Page 4 of Knot Your Sugar

"Pierre’s shuts down completely for festival week, right?" Mia asks, catching the bartender's eye for another round.

I nod. "He considers it his ancestral right to a vacation. Jets off to France to, I don’t know, commune with the spirit of Lyon. Meanwhile, all my baking shifts to the festival grounds, under the public gaze. No more being a pre-dawn pastry phantom."

"Speaking of festival dramas," Mia leans in conspiratorially, "Brenda told me that famous food vlogger, ‘The Cranky Croquembouche,’ caused a full-blown meltdown at the Lake's Inn yesterday. Demanded they restock a specific wattage of 'ambiance-enhancing' lightbulb for her rental cottage. Apparently, the current lighting was 'beneath the dignity of someone who shares culinary enlightenment with three million devoted followers'."

She launches into a hilarious, and probably only slightly exaggerated, account of other tourist shenanigans, complete with dramatic reenactments.

I’m wiping away a tear of laughter as she mimics a food writer demanding to know the thread count of their rental's bed sheets when a prickle runs down my arms.

Before I can understand what's happening, my head turns involuntarily.

And I see him.

He’s at the far end of the bar, nursing a dark amber drink. Tall, with an easy confidence in his stance that doesn't shout, but definitely gets noticed. His dark hair has that artfully rumpled look that probably takes ages to achieve, or no effort at all. But it's his eyes that snag me, a surprising, clear steel gray… looking right at me.

Alpha. The word pings in my brain, loud and clear. It’s the way he holds himself, how he occupies space without apology.

A strange little flutter, like a startled moth, takes flight inside me.

Okay, that’s… unexpected.My DuoBlocks are supposed to stop this kind of reaction. Maybe it's the exhaustion finally catching up. Or maybe this drink is stronger than I thought and it’s dulling my medication.

"Elena? Houston to Elena? You still with us?" Mia waves a hand in front of my face, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. She follows my gaze. "Oh. My. Word." A low, appreciative whistle escapes her. "Well, hello there, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deliciously Alpha. Girl, he's totally into you."

I quickly look away, my cheeks suddenly warm. "Don't be ridiculous, alphas are almost never interested in betas. He's probably just looking at you."

"Honey I wish, but I'd have a tingle if he was interested inme," Mia says with absolute certainty. "He's looking atyou.And I’mguessing he’s in town for the festival. This is prime 'enjoy the foreign flavor and never see him again' material, if you ask me."

"Charming," I retort, rolling my eyes, but I can't resist a tiny peek. He’s still looking. A slow smile touches the corners of his lips as our eyes meet again, and the moth inside me does a little tap dance.

"This is fate, Elena! The universe telling you to have a little pre-competition fun," Mia declares, practically bouncing on her stool. "You're about to dive headfirst into a week of buttercream battles and ganache warfare. This is your window of opportunity!"

"I need to stay focused," I try to argue, but even I can hear the distinct lack of conviction in my voice.

"Elena, when was the last time you let loose?" Mia leans closer. "He's gorgeous. He's clearly interested. He’s almost certainly temporary. What's the harm in a little… inter-designation mingling?"

She has a point. A terrifyingly logical, tempting point. A festival fling. No strings, no expectations, just a brief, pleasant distraction before he heads back to… wherever alphas like him come from. The beta guy I’d had a brief encounter with last year was nice enough, but about as memorable as a plain dinner roll.

"Heads up, he’s on the move," Mia whispers, nudging me with her elbow.

As he gets closer, a scent cuts through the bar's general olfactory chaos. It's clearly… woodsy. With a hint of something warm that—

Wait a minute, my DuoBlocks should be filtering outanyalpha scent. So why are they just managing to… muffle his? Thank God it’s faint enough toonlymake my senses hum though. Small mercies.

"Good evening." His voice is a warm baritone, smooth and with a faint, unplaceable lilt that makes the simple greeting sound rather intriguing. "I hope I'm not intruding."

Up close, he's even more… well,alpha. Easily six-foot-three, with perceptive eyes flecked with silver. He’s wearing a dark, well-fitting shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms, and black pants that manage to look both casual and expensive. This is not a man who buys his clothes off the rack at the Lakeview General Store.

"Not at all!" Mia chirps, beaming like she’s just seen me win the lottery. "I'm Mia, and this is my wonderful friend, Elena."

"Dorian," he replies, his gaze lingering on me for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. "A pleasure. Mind if I join you?"

"Please do!" Mia practically leaps off her stool. "Actually, would you look at the time! I completely forgot I promised to call my Aunt Mildred. If you knew how she gets." She winks at me, a wink so unsubtle it could probably be seen from space. "Elena can keep you company. Right, Elena?"

I shoot her a look that conveys both 'I will end you' and 'thank you, you magnificent meddler'.

"Of course," I manage, hoping I sound more cool and collected than internally flailing.

"Lovely to meet you, Dorian!" she says brightly, then leans in to murmur, "Elena, text meallthe juicy details." With one last wink, Mia slips into the crowd, leaving a quiet hush in her wake.

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