THE ALPHA’S UNWANTED PLUS-SIZE MATE

Chapter 8

Clara’s pov

The coffee shop two blocks from the diner had better hours than Marnie’s and quieter mornings.

I started going there on my rare early breaks when the heat in my chest got too loud and I needed somewhere that wasn’t the alley behind the dumpster.

The place was small, three tables, a counter, and a chalkboard menu that barely changed.

The guy behind the espresso machine never said much. Dark hair, glasses, always in a plain black apron. He moved like he preferred the machines to people.

The first time I ordered he just nodded, made the coffee, and slid it across without small talk. I liked that.

I took the corner table, wrapped both hands around the cup, and let the ordinary human noise settle the restless feeling under my ribs.

The third time I came in he glanced up and said, “Same as last time?”

“Yeah. Black. No sugar.”

He nodded once and got to work. When he set the cup down he added, “You always look like you’re waiting for bad news.”

I almost smiled. “Occupational hazard.”

“Diner down the street, right? Marnie’s?”

“Yeah.”

“She still make those terrible blueberry muffins?”

“They’re not terrible.”

“They are. I’ve tried them.” He almost smiled too, then went back to wiping the counter like the conversation had used up his daily words.

I started going more often after that. Never long, ten or fifteen minutes between the breakfast and lunch rush.

He’d have the coffee ready by the time I reached the counter.

We didn’t talk much at first. He’d ask if I wanted the usual. I’d say yes. Sometimes I’d sit. Sometimes I’d take it to go.

The heat in my chest still came and went, and the dreams still showed up most nights, but the quiet of the coffee shop made them easier to carry.

One morning the place was empty except for the two of us. He was restocking the pastry case when I walked in.

I ordered, paid, and sat at the counter instead of the table.

He glanced over. “Rough night?”

“Something like that.”

“You get those a lot.”

It wasn’t a question. I shrugged and wrapped my hands around the cup. “Comes with the territory.”

He closed the case and leaned on the counter, not quite looking at me. “I’m Theo, by the way. In case you ever want to call me something other than ‘hey.’”

“Clara.”

“I know. Marnie talks about you when she comes in for the afternoon coffee she pretends she doesn’t need.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What does she say?”

“That you’re a hard worker and you don’t ask for help even when you should.” He paused. “Also that you get letters that make you look like you want to set something on fire.”

I let out a short breath that was almost a laugh. “She’s not wrong.”

Theo didn’t push. He just refilled my cup without asking and went back to the machines.

The silence that followed felt comfortable instead of empty.

I stayed longer than usual that day, watching him work, letting the ordinary sounds push the heat in my chest down to a manageable level.

The next week he started saving the corner table for me if it was free. I’d walk in, he’d nod toward it, and the coffee would already be in progress.

We talked in small pieces, weather, the construction on Main Street, whether the new bakery two doors down was any good.

He never asked where I was from or why I’d shown up in Millbrook with almost nothing.

I never asked why he worked alone most mornings and seemed fine with it.

One afternoon the heat rolled through my chest harder than usual while I was sitting there.

I pressed my hand against it without thinking. Theo noticed immediately.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… indigestion. Or whatever.”

He didn’t look convinced. He set down the towel he’d been using and rested both hands on the counter.

“You get that look sometimes. Like something’s pulling at you from the inside. It’s not indigestion.”

I met his eyes. He wasn’t prying exactly. Just observing in that quiet way of his, and for a second the tension in my shoulders spiked.

I could shut this down. Keep it surface-level. Or I could give him the smallest piece of truth.

“It’s complicated,” I said.

“Most things worth anything are.” He wiped the same spot on the counter again, slower this time. “You don’t have to explain. I’m not asking for the story. I’m just saying if you ever need someone to sit with who won’t ask questions, I’m usually here.”

I nodded once, the heat still pulsing under my palm. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Literally. I’m not good at the emotional follow-up conversations.”

That almost made me smile for real. “Noted.”

I finished the coffee slower than usual. The warmth in my chest didn’t fade completely, but it stopped feeling like it was trying to climb out of my skin. Outside, the afternoon sun was ordinary.

The street was ordinary. Theo was ordinary human, quiet, no pack history, no political alliances, no rejected mate bonds sitting in his chest like unfinished business.

It was the first time in weeks that ordinary had felt like a good thing instead of a temporary disguise.

When I stood to leave he glanced up from the machine. “Same time tomorrow?”

“If the diner doesn’t swallow me whole.”

“It won’t. You’re too stubborn for that.”

I paused at the door. “You don’t actually know that.”

“I’ve watched you come in here looking like you haven’t slept in days and still walk out ready to work a double. Stubborn’s a safe bet.”

I didn’t answer, but the corner of my mouth lifted before I could stop it.

I stepped out into the street and headed back toward Marnie’s, the letter from Kael still in the dresser drawer upstairs, the heat still present but quieter somehow.

That night I sat on the edge of my bed with the coffee can of tips under the mattress and the thrift-store boots by the door.

The dream would come later. I already knew the silver thread would be waiting, and the voice, and the gold light in my hands.

But for the first time I thought about telling someone not everything, not the bond or the rejection or the political mess Kael was still tangled in, just that some days the heat got loud and I needed a place to sit that didn’t ask me to explain it.

Theo’s coffee shop felt like it could be that place.

I lay back and stared at the ceiling, one hand resting over the steady warmth in my chest, and let myself believe that maybe not every new person in Millbrook was temporary.

The tension in my shoulders eased a fraction. Not gone. But less alone.