options. And hope.

What are you doing, Rhett? Just because she’s an omega, it doesn’t give you the right to hunt her down like a rabbit.

That voice in my head sounds suspiciously like Lex, and I can’t deny the truth of it. But my instincts won’t let her disappear. Not yet.

I look at the list of vendors again, scrolling, searching. I’ve been going on gut feelings thus far, picking businesses that call to me. But that has failed me ten times. Maybe I should be more systematic about this?

Ah, yes. Systematically tracking down a girl you saw once. Like a total knothead.

I frown at my own thoughts. The longer this search has gone, the worse I’ve felt about it. This feels like a waste of time. And yet my instincts will not let me let it go. She’s been in my dreams every night since I first saw her, and I can’t shake this nagging pull to protect her. She needs me. Or at least my brain is telling me she does.

I sigh again, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose. I can feel a headache starting behind my eyes. My instinct led me to my pack and has never led me astray before. And if it is telling me to find this omega, there has to be a reason. But the longer this goes on, the more I’m getting distracted from work, and worse, from my pack.

One more, and then I’m done. If I don’t find her at the next place, then I am letting this go and moving on.I promise myself.

Setting my shoulders, I look through the list again and consider what I remember of her. She was wearing a white shirt and black pants. The shirt didn’t fit well, but her pants clung to her peachy ass and thighs like they were painted on.

Fucking focus, Cooper.I scold internally.

She had a blue apron, sky blue, a perfect complement to her hair. And she was carrying… flowers.

I scroll to the florist’s section of the list, and sure e-fucking-nough, Grandmother Wila’s is the first one listed. I should have recognized that apron sooner. I only spent six months in and out of that shop during the State Street restoration project. I don’t relish the prospect of facing Wila Fitzgerald again, but if this was where that omega worked, then I would do it.