DOLLY: INCIDENTS

I speed-walk away from the clinic, as though sheer distance might return the sanity I seem to have lost the moment I stepped inside.

MeadowLark is just waking up around me. A florist is wheeling buckets of tulips onto the pavement, shop awnings are rolling out one by one, and the smell of fresh bread drifts from the bakery across the road. It's the same bakery I walk past every morning and tell myself I'll beat one day. Today it makes my chest ache.

In my hand, I'm holding the tiny pill bottle in what could best be described as a death grip. After further briefing me, and after explaining that "No, you won't start dry humping random men in the street," Dr. Lucy prescribed these miracle workers in pill form. I've already taken the first dose, and the relief from the cramps, itching and headache was immediate and intense.

But now I'm not sure what to do. Is this something I even want people to know? I have nothing but respect for Omegas, but after not being one for the longest time, all my life, really, I have no idea how to navigate this newfound identity.

The choice is taken from me when my phone rings. Fiona's flaming red hair, squinting eyes, and huge grin fill my screen, along with the name "Fairy Smut Mother" and a peach, tongue, and heart emoji.

She saved her number by herself.

I sigh and pick up.

"So, are you dying?" she says by way of greeting.

"Unfortunately for you, I'm alive and well." I drop the pill bottle into my handbag and quicken my pace. "So don't even dream of touching my snack jar."

She sighs dramatically. "What did the doctor say?"

"She said I'm working a bit too hard and need to reduce my workload." The lie is out of my mouth before I've finished thinking it through. And now that it's out there, I find I have no strong urge to confess the truth.

I step around an early-morning jogger, picking up speed. At this point, I'm practically jogging myself.

"You sound out of breath," Fiona says after a prolonged silence. "Are you running?"

"Don't sound so shocked. I'm almost late for my meeting with Gina, and I can't afford to…"

"Dude." She cuts me off. "You just left the doctor, who told you to relax more, and the first thing you do is run to work?"

Guilt gnaws at me, and I quickly glance around to make sure Dr. Lucy isn't glaring at me in disappointment from some window. "You make me sound like a workaholic. And I got medication. I'll be fine."

I'll be fine as long as I get there on time. I'll be fine once Gina keeps her word and I'm finally in my own kitchen, running the bakery and catering place I've been dreaming of, with events full of people who seek me out.

A drop of water lands on the tip of my nose, my only warning before the downpour begins. All around me, people scramble for shelter, ducking under shop awnings, trees, and umbrellas.

"Shit. It's raining. I gotta go," I say hurriedly, and shove my phone into my bag to keep it dry.

I dash to the nearest bus stop, smiling as pleasantly as I can at the people already crowded inside the glass shelter, and squeeze in beside a man holding a dripping newspaper over his head. The place smells of wet wool and old gum, and the rain drums on the roof like it has a personal grudge against me.

A shiver runs through me. I don't need an expert to tell me I'm soaked to the bone.

I can't wear wet clothes to my meeting. Glaring at the rain that wasn't mentioned in this morning's forecast, I try to calculate how much time I have left, and how quickly I can make it back to my apartment, change, and still make it on time.

I'm still working on a solution when the alarm I set for the meeting goes off. Fuck.

Like clockwork, as if she's been sitting in front of her phone, waiting , this entire time, a text from Gina comes through.

**Gina:** Hey Dolly, I've been waiting for quite some time, but you never showed up. Why don't we move our meeting to next month?

Quite some time? I'm not even two minutes late. And next month? Gina and I made a deal: I'd help her get her dream café off the ground, and she'd help me launch my own catering business. I kept my end. Most of the menu is my recipes, and the line out her door every morning is built on my cooking. Now that the café is thriving, she's suddenly too busy to keep her promise. And she knows exactly what she's doing.

In a reckless moment of bravery, I reply.

**Dolly:** Sorry for being one minute late. Got stuck in the rain. A month is too far. I'd like to speak with you sooner than that. Can I call you when I get home?

I hit send and shove my phone back in my bag. While that text would seem mild to most people, I'm a chronic people-pleaser who despises confrontation, and Gina does not take being talked back to well.

Regardless, it had to be done. I've worked my ass off, long hours perfecting recipes she's been serving as her own, and a year of my own dreams on hold, to get that café up and running. I'll be damned if I let her weasel her way out of our deal.

Now I just need the rain to let up so I can go home, get changed, and make that call. As if in answer, it begins to beat down even harder. At this rate, it would take an act of the Creator to stop it.

I wrap my arms tighter around my shirt, which is probably see-through by now, trying to gather as much warmth as I can.

A sleek black car that I could swear I've seen before crawls to a stop in front of the shelter, warmth radiating off its engine, more than welcome. It occurs to me that the driver has stopped for me, so I shuffle closer to the tinted window.

They're probably new in MeadowLark and need directions. I might be having a shit day, but the people pleaser in me can't help but be helpful.

After a second, the window slides down, and I'm greeted with the last face I want to witness my drowned-rat state.

Brown eyes meet mine through wire-rimmed glasses, warm and unhurried, and I feel their weight settle low in my stomach. His full lips curl into a knowing smirk as he watches recognition dawn on my face.

Noah Fucking Thompson.

Dark, tousled hair falls across his forehead as if he's just run a hand through it. The line of his jaw is sharp enough to make me forget what I was about to say. If I was about to say anything at all.

It hasn't been that long, but he looks completely different from the last time I saw him. Leaner. More muscular. Black ink peeks out from his collar, and I almost melt under the rain.

Since when did he get tatted? And more importantly, since when did I find tattoos hot?

I don't realize I'm staring until he clears his throat. His voice comes out deep, and I feel it all the way to my toes. "Need a ride, Dolly?"

Beneath my skin, something I'm fairly sure Dr. Lucy would call an *incident* stirs.