Page 51 of Knot on the Market

They look like they belong here. In my space, on my porch, sharing cinnamon rolls in the sunshine, like this is something we do regularly instead of the first time we've all been together.

This is dangerous,I think, settling onto the steps between Dean and Callum.This feeling like we're already a unit. Like this is natural.

The thought should worry me. Should make me want to maintain careful boundaries and professional distance.

Instead, it makes me wonder what it would feel like to belong here with them.

"These are incredible," Dean says around a bite of cinnamon roll, interrupting my dangerous train of thought. "Aunt Maeve's outdone herself."

"She particularly enjoys having someone new to care for," Julian agrees, though his attention seems more focused on studying me than on the pastry. "I believe she finds it satisfying to have a worthy recipient for her efforts."

"Lucky me," I say, settling deeper into my spot between Dean and Callum—close enough to Dean that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, close enough to Callum that his steady presence makes something in my chest unclench.

"Lucky," Callum says quietly, and there's something in his tone that suggests he's not just talking about Maeve's baking.

The afternoon passes in easy conversation and comfortable silences, punctuated by the sounds of neighborhood life around us. Mrs. Peterson walking her ancient golden retriever, someone a few houses down starting up a lawn mower, the distant sound of children playing in a backyard.

Normal sounds of people living normal lives in a place where Sunday afternoons are for coffee and pastries and fixing things that need fixing.

But underneath the normalcy, something's building. A tension that has nothing to do with construction projects andeverything to do with the way Julian's gaze keeps finding mine with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken, how Dean's laugh seems to vibrate through my chest and settle somewhere much lower, the solid comfort of Callum's presence beside me that makes me want to curl into his warmth.

How right this feels, all of us here together. How much my body wants what my mind isn't ready to acknowledge.

You wanted independence,I remind myself.So why does this feel like exactly what you've been missing?

When Dean stands to stretch and announces it's time to get back to work, I feel an almost physical pang of loss. The easy intimacy of the afternoon break is over, replaced by the return to practical concerns and careful boundaries.

"Actually," Julian says, rising with that precise movement, "I should address the mailbox situation before I return to town. It will only take a few minutes."

"Thank you," I say as they gather the empty plates. "For the food, for the company, for..." I gesture vaguely, trying to encompass everything about this afternoon that's made me feel less alone than I have in months.

"Thank you for allowing us to share this," Julian says with that measured precision, and the words carry the weight of someone who chooses each one deliberately.

As they head back to work—Dean and Callum to the porch construction, Julian to tackle the fallen mailbox—I remain on the front steps, breathing in the lingering traces of their combined scents and trying to convince myself that the warmth spreading through my system is just contentment.

Just the satisfaction of having good company and better food on a beautiful afternoon.

Nothing more complicated than that.

But as I watch Julian approach my broken mailbox with what appears to be quiet determination and a small toolbox, I can'thelp but think that independence might be more complicated than I originally planned.

Especially when it keeps getting interrupted by alphas who bring books and coffee and the kind of attention that makes me feel like I matter in ways I'd forgotten were possible.

Chapter 16

Julian

Istand in Lila's front yard, staring at her fallen mailbox with the growing realization that I'm completely out of my depth.

The mailbox lies sideways in the grass, its post snapped at ground level. There are brackets and screws and what looks like a mounting system that makes no sense to me whatsoever. I've never fixed a mailbox. Never fixed much of anything, really. Numbers, yes. Spreadsheets, absolutely. But this?

Lila's watching from her front window. I can see her silhouette behind the glass.

Brilliant, Julian. Offer to fix something you know nothing about.

My ex-pack would have laughed at this. "See? Too complicated for simple things," my omega used to say. "Why can't you just be normal?"

Well, here I am being normal. Spectacularly failing at it but trying.

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