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SKYLAR
“Hey, Skye?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“A customer wants to order a custom Valentine’s Day box.”
I grimace as I take the pencil out of my mouth. “Just pick whatever flavors they want,” I say, staring at the inventory sheet in front of me, the numbers suddenly meaningless.
How many pounds of almond flour do we need? Even though I just counted, the number disappears from my brain.
“But they want us to pick,” Devyn says. “Do we do that?”
There’s no reason for the flare of anger in my chest, and Devyn does not deserve any of the wrath that threatens to spew from my mouth. “Sure. Just pick whatever flavors you think would work,” I say carefully, twirling the pencil in my fingers.
I keep my gaze on the inventory sheet, hoping the conversation is over.
But it’s not.
“I’ve never done it before,” Devyn says in a sickeningly sweet voice. “What if I mess it up?”
Don’t lose it, Skye. It’s just a holiday.
I turn to our newest hire and meet her youthful face. “You won’t,” I say gently. “What flavor macarons would you put into a Valentine’s Day box?”
The petite Omega chews her lip and glances towards the front of the store. “Probably raspberry, chocolate, and maybe rose? That makes sense, right? That’s what I would want.”
“That’s perfect,” a voice pipes up behind Devyn, and April comes into view, casting me a knowing look as she places a box of paper cups on a shelf. “Remember, twelve in a box, Devyn. And use the pink ribbon, not silver.”
Devyn leaves the supply room and I turn my attention back to the inventory list, dreading the inevitable chastising from my best friend.
“You don’t have to sound like someone is murdering your cat when you talk to her, Skye,” April says, her dark brown eyes narrowed.
“What are you talking about?” I ask innocently, recounting the bags of flour.
“It’s Valentine’s Day, not a funeral,” she replies. “It’s unavoidable, especially in our business.”
“I know that,” I counter. “It will be great for sales.”
April sighs loudly and I glance up from my inventory sheet to meet her empathetic expression.
I’d rather see her annoyed with me. Anything other than that look.
“It can’t be worse than last year,” she assures me softly. “Things can only get better from here.”
“I know that,” I snap, not quick enough to rein my emotion in. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I cringe internally. I sound like a bitch. Just because Valentine’s Day is ruined for me doesn’t mean I need to act like a menace to everyone else.
Especially not to my best friend, who doesn’t deserve one ounce of my wrath.
It’s not like she has a pack, either. Or even just one Alpha.
April’s eyes narrow into slits. “It’s all over your face,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Even if you don’t want to talk about it, your expression speaks volumes.”
“Yeah, well—”
