All Chapters of Fated to My Best Friend and The Alpha: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The first pebble hits my window at six seventeen in the morning.I ignore it.The second hits harder.By the third, I know exactly who is responsible.I drag myself out of bed, cross the room, and yank open the curtains.Drevin Brooks stands in the yard below my window with another pebble in his hand and a grin on his face.I shove the window open.“What is wrong with you?”“Good morning, sunshine.”“It is six in the morning.”“Six seventeen.”“I hate you.”“No, you don’t.”He bends down for another rock.“Throw that and I’ll kill you.”He drops it.Then walks toward the side of the house.My eyes narrow.“Drevin.”A hand appears on the edge of the porch roof.“You have got to be kidding me.”His head pops into view.He climbs through my window like he has a key to the place.He might as well.Drevin has been sneaking through this window since we were thirteen.My dad has threatened to put spikes on the roof.Drevin says that would only make things more interesting.He lands on my bed

By three-thirty, I’ve made twenty-seven coffees, frosted two dozen cupcakes, and been asked about my first shift six times.This is the problem with living in a town where everyone knows everyone.There are no secrets.Especially when you’re a wolf turning eighteen in seven days.“Your mom must be so excited,” Mrs. Talbot says while I ring up her blueberry scone.“She is.”“And nervous.”“Probably.”“And your father?”“Also probably.”She smiles knowingly.“What about you?”I hand her the receipt.“I’m considering running away before anyone can ask me that question again.”Mrs. Talbot laughs like I’m joking.Mostly, I am.“Tell your mother I said hello.”“I will.”The bell above the door jingles as she leaves Silverpine Café, and I let my forehead fall against the register.My coworker, Tessa, snorts from behind the espresso machine.“Only six?”“So far.”“You’re basically famous.”“I hate everyone.”“No, you don’t.”I lift my head.The words hit strangely after this morning.Drevin s

Drevin never explains why he pulled away from me.He stays for dinner.He jokes with Callum.Argues with Dad about whether his truck needs new brake pads.Steals three roasted potatoes off my plate.And acts so completely normal that by the time he leaves, I almost convince myself the moment in the kitchen didn’t happen.Almost.But I keep remembering how fast he jerked away from me.Like touching me was something he had to stop himself from doing.By the next afternoon, I’m still thinking about it.Which is why I accidentally pour oat milk into a regular latte.“Camille.”I look down.Then at the carton in my hand.“Damn it.”Tessa leans against the counter beside me.“That’s twice today.”“I’m distracted.”“No kidding.”I dump the drink into the sink and start over.Silverpine Café is busy enough that I should be able to stop thinking.Usually, work is good for that.There’s always something to do.Espresso shots to pull.Tables to wipe.Orders to remember.June calling from the kit

Drevin doesn’t come to dinner.He doesn’t text me either.By ten that night, I tell myself I don’t care.By eleven, I’ve checked my phone twelve times.At eleven-thirty, I throw it onto my nightstand and go to sleep angry.The next morning, there’s a message waiting for me.Sorry about last night. Got busy.That’s it.No explanation.No stupid meme.No Did your mom save me leftovers?Just four words.I stare at them until the screen goes dark.Six days until my birthday.And somehow six days feels like a very long time.Thursday nights belong to us.They have since I was fourteen and Drevin declared that my taste in movies was a personal offense he was morally obligated to correct.The rules are simple.One of us picks the movie.The other complains.We order too much food.Drevin eats most of mine.And neither of us is allowed to cancel unless someone is bleeding, dying, or actively being chased by rogues.We added the third one after an unfortunate camping trip when we were sixteen.

Friday afternoon, the café feels louder than usual.The grinder screams every few minutes. Milk steams. Cups knock against the counter. The bell over the door never seems to stop ringing.Normally, I like the noise.Today every sound seems to land directly behind my eyes.Three different people ask whether I’m excited for Tuesday.One asks if I’ve picked out clothes for after my shift.Another tells me her daughter threw up before hers.Mr. Hansen spends five full minutes explaining how his first transformation dislocated his shoulder before June notices my face and shoos him away.Apparently this is the week everyone decides first-shift horror stories are appropriate conversation.By the end of my shift, I’m considering becoming human out of spite.My phone buzzes while I’m wiping down the pastry case.Drevin.For one embarrassing second, everything inside me lifts.Got stuff going on this weekend. Don’t think I’ll be around much.I read it twice.Then once more.There’s nothing wron