Page 10 of A Nest of Maple & Mist

“There I added my contact and you’re in my favorites now. I’ll text you the address and details.”

Her fingers glided along Umbra’s back before she stood, tossing me a mischievous glint.

“Off to take pictures I go.”

With a wave, she bounded off in the direction of the sugarhouse.

I looked down at my phone, eyeing the new contact.

Fern: Maple Queen.

Umbra gave a final bored chuff, standing up and stretching out her legs, her claws digging into the earth.

With my now empty mug of coffee and tray, I headed back toward the omega suite, Umbra trotting in my wake.

FOUR

TY

Cold leather bit into the calluses on my bare hands. The chill in the morning usually felt like a shot of espresso to my senses, but today it just sliced into my skin like a knife. And for some twisted reason, I wanted it to.

Anything to distract me.

I gripped the chainsaw, killing it as I quartered the last section of dead trees. Sweat beaded off my brow, the back of my hand damp with it as I brushed it away.

Despite still having another section of trees to trim that day, my mind wandered—specifically to the second floor of our house where something delectable teased me behind a closed door.

I hated that I had to leave before she woke up. Even without the keen sense of smell of an alpha or omega, she’d been impossible to ignore. It clung to every surface of our home when I returned from the sugarhouse.

Sweet golden maple.

It made my chest ache with a dull, insistent throb I couldn’t shake.

When I walked through the door last night and Jason told us Mia was staying here, my heart nearly leaped out of my chest. I knew that name and, combined with that scent, I was certain.

Mia. A face that once lit up my mornings.

Five years ago, I’d been a different person. I’d just aged out of foster care, a scared kid with no family, no home, and no safety net.

My parents died when I was twelve—a drug overdose—and no one wanted to adopt a near-teenager. So, I bounced from home to home. Some good. Others, not so great.

In those six years, I failed to make any lasting connections with my numerous foster siblings and parents. When I turned eighteen, I was on my own. I took the minimal assistance given to me and got a job as a barista at the local coffee shop, picking up as many shifts as I could.

The only redeeming part of my job was her.

Every morning, like clockwork, she came.

A quiet omega who always looked a little too soft and sad for the bustle of the city. She never said much, but always offered a brilliant smile that took my breath away. It hadn’t taken me long to memorize her order—vanilla, cardamom, and a swirl of caramel.

I used to think of her as my “sweet girl.”

Watching her walk out the door after her whispered “thank you” always left me with a goofy smile on my face and a twinge in my chest.

Despite the long hours, I struggled to stay afloat, unable to keep up with the expenses of living in the city. After I’d seen a posting for a farmhand at Hawthorne Farms, I decided to try my luck in Maple Falls, even if it meant I’d never see my sweet girl again.

It wasn’t like she knew who I was anyway.

It turned out that moving here, taking this job, had been the best decision I had ever made.