Page 49 of Knot Your Sugar

"You, me… James. Her. What that could mean. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. And I know she's been seeing James." He shrugs. "Doesn’t bother me. Seems like it’s beengood for her. So yeah… I’ve been thinking too. About what it might mean. For me. For her. Maybe even for all four of us."

I’m quiet for a beat, turning over his words.Cole is surprisingly perceptive. "I was wondering something similar," I finally admit. "Though in my world…" I sigh. "Everything is a transaction. A deal. Leverage. Seeing a beta? Let alone… sharing outside my circle?" I shake my head slowly. "That'd be… unprecedented."

"Doesn't make it wrong, though, does it?" Cole counters.

I study him, this quiet, steadfast man who protects and serves rather than acquires and controls. A man who doesn’t give a damn about circles or image.

What if he’s right?What if I’ve been so conditioned to calculate risk, I’ve forgotten how to recognize somethingworththe risk?Would it really matter if people talked?

"If something were to happen between Elena and… us," I say quietly, "would you really be open to all of it? Not just the physical side or the idea of sharing… but her fears, her ambitions, her heart?"

"Without a single damn hesitation."

Chapter twenty-six

Elena

I’m curled up on couch, a steaming mug of chamomile tea in hand, finally indulging in an episode of Love & Lattes, the kind of cheesy rom-com series I never usually have time for.

On screen, the brooding coffee shop owner is just about to confess his love to the clumsy barista in the middle of a latte art competition.

Naturally, that’s when my phone rings, shattering the serenity like a tray of cappuccino cups crashing to the floor. I jolt and nearly spill my tea.

"Elena, sweetie! How's my little baking champion doing? Are you out-baking and out-charming everyone, as per usual?" Mom's voice is like a warm hug through the phone.

"Hi, Mom! How's—"

"Oh my," she interrupts, gasping dramatically. "Is that a sparkle in your voice? Elena, sweetie, you sound positively effervescent! Don’t tell me you finally met some dashing young man… or maybe more than one, given that extra glow?"

I nearly choke on my tea. "Mom! Goodness, no. Nothing like that."Or is it entirely like that?"The competition is fierce, as expected. But one of the judges gave me some really… insightful feedback today. It’s got me thinking."

"Oh? Thinking about what, love bug?"

"Just… about not being afraid to put myself out there more. To be a bit more…me, in my baking. You know, experiment a little, not just stick to Pierre’s classic repertoire, as much as I love it." The fearless, authentic me that Dorian seemed to see so clearly.

"Elena Marie, that's the best news I've heard all week!" Mom exclaims, and I can practically hear her beaming through the phone. "You have such a wonderfully creative spirit, sweetie. It’s high time the world saw it!"

We chat for another twenty minutes. Mom, bless her heart, manages to seamlessly transition from enthusiastic life coach to offering unsolicited advice about being open to love. Still, by the time we hang up, I feel like I've been cradled in her arms. Relaxed.

My earlier pasta dinner long digested, I find myself still buzzing. Mom's 'sparkle in your voice' comment echoes. Am I really sounding that different? Does all this…alpha interaction… really reverberates through my being, way beyond just making my head clear?

I think I need a spiritual consultant: Mia.

Houston, we have a situation. Festival Day 3 has officially entered the 'WTF is my life?' zone. Urgentdebrief & industrial-strength coffee required. Free for emergency coffee tomorrow morning?

P.S. Haven't forgotten your request for full spice.

Her reply pings back almost before I hit send.

ELENA! My psychic senses were tingling! Can't wait to hear it ALL! Tomorrow, 8 AM, 'The Daily Grind'? I'm clearing my schedule. And I expect details, girl. Names, ranks, and levels of hotness.… don't leave anything out!

I can't help but grin. Mia's ability to read my mind is a superpower.

You have NO idea the half of it. See you at The Grind, 8 AM sharp. Bring a notepad. This might take a while.

Phone tossed aside, I drift over to the window, watching streetlights cast halos in the slight evening mist. Just as I’m contemplating the merits of continuing my show versus just face-planting into bed, three soft, distinct raps sound at my apartment door.

My heart does a startled leapfrog right into my throat. It's around nine, who on earth could that be at this hour? It's far too late for casual visitors. Mia's accounted for so… Cole? After that kiss, could he be back for an encore? The thought sends a little shiver down my spine that’s not entirely unpleasant. Just please,please don't let it be Mrs. Nguyen from 2B with another lecture on the "societal impact of late-night oven usage."

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