15. Aria

15

ARIA

I can’t stop pacing. My apartment feels like a cage, every wall closing in as my thoughts spin out of control faster than a hamster on an energy drink. The lavender infuser, which I usually find soothing, now clogs the air like too much perfume at a retirement home.

I shove an orange candy in my mouth and turn the infuser off.

Quinn’s words keep bouncing around my mind like a ping-pong ball in a dryer. “I thought it could be a safe space for omegas… for you, if you wanted it.” It’s like he lit a spark I didn’t even know was there, and now I can’t put it out. I have a four-alarm fire of an idea and no extinguisher in sight.

I’ve spent too long letting others steer my life. This salon could be my chance to finally take control, to grab the wheel and screech off into the sunset like an omega with a mission.

Before I realize it, I’m grabbing a notepad and pencil, letting the scratch of graphite on paper steady me. Soon, I’m sketching layouts. It’s rough and messy, but the vision is there. The pencil moves almost on its own, forming lines and shapes of something that’s been buried inside me for way too long, like a time capsule I forgot I planted.

As I sketch, the scent of pencil shavings mingles with the orange, creating an oddly comforting aroma. My fingers tingle with each stroke, as if the energy of creation is flowing through them. The soft scratching of pencil on paper becomes a soothing rhythm, grounding me in the moment like a weighted blanket for my brain.

A memory floats up, as clear and sharp as a high-def replay.

“Sweetheart, you have real talent,” Aunt Sara said, admiring her freshly styled hair in the mirror. I was sixteen, the scent of hair spray and the warmth of the blow-dryer lingering in the air like a beauty parlor ghost. “Have you thought about cosmetology school? You could make a real career out of this.”

I shrugged, fighting the pride bubbling up inside me like a shaken soda. “Maybe,” I mumbled, scared to admit how much I wanted it.

Aunt Sara cupped my face, her touch gentle but firm. “Aria, you have a gift. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t follow your dreams, omega or not. Promise me you’ll at least think about it.”

I nodded, tears pricking at my eyes. “I promise, Aunt Sara.”

The memory fades, but the warmth of it lingers, mixed with a pang of grief. I glance down at my sketches, surprised at the detail and energy I poured into them so quickly. This isn’t just Quinn’s dream—it’s becoming mine. This is my chance to create something real, something that’s truly mine.

Damn it, I want that more than I want chocolate during my heat.

Aunt Sara would tell me to go for it. Hell, she’d drag me back to Quinn and demand I accept.

I grab my phone and dial Willow’s number before I can second-guess myself. The cool glass against my ear contrasts with the warmth of anticipation in my chest.

“Aria? Is everything okay?” Willow’s voice is tinged with that gentle concern she always seems to carry for us, like a mother hen with particularly snarky chicks.

“I’m fine,” I say, though my voice wavers like a tightrope walker on a windy day. “I just… I need to talk. Quinn had this idea for a salon, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

I spill everything—Quinn’s proposal, the unexpected rush of excitement, and the ideas that have been crowding my mind ever since. Willow listens quietly, and when I finally pause, she lets out a soft, knowing laugh.

“Sounds like this idea has really caught you,” she says gently.

“It has,” I admit, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead. “But Willow, am I crazy for even considering this? Working with Quinn after everything that happened? Am I setting myself up to star in Omega’s Biggest Mistakes: The Sequel ?”

There’s a pause on the other end, and I can almost see Willow carefully weighing her words like a chemist with volatile substances. “It isn’t crazy,” she says, “but it is complicated. You have every right to feel cautious. You need to decide what’s best for you and what feels right in your heart. Remember, Aria, growth often comes from stepping outside our comfort zones. Just make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons, not because some alpha batted his eyelashes at you.”

I take a deep breath, letting Willow’s words settle over me like a warm blanket on a cold night. “I keep thinking… this could be more than just a salon. It could be a safe space for omegas—scent neutralizers, private booths for those who are scent sensitive or touch averse, maybe even a special room for omegas nearing their heat with extra comfort features, like a pillow fort, but classier.”

The ideas start flowing faster, my words tripping over each other like excited puppies. “And what if it wasn’t just a salon? What if it was a wellness center too? Massage therapy, aromatherapy, maybe even counseling services. A place where omegas could really relax and feel safe, like a spa, but with less cucumber water and more screw the patriarchy vibes.”

“That sounds amazing, Aria,” Willow says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “But it’s a big project. Have you thought about what it would take to actually pull it off? It isn’t exactly like setting up a lemonade stand.”

Reality tugs me back like a bungee cord at its limit. “Not really,” I confess sheepishly. “I guess I got caught up in the dream. You know me—head in the clouds, my feet occasionally remembering they are supposed to be on the ground.”

“Dreams are important,” Willow assures me, “but so is being prepared. Why don’t you start with some research? Figure out what it would actually take to make this happen. You know, boring adult stuff like budgets and business plans.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “You’re right. I should start with research.” My eyes drift to my laptop on the coffee table. “Actually, I think I’ll dive in now. Thanks, Willow. You always know how to talk me down from the ledge. You’re like a therapist, but with better jokes and low hourly rates.”

