3. Sawyer

3

It's the girl. That girl. Brinlee. Wild, blond hair in pigtails like a pixie, dark eyes like deep wells, and…

What the fuck?

Without thinking, I stride up to her and lift my hand to her face. "What the hell happened? You're bleeding? Who did this to you?"

"It's nothing. I hit my face against a backpack." At what has to be an incredulous look on my face, she laughs softly. "I swear it's true. A guy was wearing the backpack. I just happened to walk into his back."

"You walked into a random guy's back?" Her skin is so warm under my fingertips, so smooth, like fine silk. Her eyes are drawing me in, so dark and warm. I want to curl up inside her gaze.

"Oh no, he's a friend."

"A friend," I repeat, heat spreading in my gut. Wait, am I jealous?

"A colleague."

Should I believe her? I've seen signs of domestic violence before, and no excuse should ever convince anyone that the bruises were the result of falling or slamming into furniture by chance. Yet I don't know her enough to tell if she's telling the truth, or to ask again.

She leaves me no time to decide how to handle this, stepping back and away from me. My hand falls to my side, and the look in her eyes tells me she's considering fleeing.

I have scared her. Dammit. She will run—again, like the last time I saw her, and it will be my own goddamn fault for coming on too strong and acting like a stalker of some sort.

"I should go," she says as if on cue.

"No, please," I whisper. "Please, stay. Let me make you a coffee. Flat white. Lots of milk, no sugar, right?"

Her dark brows arch. "You remember."

I hide a wince. Now I'm probably scaring her more. "I have a good memory for drinks. And faces. That's all. Part of my job."

It's still not enough, it seems, because she bites her lower lip and inches back. "I don't know if I should…"

"I brought in a new batch of books just today," I blurt out, panicking and desperate to convince her to stay. "Lots of romantasy titles. Lots of Fae and shadow daddies."

And… wouldn't you know. Looks like I've hit the jackpot. Her pretty eyes brighten and she stops inching away from me.

"For real?" she asks eagerly. "What titles do you have? Anything with dark academia and dragons?"

Shit, a girl after my own heart.

"I sure do. That is, I'm pretty sure I do. Would you like to take a look?"

She hesitates, then nods, and a weight lifts off my shoulders.

But then she says, "Are you sure… you're okay with me just sitting and reading? While having a coffee, of course."

"This is what this café is all about," I inform her, grinning and unable to hide it. "Go ahead and grab a book, I'll bring you the coffee."

I can't fucking hide how pleased I am to see her again. I watch her walk to the back of the café, feeling guilty for not being able to look away from her heart-shaped ass and shapely legs in her worn jeans, the way she tilts her head. She's like a fantasy princess. Or a pixie.

My pixie.

Oh, man… Back away, Sawyer, before you do anything more stupid. Something like pledge your life to her, to a girl you barely know. You don't even know her designation, her familial status, her needs and wishes. Don't push her. Don't insist.

Detangle your own life first before you ask her if she's interested in starting something with you, yeah?

Easier said than done. I just can't keep away. Before I know it, I'm back there, beside her, acting like a creep.

"Have you found anything you like?"

"I got this one." She waves the book at me, grinning. It has a wild-haired girl on the cover. Like her. "It's about an omega acolyte in a temple who is sworn to chastity but then goes into heat and realizes she's an omega. In that world, being alpha or omega is a bad thing because that means they are Fae and the king is after them…"

"Yes?" I prompt when she trails off.

"Sorry. Speaking of heats to an omega is bad manners, isn't it?"

"It's fine," I assure her.

"But I?—"

"Society doesn't like us talking openly about sexual matters. Periods. Heats. Pregnancies. I think we should. We should talk about all this shit."

"I sure hope you're not pregnant."

"Nope." I pat my—admittedly flat—stomach. "It's all chocolates and cake."

A snicker escapes her. I'm pretty damn sure she hadn't meant to lower her defenses and allow herself the reaction, because instantly she claps a hand over her mouth.

Does it feel good that I got through and made her laugh? Fuck, yeah.

Do I want more? Do I want to inch closer, slip through all those prickly walls and touch her? Hell, yeah.

Do I think that it's a bad idea when she's so skittish?

Fuck me, yeah to that, too.

Knowing it, though, has never stopped me before. Not when I told my alpha brother Eric when I was little that I wanted to fly, and then went on to climb onto the roof of our house and jump. He caught me, thankfully, by the way. Not when I decided to leave the family nest and open this café against my parents' will, making a tense situation worse, and again leaving Eric to pick up the pieces.

Poor Eric. He's a Neanderthal, but he's been a good brother to me.

Only now he's pushing for me to find a pack and won't let himself look for one of his own before I am married off.

No pressure.

Adding on to my family's moves to get me the pack of their dreams, it's making me jittery. I know what sort of pack they have in mind.

And I'm not sure I'd be happy with that.

But one thing at a time. My girl is here. I've made her favorite coffee, pointed her to her favorite genre, and maybe I'll get a chance to talk to her some more. Get to know her. Make her less scared of me.

No matter what my family has decided for my future.

"Can you make me one of those frothy chai lattes you made for Casey the other day?" Gigi asks, making herself comfortable on a stool behind the bar. "He said it was divine."

Casey is her pack's omega and an old friend of mine. Since he got together with Gigi and a pack, I don't see them as often, but they are happy and that's so great. A pack is what I'm expected to find, too. In fact, my parents have been pushing for me to meet with a high-end pack looking for an omega, but I?—

"Whoa, you are spacey today." Gigi leans forward to peer at me like an inquisitive magpie. "Where's your head at?"

Involuntarily I glance at the back of the café. There she is. Brinlee is still there. I keep glancing her way, afraid she's already gone.

But she will leave, I remind myself. You should go and, I dunno. Give her your phone number. Ask for her full name.

So you can find her and stalk her on social media? Think that won't scare her?

"Oh God, Sawyer, forget about the frothy drink." Gigi leans over the counter, her blue eyes concerned. "Tell me what's the matter. How can I help?"

"You can't," I whisper and then curse myself when she frowns. "Gigi?—"

"Now I know something is wrong."

"You were fishing for info?" I ask, incredulous.

"Sue me. I'd do anything for my friends. Tell Aunt Gigi what's wrong."

"Aunt Gigi." I snort. I gesture at her pretty, freckled face. "You look so young you should be asked for an ID when you buy booze."

"Who says I'm not?" She sticks her tongue out at me.

"See? And I'm fine, everything's fine. Stop being a worrywart." I grab a tall latte glass from the shelf. "I'll prepare you a frothy chai that will make you see God, while you tell me your news, deal? I haven't heard from you in a while. I'll… shit."

"What?" Gigi hops off her stool. "What is it?"

But I'm already hurrying around the bar because, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my girl leaving.

"Brinlee, wait!" I race between tables, bumping into chairs, almost tripping over a customer's foot, reaching her right at the door. "Wait."

"I have to get to work," she says, but her smile is muted.

"Oh. Shit, okay. Of course. Look?—"

"I'll leave you to your girlfriend."

"My girlfr—? Oh, you mean Gigi? No, wait, she's not… wait!"

But Brinlee goes without another word, pushing the door open and stepping out—just as a group of customers steps in—and I still haven't managed to get her phone number or give her mine.

Is it rude to ask her now? It probably is.

Fuck it, I don't care. I brush past the last customer entering and rush out, turning in a circle, looking for her.

But she's gone.