A Pack for Autumn

1

Easton

I am not a stalker.

I am not a stalker.

I am definitely not a stalker.

I chanted the phrase to myself as I wound through the aisles of Mariposa Market, stealing covert glances at the dark-haired beauty on the other end of the aisle.

I'd looked it up-the definition of stalking. This definitely did not qualify. Stalking required a pattern of repeated unwanted attention or harassment.

I wasn't harassing her, and how would I even know it was unwanted? Okay, she might have turned me down when I asked her out on a date-twice-but I wasn't stalking her. It just so happened that the adorable lighthouse keeper and I were often at the market at the same time. Like today, I'd had an urgent need for baking soda.

Urgent.

I'd seen a video about how baking soda could deodorize your fridge. How was I supposed to last another minute without it after hearing that?

I jolted when I realized she wasn't in the aisle anymore. She was heading to the checkout.

Olive.

The first time I heard someone in town speak her name, it felt like the clouds had parted and sunlight was streaming down on me. A great achievement since it had been pouring down rain, but that was the power of Olive. She was sunshine on a rainy day, and I needed to be by her side forever.

I just had to figure out how to win her over first.

I slipped in behind her in line, a bright orange box of baking soda clutched tight in my fist.

The cashier, an idiot teenager named Jack, smiled at her. I coughed to cover the rumble of a growl in my chest. Olive deserved all the smiles in the world. I just wanted to be the one to give them to her.

To give her everything.

"Your name is Olive, right?" Jack asked.

"Umm, yeah," she responded.

There was a slight frown on her luscious pink lips. A little crease between her big, brown eyes.

Jack chuckled as he scanned her first item. "So, does that mean your parents are olive farmers?" He paused his scanning as if waiting for uproarious laughter.

She fixed him with what could only be called a withering stare, and my heart pounded with excitement. Olive was shy and quiet, but sometimes she let out her snarky side, and it always delighted me.

"I don't know, Jack. Were your parents super into changing tires?"

"Umm . . . what?"

"Or growing magic beans?" she deadpanned.

Jack blinked, looking totally lost, before busying himself with scanning the rest of her items. I, on the other hand, coughed again, this time to cover my laughter. My girl was so fucking funny.

She turned toward me. Our eyes met, and the world slowed. Her beauty was the kind that made it hard to breathe. The way her bangs fell across her forehead was so cute I could hardly stand it. She was wearing a forest green sweater that draped gently over the luscious curves I wanted to bury myself in.

Just then, the market door opened and Hank-Starlight Grove's quintessential cranky old man and bookstore owner-walked in, sporting a deep frown as he leaned heavily on his cane. The noise distracted Olive, and she looked away. My jaw clenched against the urge to beg her to look at me again.

Hank's interruption did bring one good thing-a gust of wind that blew into the market through the open door, catching Olive's hair and ushering her scent in my direction. My irritation vanished as I inhaled deeply. She smelled like a pumpkin spice latte, all warm and comforting and sweet with an edge of bitter coffee. My cock stiffened immediately, and I shifted my stance. This was why I tried to resist breathing around Olive. I didn't want to scare her off by sporting a hard-on every time I was around her but fuck, it was pretty much impossible. She wore a sort of deodorant to mute her scent, but the faint whiffs I got were enough to feature in my dreams. I wanted to roll around on her adorable chunky sweaters, wanted to drown myself in her. Maybe the wind would blow little particles of her scent onto my shirt, and I could curl up in bed with it later.

My scent, however, was out in full force, declaring to all in the vicinity that I was completely obsessed with this omega. Olive stared straight ahead, but I thought I caught a tinge of pink on her cheeks. It gave me a tiny spark of hope that she wasn't as unaffected by me as she acted.

All too quick, Jack was reading out her total. She paid for her items, grabbed her two cloth bags, and headed to the door.

I wanted to run after her. I could offer to carry her bags, so she didn't have to balance them on her bike handlebars as she rode back to the lighthouse. Or I could carry her if she wasn't feeling up to biking today.

But my feet stayed rooted to the floor. She already felt like mine, but I was terrified of messing this up. After she'd practically run away from me the second time I invited her to dinner, I realized I needed to rethink my strategy.

I'd been told repeatedly that I came on too strong, and that, according to the last woman I'd gone on a few dates with, my attention was suffocating. And my Olive was skittish. She only came into town when she'd run out of her stash of ramen and TV dinners. She never initiated conversation. I'd never even seen her smile. I had to play this right. I couldn't scare her off. I wouldn't survive it.

I watched her through the large market windows as she got on her slightly rusted bike and set off down the road.

"Umm, are you going to buy that?" Jack gestured at the crushed box in my fist. A dusting of baking soda spilled onto the floor. Shit. I looked around furtively to see if Marisol or Carmen were around. They would kill me for getting their floors dirty. I let out a little sigh of relief when I didn't spot either of the sisters. This was another reason I had to be careful with Olive. I'd never gotten used to my alpha body-the way I towered over pretty much everyone, especially omegas like her, and how I constantly bumped into things and broke them with my clumsy limbs.

I never wanted to break her.

I mumbled an apology as I handed Jack some money. By the time I left the store, Olive had already disappeared down the winding road that led to the bay. I hated that she didn't live closer to town. What if something happened to her out there, all alone?

My legs were heavy as I headed back to the house I shared with my packmates.

Finn was making lunch when I entered the kitchen. His eyes flicked to me and the still-leaking box in my hand. "Are you going to tell me why you sprinted out of the house like it was on fire?"

I'd been hovering by the window all morning, knowing Olive usually went to the market on Thursdays. My heart had almost exploded when I saw her coming down the street. But saying that would make me sound like a stalker, and I definitely wasn't.