“Anytime, Aria. Just… be careful, okay? And keep me updated. I want front row seats to the Aria show, whether it’s a blockbuster or a beautiful disaster.”

After we hang up, I settle onto my couch with my laptop. The glow of the screen lights up my face as I dive into the world of business plans, licensing requirements, and start-up costs. Hours pass in a blur as I scribble notes, bookmark pages, and slowly begin to shape my dream into something that could actually work.

With every new piece of information, doubt creeps in like a stealthy ninja. Can I really do this? And if I do, can I trust Quinn to be a part of it? What if this whole idea backfires? I imagine the disappointment on Aunt Sara’s face if I fail and the smug looks from those who never believed in me.

I glance at my phone, Quinn’s number still on the screen. I could call him and share my excitement, my doubts, but the words stick in my throat like peanut butter.

My fingers hover over the screen, and I take a deep breath. The scent of orange finally calms me as I start typing.

Me : Quinn, we need to talk about the salon idea. Meet me at the coffee shop on 5th, ten tomorrow morning. Bring you’re a game and maybe some aspirin for my inevitable headache.

I hit send before I can talk myself out of it, then I toss the phone onto my bed like it’s a hot potato made of lava. My heart races as I wait for a response, not sure if I want one or not.

The phone buzzes almost instantly. I snatch it up, my stomach flipping like an Olympic gymnast as I read.

Quinn : Absolutely! I’m all ears and maybe a bit of nose too. Can’t wait to hear your thoughts! Should I bring pom-poms to cheer for your ideas?

I can practically hear Dash joking that he’ll be our first customer if we offer beer with haircuts. Well, he would have. Now, it’ll be coffee. And Zane? He’d just brood in the corner, pretending not to care while secretly checking the place out like a health inspector with trust issues. Malachi would probably insist on doing a full security assessment before we even opened the doors, as if we were guarding nuclear codes instead of hair products.

I stare at Quinn’s response, a mix of excitement and anxiety rolling through me like a tidal wave of emotions. This is real. I’m really considering this. Holy shit, what have I gotten myself into?

A knock on my door snaps me out of my thoughts. I open it to find Cayenne, her fiery hair as wild as her grin, looking like she just stepped out of a shampoo commercial for Fierce and Fabulous.

“Hey, bestie,” she says, walking in like she owns the place. “I brought wine and gossip, but it looks like you have news of your own.” She nods toward the sketches spread across my desk. “Either you’ve taken up abstract art, or you’re planning world domination. Please tell me it’s the latter.”

I hesitate, but then I spill. Cayenne listens, her eyes widening as I explain Quinn’s proposal and my own ideas.

“Holy shit, Aria,” she says when I’m done. “This is… big. Are you sure you’re ready for this? With Quinn of all people? I mean, I know he has those puppy dog eyes, but remember, even cute puppies can pee on the carpet.”

I sink onto my bed. “I don’t know,” I admit. “But it feels right, you know? Like something I’ve been waiting for without even realizing it. Like finding the perfect pair of jeans, but for my soul.”

Cayenne nods, her expression softening. “I get it, and hey, if anyone can make this work, it’s you. Just… be careful, okay? And remember, I’m here if you need me, even if it’s just to hide a body. I know a guy who could help with the business plan. Let me make some calls. I have connections shadier than a forest at midnight.”

I laugh, feeling some of the tension slip away. “Thanks, Cay. I’ll keep that in mind. You’re like my personal mafia, but with better hair and less concrete shoes.”

After Cayenne leaves, I curl up on my bed, hugging a pillow tightly. Sleep feels impossible, but I know I need to try. Tomorrow could change everything, and I need to be ready. Ready for what, I’m not sure. Maybe greatness, maybe disaster, but probably both.

As I drift off, I can almost smell the shampoo and hair spray, hear the hum of blow-dryers, and feel the warmth of a community finding a safe space. The dream feels so real, so close, that I can almost touch it. It’s like the best smelling, most empowering mirage ever.

Then, like a cold splash of water, doubt creeps in. What if this is all a mistake? What if I’m setting myself up for heartbreak… or worse? The memory of past betrayals, of thinking I could trust only to be let down, looms like a shadow. It’s like my brain decided to throw a greatest hits of your worst moments party.

I shake my head, pushing the doubts away. No. I can’t let fear control me anymore. Tomorrow’s a wild card, but here’s the deal—I’m grabbing the wheel of my own life, no back seat drivers allowed. It’s time to take a chance and reach for something amazing, and if it all goes wrong? At least I’ll have tried. That’s more than I could say a few months ago when my greatest ambition was finding the perfect hiding spot from alphas.

This omega’s ready to show the world what she’s made of, even if my knees are shaking a little. Bring it on, universe. I have dreams, I have determination, and I have a secret weapon—the ability to make alphas question their life choices with just one raised eyebrow. Let’s do this.