In the time we’d known her, I’d never noticed Esme’s scent turn bitter. The rich scent of tea was like a cup had been brewing all day and it was so dark all the good flavor was gone. Of course, we could scent her far more deeply and with more nuance than others, but how could her mother not sense the change? Surely she could tell the difference.

Everyone had a note which shifted with their mood. It was both a blessing and a curse. You could tell when someone was having a bad day, but you also couldn’t hide it.

A horrifying thought struck me as Rylan started talking, telling Esme’s mother about himself.

Did her mother not notice because this was always the way she smelled in her presence? Filled with anxiety bordering on pain?

Esme loved her mother. It was crystal clear. But loving someone didn’t make a relationship easy. Sometimes it made it that much harder.

I needed to ask her.

We went around the table and gave our basic history. The styles of tattoo we specialized in. A little about our families.

Eleanor listened and smiled, nodding the entire time. I was sure to most people it seemed warm and welcoming. But I wasn’t judging based on her actions. I was watching Esme’s reactions, and my little Omega was… cautious. Very clearly not comfortable, though not wound quite as tight as she had been.

Finally, Eleanor turned to Esme. “And work is going well?”

“It is. I’ve got a few new paintings I’m working on, and everyone loves the exclusive paints. They can’t get enough of them.”

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Eleanor said, rubbing her fingers along the stem of her wine glass. “And you know—”

“Yes,” Esme said quickly. “I know. Thank you.”

The rest of us shared discreet looks, not having any idea what she was talking about.

Downing the little left in her glass, Esme stood. “This is the guys’ Sunday night, so we should let them get some sleep before they tackle their long waiting list.”

“Of course.”

We all made our way to the door, and I couldn’t help but feel like we were walking on glass that was already cracked and just waiting for us to fall through it.

We shook hands with Mrs. Williams. I would have hugged her if I thought she would accept it, but her handshake was warm, regardless. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“You too. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

She just smiled.

It was starting rain, and the rest of us stepped back to let mother and daughter have a moment. I heard snatches of the conversation—something about lunch next week, and maybe about Eva, but nothing more.