Hiding.

I was hiding in Café Om pretending to be all about my coffee, like a freak.

Again.

When I had first set out to take on the world after college, I hadn’t expected to end up back home with my tail between my legs, begging daddy for a job. I had planned to work hard from the ground up, eventually making partner, a decent salary, and showing everyone that I was more than just an omega mooching off his family until he found a suitable alpha.

I took a sip of my pour over before pulling out my laptop in an attempt to look less pathetic. The work I did for my father’s company didn’t require much more than showing up and playing the part of dutiful son. Sure, I had an office with actual walls and it all looked legit, but my responsibilities were so minimal, I spent most of the day trying to appear busy.

Technically, I was qualified to take on cases, at least as a paralegal until I figured out bar reciprocity… I needed to actually into bar reciprocity. But my father was sure I would find an alpha and leave him in the lurch, so instead, I was the press liaison, which could have been pretty interesting if his office handled criminal law, but they mostly handled wills, trusts, and other estate management business, so no news people ever came around, and my responsibilities were more about placing legally required ads in papers than anything else.

There was nothing I needed to do on my laptop, but sitting there alone without the pretense of something to do would only signal to the staff that they could talk to me. I learned that lesson at the last Café Om I used to hide in, which was how I ended up here. I didn’t want to chit chat. I wanted to kill enough time that I could avoid awkward family dinners without looking like I was avoiding my parents. They meant well, after all.

I opened to the latest trending news articles to see what I had missed while I twiddled my thumbs all day. From there, I moved to local news and found myself smiling at an article about a little girl’s crusade to save homeless animals that had led to the founding of a no-kill shelter. She was only seven years old. Kids were amazing.

If my son had been born, he would’ve been not much older than her. Like a masochist, I thought about what he might be like today. Would he have looked like his father? Would he love music the way I did? Heck, would he be saving the animals too?

I finished the last of my coffee and glanced at the clock. If I hung out another half hour, I’d be guaranteed to miss dinner. More coffee it was. I shut my computer, leaving it on the table. It was practically empty, this being the time of day people spent with their families, so I knew it would be fine where it was.

I stepped up to the counter, the barista at the window giving me the one minute sign as she pressed a bell, I assumed to call for help. I didn’t need the coffee, but since someone was already on their way, I stayed put. When the door to the back room swung open, my jaw dropped. It was him.

Here.

In Café Om.

My feet froze in place even though every part of me was begging for my flight instinct to kick in. How was he here, of all places? Parker Spears, the asshole. He was styling his hair differently, a completely douchey, gelled upsweep with frosted tips.

“Fuck you,” I mumbled as he got to the counter.

“Hey, sugar. Something wrong with your coffee?” His voice—it was wrong. Too high, too… shit, it wasn’t Parker. I was delusional. This man before me was a fucking omega. I’d let my mind take me back too far, for too long, and now I was seeing things. I slammed my eyes shut, counting to ten before opening them slowly. He was still there.

I inhaled deeply, scenting him.

Yep, still an omega.

“Umm, no. Sorry, I was practicing an argument in my head and…” My excuse was beyond lame, but he didn’t seem to mind. Instead he cracked up. Better than being offended I called him an asshole. Which in all fairness I kind of did.

“Someone call the cops! We got a crazy on our hands.” He soften the words with a smile. “Refill?” He pointed to my cup.

“Yeah, that.” I still hadn’t gotten over the shock of how much he looked like Parker. I’d say it was his brother, but even though I never met him, Parker had spoken of him often enough that I remembered his name, Zeke, and not Marcus, as his name tag announced him to be. I heard a slight accent in the few words he’d said, enough to tell me he wasn’t local. Not that Parker was, but he was from a couple hours away, so local enough. Besides, the Spears were loaded. No way his younger brother would be slinging coffee here.

“No problem.” He flitted off to make my pour over. One nice thing about Om is they didn’t nickel and dime you to death by charging for second pour overs like most chains, leaving the refills to nasty carafes of drip coffee that had been on the counter for who knew how long. “Killing time until Omega Night down the road, or hoping to score a more sophisticated alpha, the kind who sits in coffee shops, reading the latest book everyone is talking about and everyone secretly hates?”

Ah, he was one of those omegas. Clubbing in the hopes of finding the one. While I was sure it happened sometimes, it often meant you kissed a whole lot of frogs first. That was not my idea of a good time. Not that I was looking for an alpha. Been there. Done that. Never again.

“Um, neither?” I didn’t want to offend him, nor did I want to get into anything personal. Mostly I just wanted to stare at him, taking in his likeness. Things may have crumbled beneath me with Parker, but watching this Marcus, even in his ridiculousness, felt enough like he was here to bring back the good memories. Goodness knew I had dwelled in the bad for far too long.

“Hey, it’s all good.” He smiled, but I saw a twinge of uncertainty cross his face. Was he insecure, or was he judging me? I had no idea. It didn’t really matter. “Us omegas need to stick together. At least until our alpha comes along and sweeps us off our feet.” Yeah, he was an alpha hunter alright. I hoped that worked out well for him, because from what little I knew of the scene, he was getting on the older side of things.

“You’ve read too many books,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood as he poured the last bit of water over the grounds.

“And I wager you don’t read enough.” He slid my coffee across the counter before extending his hand. “I’m Marcus.” So the name tag was right. That took away any lingering doubt I had.

“I’m Miles. Nice to meet you.” There was something about him I just liked. Maybe it was he reminded me of a happy time, but not enough to remind me of the hurt. Maybe it was his over-the-top larger-than-life personality. Maybe it was the good coffee I was about to drink. It didn’t matter why.

“New in town?” He leaned against the counter, his coworker busting tail to get all the drive-thru orders done.

“Returning.” I grabbed a lid, popping it on my cup.

“It’s not bad. Better than where I grew up, but not awful. They have a good scene here.”

I wasn’t sure if he was talking more to me or if he was trying to convince himself. “Not really my thing.”

“Ah, you’re one of those.” He reached out and popped my nose, completely ignoring his coworker who was calling out coffees in a very ineffective attempt to get Marcus to work.

“One of those?”

“It’s fine. To each their own. I just never wasted my time on that whole career, self-sufficient, omega rights stuff.”

He meant being responsible. I held in a chuckle. “Yeah, I’m one of those.” Or at least I was trying to be. That wasn’t working out as well as I’d hoped.