Page 39 of Knot Your Sugar

She trails off, and I realize I’ve missed whatever she just said.

“...Anyway, I’ve just been so busy,” she finishes.

“Uh, same here,” I reply, recovering. “Between pre-festival safety drills and actual festival fires, my social life’s been limited to checking extinguishers and writing incident reports. Until tonight, anyway.”

We stand there for a moment, a comfortable, slightly giddy silence settling between us, the absurdity of it all sinking in. The woman who’s been occupying far too many of my thoughts has been living just onethinwall away this whole time…

“Well,” she says finally, her smile soft and a little shy as she fishes her keys from her purse, “since we’re both going up…” She hesitates for a second, then her eyes flick up to meet mine. “Would you… like to have tea, or… something?”

My internal alarms are screaming. It’s late and we’ve both been drinking. The professional thing would be to decline with a smile and head back to my own apartment, alone.

Instead, I hear myself say, “Tea sounds good.” My voice rougher, deeper, than usual.

What in the seven hells am I doing?

“Fair warning,” she adds, tossing me a glance over her shoulder as we head into the building, “my place is probably a mess.”

"Fair warning to you," I reply, my voice a low rumble, "I may end up checking your smoke detectors and escape routes. Occupational hazard."

She laughs, bright and unguarded. The sound echoes off the tiled entryway, and something in my chest tightens with it. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in years.

By the time we reach the third floor and she unlocks her door, an inviting scent wafts out, wrapping around me like a welcome hug.

Just tea, I tell myself as I step inside.Just conversation between neighbors.

But when the door clicks shut behind us, sealing us into the moonlit glow of her apartment, I’m suddenly not so sure I believe myself.

Chapter twenty

Elena

My hands tremble as I fill the kettle. It's a ridiculous reaction. I'm a grown woman. But having Cole in my living room, radiating a quiet, potent alpha energy, makes me feel… fluttery. His broad frame shrinks the room, my kitchen not even six feet away from where he stands.

"Chamomile or hibiscus?" I ask, immensely proud that my voice emerges as a relatively steady.

"Whatever you’re having is fine by me," he says, his voice a low, comforting rumble that seems to vibrate right through the floorboards and up my slippers.

Chamomile tea it is, then. Something calming is desperately needed right now, though I suspect it would take a sedative to fully settle the swarm of butterflies staging a rave in my chest.

"Nice place you have here," Cole comments, his gaze sweeping around my small living area, gracefully ignoring the pile of cookbooks threatening to collapse my coffee table. "Lived here long?"

"Three years this fall," I reply, setting out two of my favorite mismatched vintage mugs. "It came mostly furnished, but I’ve tried to make it my own. Added a few… personal touches." Like the slightly alarming collection of kitchen tools hanging over the stove.

He nods, his eyes landing on the rustic ceramic mugs I have displayed on the kitchen counter. "Made those?"

A small smile touches my lips. "Flea market treasures, mostly. Each one has a story." I gesture toward a squat, speckled mug with a crooked handle. "That one was my first Lakeview purchase. Got it for a buck the weekend I moved in. Still smells faintly like cinnamon tea if you warm it up."

“I like it,” he says, stepping closer to get a better look. And suddenly he’s right beside me, his arm brushing mine. The contact is brief but my breath catches just like it did when he caught me earlier. His scent curls through the air again, subtle but insistent. This is alotof alpha in my very small kitchen, I tell myself. And as heat flares low in my belly, I realize that even a double dose of DuoBlocks might actually not quite be enough at the end of a long day.

The kettle chooses that exact moment to let out a piercing whistle, making me jump about a foot in the air. Cole’s hand instinctively reaches out, his fingers warm and strong as they steady my elbow. The touch sends a shockwave through my entire system.

"Whoa there," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Just the kettle. No need to deploy emergency evasion tactics."

"Sorry," I murmur, my cheeks flaming.Play it cool, Elena. He’s just your neighbor. A very large, very attractive, very alpha neighbor. In your kitchen. No big deal.

We migrate to the living room, if you can call moving a few steps migrating, and I curl into one corner of my worn but beloved floral couch, tucking my feet under me, while Cole settles on the opposite end. The foot of space between us feels both like a vast chasm and an incredibly charged magnetic field.

"So," I begin, cradling the warm mug of chamomile, mainly to give my trembling hands something to do, "how long are you officially in town for, Cole?"

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