"We needed baking soda," I grunted. I opened the fridge and set the sad little box on the shelf.

Finn looked like he wanted to press me, but he just turned back to his sandwich. I wanted to tell him about the woman I dreamed of making our omega, but Finn was still lost in his grief after the death of his grandparents, and Lars was still obsessed with an omega he'd scented years ago.

I took a deep breath. First, I would convince Olive to give us a chance. Then, I would convince the guys.

2

Olive

I cringed at the squealing bike brakes as I approached my house. I'd found this bike in a small shed on the property when I moved in a month ago, but it wasn't in the best shape. I needed to figure out how to fix it so the chain stopped popping off and the brakes stopped sounding like a siren. Still, I wouldn't complain. It made transporting groceries back home much easier.

I parked by the front door, pausing for a moment to breathe in the salty sea air and listen to the crashing waves. A meow alerted me to the presence of Sir Cat, the fluffy orange, white, and brown stray who had been sitting by my front door the day I moved in. He'd walked right inside, making himself at home as I'd hauled in my sparse possessions consisting of a suitcase and a couple of boxes.

"Hello, Sir," I said, bending down to scratch his head. He didn't have a collar, so I had no idea what his real name was. I'd tried out several, but he had fixed me with a deeply disapproving expression, so I just stuck with "Sir Cat." He was regal enough to warrant the name, anyway.

When I interviewed for the lighthouse keeper position, I'd been told the house came furnished. I'd arrived with a rental car packed with my limited possessions and opened the door to an almost empty house. There were some dishes in the cabinets. A small wooden table in the kitchen. Some books on lighthouse-keeping on the built-in bookcases. I'd purchased an air mattress to sleep on and a few other small things at a thrift store, but that was it. I was so close to paying off my credit card debt and needed to save every dollar. My new job came with free housing, but the salary wasn't much.

I'd been relieved to have Sir Cat with me that first night. A small storm had blown through, howling and rattling the windows. He'd kept me company in the lighthouse watch room, purring the night away on my lap as I acquainted myself with the lighthouse manual and storm protocols.

We'd quickly fallen into a quiet routine. He rarely left my side, trailing me through the cottage and lighthouse like a fluffy shadow. I'd found a basket for twenty-five cents at the thrift store and put one of my own blankets in there for him. He certainly couldn't keep sleeping on the floor.

"That alpha was at the market again today," I said, my voice almost a whisper as if we would be overheard.

Easton.

The golden-skinned, curly-haired alpha with thick forearms, a broad chest, and stubble on his jaw. We kept running into each other, but he hadn't asked me out again after I'd absolutely panicked the first two times he'd tried. He'd obviously come to his senses and given up, which was for the best. I'd moved to Starlight Grove to be alone. I couldn't think of many jobs more solitary than lighthouse keeper.

So then . . . why did it feel like my heart was breaking at the thought of Easton giving up on me?

I moved inside, holding the door open for Sir Cat, and unloaded my groceries. One day, I'd learn how to cook. Pasta with jarred sauce was about as advanced as I got, and that's what I was planning for dinner. Although, the only thing I was craving right now was croissants filled with Nutella and thick slabs of chocolate cake. I sniffed my sweater, unsure if I could actually catch a hint of the alpha's rich, chocolate hazelnut scent or if it was just wishful thinking. My inner omega let out a forlorn whine, but I drowned her out with the kitchen radio, turning the knob until the static faded and music filled the room. My heart ached as I recognized the song. It was by one of me and my mom's favorite artists-a semi-local singer we'd seen play at a bar before he blew up. Mom and I had played this album on repeat on the boat until my dad banned it.

Until the next day, at least. He could never refuse us anything.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I drained the pasta. What would it be like to have a love like they'd had?

"What kind of music do you like?" I asked Sir Cat. He cocked his head. "Something sophisticated, right?"

Meow.

I grinned. "Do you want some pasta?" I held a noodle out for him and he took it neatly from my hand.

After I dished up my dinner, I headed to the door that connected my cottage to the inside of the lighthouse. I trudged up the winding metal stairs to the very top, emerging onto the balcony. I loved sitting up here, even as the wind turned cold with the start of fall. It made me feel more alive.

I sat down, and Sir Cat immediately settled on my lap. I shoveled down my pasta before the wind could turn it stone-cold and then set my bowl aside so I could focus on scratching Sir Cat and enjoying his soft purr.

"Have you always lived by the ocean?" I asked. "I know you don't like the water, and here I am, unable to live without it." He nudged my hand, urging me to continue petting him.

I peered out into the darkness, the flashing beacon from the lantern illuminating the waves. "I should be out there."

I had grown up on my parents' lobster boat, spent most of my days there before I could even walk. By the time I was ten, I was helping my dad check traps and learning about weather patterns and navigation. My dad was a fifth-generation lobsterman, and I thought I'd be the sixth generation. But nothing had turned out how it was supposed to.

Sir Cat and I stayed outside until my fingers grew too frozen to continue petting him. I crept back down the stairs, set my empty bowl in the sink, and crawled into my nest, wondering if I would always feel this empty.

3

Olive

I peeked out the curtains in my bedroom. It was still dark outside, but the slight shift in the color of the sky promised that sunrise wasn't far away.

I took my morning pill before pulling on a sweatshirt, grabbing a towel, and slipping on my shoes. Sir Cat met me at the door.

"Good morning. Hope you slept well."

He just butted his head against my leg.

While Sir Cat clearly felt this was his house to enter and exit whenever he pleased, he never tried to enter my nest. In fact, he avoided my bedroom completely, content to curl up in his makeshift basket bed. Probably a good thing since I was sleeping on an air mattress. Wouldn't want him to puncture it with his claws.