Page 15 of Knot Your Sugar

"I guess," I mumble, focusing with laser-like intensity on rolling out a fresh sheet of dough.

"Come on, you seemed to hit it off with him pretty well earlier. Sparks flying, were they?" James prods, his tone playful but his eyes shrewd.

"He's a judge," I reply, trying to focus on my task. "I was being polite."

"Polite?" James chuckles, a low, knowing sound. "Sugar, polite is nodding and smiling. What I saw looked more like mental sparring." He leans closer, dropping his voice. "And call me crazy, but when Ijoinedyour little conversation, I could havesworn I smelled something interesting in the air. A little hint of… arousal, maybe?" He pauses, and I can feel his gaze burning into the side of my head. "Which, frankly, is a bit baffling. Given that you're a beta, and he's, well, very obviously an alpha."

My hands freeze mid-fold. He smelled arousal? What does he mean? And how? I took my DuoBlocks pill this morning as always. The thought sends a jolt of panic through me. If my medication isn't working, if my omega scent is leaking…

"I mean no disrespect," James continues, his tone casual but his eyes missing nothing. "Biology aside, you're smoking hot. Hell, I'm almost tempted to slap your butt with this dough you're rolling."

"Excuse me—" I sputter, nearly dropping the rolling pin.

"But seriously," he cuts me off, "he's a judge. You're a contestant. Any hanky-panky, or even theappearanceof hanky-panky, could be a one-way ticket to Disqualificationville."

I slam my rolling pin down on the counter with a little more force than intended, making the sugar bowl jump. "There is nohanky-panky," I say firmly, hoping I sound more like a ferocious she-wolf and less like a flustered pup. "There is no attraction. And even if there was, I wouldn't do anything about it. I am here to bake, I am here to compete, and I am here to win. End of story."

James just laughs, that rich, confident sound that probably makes most omegas swoon. "Right, right. If you say so,sugar." His cocky grin suddenly falters, his eyes widening as they look down. His expression shifts from amusement to genuine alarm in a nanosecond.

"Holy cannoli, Elena!" James yelps, scrambling backwards. "You're on fire!"

"If that's another come-on, I swear I'll—" I begin, but follow his gaze downward to see tiny flames licking up the hem of myapron. “Ahh—fire!"My apron must’ve snagged on the heating element when I was loading the palmiers.

"Don't move!" a deep, authoritative voice commands from behind me. A strong hand the size of my head grips my shoulder, steadying me as another hand fumbles with the knot of my apron strings at my back. Lieutenant Cole Mercer. He’s appeared out of nowhere, moving with surprising speed for someone his size.

Before I can even process what’s happening, he’s untied the apron, yanking it away from the station onto the floor. In one impossibly smooth, almost cinematic motion, he snatches the small, red fire extinguisher mounted on the side of our baking station and douses the smoldering fabric with sharphiss.

The nearby contestants stop what they're doing, and a small crowd of visitors gathers just beyond the velvet rope separating the competitors' area from the festival path, drawn by the commotion.

"Are you hurt?" Cole asks, his voice calm but his eyes intense as they scan me for injuries. His hands are still on my shoulders, solid and reassuring, and for a wild moment, all I can focus on is the concerned intensity in his hazel eyes.

"I—I don't think so," I stammer, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. "Just startled."

"The oven," James says, his earlier bravado replaced by a pale-faced concern as he reaches past us to wrench the dial to OFF. "That temperature gauge is shot. It's cranked way higher than it should be."

Cole nods curtly, then turns his attention to the gawking crowd. "Everything's under control here, folks. Show's over. Please move along." His authoritative tone does the trick, and the spectators begin to disperse, albeit reluctantly, muttering amongst themselves.

"Are you absolutely sure you're okay?" Cole says, turning back to me, his gaze softening slightly. "No burns? Any pain at all?"

I shake my head, a wave of mortification washing over me, so potent it nearly drowns out the lingering fear. "Just… just my dignity," I mutter, avoiding his eyes. My first official day at the festival, and I’ve nearly set myself ablaze in front of half the town. This is not the kind of 'memorable first impression' I was aiming for.

James lets out a shaky, low whistle. "Well, guess we're really off to a blazing start, eh partner?" he says with a grin.

I shoot him a look that could curdle milk. Did he seriously just—

"That's not helping, James," Cole interjects, his scolding tone surprisingly effective. He gestures to an empty workstation a few feet away. "You should move your operation to one of the backup stations. This one needs to be checked out." Then, his gaze returns to me, firm but kind. "And you, Ms. Avery, are coming with me to the first aid station for a quick check-up.

"But we're in the middle of—" I begin to protest.

"Standard procedure," Cole says firmly. "Any contestant involved in a fire incident gets checked out. No exceptions."

Chapter eight

Cole

"You really don't need to escort me," Elena says, her voice a little shaky despite the assertion as I guide her toward the first aid tent. "Honestly, I'm fine. Not even a little crispy around the edges."

A small smile plays on her lips, and I find myself fighting one of my own. "Standard procedure," I reply, keeping my tone as professionally neutral as possible. My hand hovers near her elbow, not quite touching but ready to steady her if needed. "Even for small incidents."

---