Page 6 of Knot Your Sugar

Every sensible cell in my brain is screaming to say no. But I remember he's just here for a few days anyway…

"If you want," I reply softly, surprising myself. Then, before I can overthink it, I add, "and we could take the scenic route—give you a bit of a tour. It should turn our five-minute walk into a thrilling seven."

"How could I resist such an invitation?" His smile makes my knees feel suddenly unreliable.

We walk down Main Street, close enough that our elbows occasionally brush, sending electric currents through my bodyeach time. The conversation somehow flows even more easily under the open sky.

"So," Dorian says, his shoulder brushing mine as we navigate around a wobbly festival sign. "Theoretically, would we be able to have a look at Mrs. Henderson's famous zucchini garden, or is it really under twenty-four-hour surveillance during growing season?"

I laugh, throwing him a sidelong glance. "Venture near her garden? Absolutely not. She guards her secrets like they're nuclear launch codes. One year, Mayor Hanson tried to get her to reveal her fertilizer mix for the town beautification project, and she nearly chased him off her porch with a rake. Declared it was her intellectual property and that it wouldn't work in 'common municipal soil' anyway."

Dorian throws his head back and laughs, a rich, genuine sound that makes something warm unfurl in my chest. "A woman of conviction and formidable zucchinis. I like her already."

As we turn onto my street, the thought of the evening potentially ending brings a surprising pang of disappointment. For once, I'm not analyzing everything for hidden omega-detecting threats. For once, I'm not living ten steps ahead in my 'protect the secret, achieve the dream' master plan.

We stop under a flickering gas lamp replica, the kind the town council insists adds 'historic charm', just outside my building. The light casts intriguing shadows across Dorian's face, making his eyes dance in shades of silver.

Okay, Elena, deep breaths.This is it. The temporary-fun clause Mia mentioned. He's leaving after the festival. And I’ll be too swamped with the competition to be tempted to see him again. This is a self-contained little bubble of… something. Something just forme.

My inner cautious omega is screaming a muffled warning, but the part of me that’s been starved for a simple, uncomplicated human connection is loud tonight.

"So," I begin, my voice a little breathier than I intend. "My apartment is just up there." I nod toward the door. "It's not exactly a palace." A nervous laugh escapes me. "But the view of the town square is… decent. If you squint."

His smile is slow, genuine, and sends another one of those little flutters through me. "A decent view? Sounds dangerously appealing." He takes a small step closer. "Are you inviting me up, Elena of Lakeview?"

"I mean, only if you want to," I blurt, then quickly add, "I just got this special roast from the new place on Maple Street. It's, um, supposedly amazing. If you like coffee. Which you might not. Some people don't. Like coffee."

Great. I've apparently forgotten how to speak basic English.

His smile widens, reaching his eyes. "I love coffee. And I'd love to come up."

As I fumble with the keys to my building door, a tiny, familiar wave of 'what are youdoing?' washes over me. But as the door swings open into the dim hallway, I push it aside.

For once, this isn't about strategy or survival. It's just… this. He’ll be gone in a few days. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter three

Dorian

I follow Elena up the creaky staircase to her apartment, finding myself captivated by the easy sway of her hips.

There's something about this woman that's been driving me absolutely crazy since I first spotted her across the bar. As an alpha, I'm genetically programmed to be drawn to omegas. Betas? Pleasant, sure, but they rarely make my internal radar ping with this kind of intensity.

Yet here I am, trailing after Elena like a smitten Labrador, after spending half the evening trying not to visibly smell her every time she leaned in.God she smells good… and sweet… unusually so for a beta.

And while her five-foot-something frame of pure charm proves the best things come in small packages, I'm not just physically attracted to her. No, what's more striking about heris how real she is. She lacks the calculation of the socialites who usually circle me like sharks wearing satin. And the passion that lights her up when she talks about her life is refreshingly genuine.

"Again, it's not exactly a palace," Elena says, her voice cutting through my thoughts as we reach her door and she gets it open, "but it’s home."

Her apartment is modest but charming. It tells a story. Professional-grade kitchen tools hang from a rack in a small but organized kitchen. Cookbooks line a shelf, many with colorful sticky notes protruding from the edges. A large window frames the view of the twinkling town lights, and I can imagine how the morning sun must flood this space with natural light.

On a small table by the window, nestled amongst a cheerful clutter of what looks like artisanal pottery, a framed photograph catches my eye. Elena, younger, her smile just as bright, stands with an older woman. They share the same vibrant green eyes and an infectious, unposed laugh, arms slung comfortably around each other’s shoulders.

"Would you like some of that coffee I told you about?" She takes off her shoes and glides toward the kitchen, her brown hair catching the light like polished mahogany.

"I'd love some," I reply, and a flicker of what feels suspiciously like nervousness makes an unwelcome appearance. Me. Nervous. This is new. I'm usually the epitome of alpha cool in these scenarios. But Elena, it seems, is a delightful disruptor of norms.

She returns a few moments later with two steaming mugs. As she hands me one, our fingers brush, sending a zap up my arm that nearly makes me drop it. Her eyes widen slightly, a blush rising on her cheeks that I find ridiculously endearing.

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