Page 2 of Knot Your Sugar

"Elena, that's wonderful news! I know you can do it. You've had the magic touch since you were barely tall enough to see over our kitchen counter, remember?"

The memory brings a smile. Me, standing on a stool, flour dusting my nose, Mom patiently guiding my small hands as we made her special chocolate chip cookies. Back before life threw curveballs that forced her to give up so much. "Thanks, Mom. It’ll be tough competition, but I'm going for it."

"You absolutely should! You work harder than anyone I know." There's a slight pause, and before she asks about my non-existent love life (as she usually does), I jump in.

"So, how was the seniors' dance at the community center last Saturday?"

There's a slight hesitation before she answers. "Oh, that. Well, it was... nice."

"Nice? That's all I get?" I laugh, but something in her tone makes me suspicious. "Mom… did you actually go?"

Another pause. "Well, actually... no. But for a good reason! My old hip was giving me a twinge. Besides, Mrs. Peterson needed someone to watch her cats while she visited her daughter. She paid me twenty dollars."

My heart sinks. "Aw, mom, you were looking forward to that dance for weeks. You even practiced in your living room."

"It's okay sweetie, there'll be other dances."

I close my eyes, understanding exactly what happened. Mom is sacrificing small joys to make ends meet, just like when she traded her passion for better-paying work when my alpha father walked out.

"When I win this competition and get promoted, we're going to celebrate," I say firmly. "We'll go out for a fancy dinner with cloth napkins and everything."

Mom laughs. "I'd settle for just seeing you more often. And maybe meeting a nice young man in your life? It's been so long since you've dated anyone."

I roll my eyes, though I know she can't see me. "Mom, seriously? When exactly would I find time to date? I’m at the bakery by three in the morning and don’t get home until after three in the afternoon. And I still have to, you know, eat and sleep."

"There's always time for love, Elena. You're young and beautiful. You shouldn't spend all your days surrounded by flour and sugar."

"I like being surrounded by flour and sugar," I counter. "Besides, I've seen what happens when you fall for the wrong guy." The words come out sharper than I intend, and I immediately regret it.

There's a brief silence before Mom speaks again. "Your father was... complicated. But not all men are like him, sweetheart. Not all alphas just walk away when things get tough."

I bite my tongue to stop myself from saying too much. She doesn't know I'm on medication. She doesn't know I've been passing as a beta for years now. As far as she's concerned, I'm just a regular omega who's moved out of state to focus on her career. And that's exactly how I want to keep it.

"I know, Mom, I just—" I'm interrupted by Pierre calling my name from the kitchen. "I have to go. Pierre's on the warpath. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Go, go! Don't let me get you in trouble. Love you, sweetheart. Knock 'em dead at that festival."

"Love you too, Mom."

After we hang up, I stare at my phone for a beat as guilt mixes with determination in my gut. She deserves so much better than watching other people's cats instead of going dancing. I send her money every month, as much as I can possibly spare from my meager apprentice allowance, but it's not enough nowadays. When I have my own successful bakery, I'll make sure she can do whatever she wants.

"Elena. Break time is over. Customers will be arriving."

Pierre's sharp tone yanks me back to reality. He's standing in the breakroom's doorway, arms crossed.

"Sorry, Pierre," I say, quickly pocketing my phone. "Just finishing up."

He starts to turn away, then pauses, his nose twitching slightly. His gaze snaps toward the cooling rack where the éclairs sit, including the experimental one I set apart. Uh oh.

He strides over and picks up the éclair with suspicion, sniffing it. "What is the meaning of this?"

My stomach does a nervous flip. "It's just an extra, Pierre. I was exploring a potential... enhancement."

"Enhancement?" The word drips with disapproval.

My caution suddenly evaporates, replaced by a flicker of defiance. "Yes! I added a touch of vanilla and lavender paste," I explain, maybe a little too eagerly. "It adds this wonderful floral note that complements the dark chocolate, making it more complex, more—"

"The recipe is a classic for a reason, Elena. It does not require 'enhancements'," he cuts me off, his voice glacial. "Suchexperiments belong on your own time, in your own kitchen. Not mine."

---