Page 20 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
I scramble down, cheeks on fire, mumbling thanks. Dane scolds, Theo lingers. My pulse doesn’t slow for minutes.
And, even then, I’m pretty sure my heart’s beating faster than it should, but I try (and mostly fail) to keep my brain on task.
At lunch, Jamie spreads sandwiches across the counter like it’s a picnic. Dane critiques my jar arrangement, smirk tugging at his mouth. Theo fiddles with brackets that don’t need fiddling.
I offer a tray of caramel squares, hand trembling.
Jamie pops one in his mouth and groans, shameless and obscene. “Holy hell, Cam.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “It’s just sugar and butter.”
“It’s sorcery,” he insists, licking his thumb.
Dane eats his slowly, gaze steady. “Texture could be smoother,” he says, deadpan.
I glare until he smirks. “But I’d still eat the whole tray.”
Theo tastes last. His eyes lift to mine, dark and unreadable, and the room tilts again.
Dangerous.
***
The ribbon box disaster comes next—spilling spools in every direction, bouncing across the floor.
“Oops,” I mutter, dropping to my knees.
Jamie’s there instantly, laughing as he untangles them. Dane crouches too, muttering about organization while winding themneatly. Theo sits across from me, fingers deft as he rewinds spools, his arm brushing mine again and again.
We’re huddled together on the floor, laughing, passing ribbons back and forth, and for a heartbeat it feels like family. Like Zae is there with us, teasing, humming, her hands busy beside mine.
The realization aches and heals at once.
***
The afternoon sun turns golden, filling the shop with light. I sweep sawdust, broom scratching across floorboards, the air sharp with wood and paint. My muscles ache, but my chest aches more, full of warmth and fear.
When I glance up, they’re watching me again—three different gazes, but all threaded with care. Jamie’s sunshine, Dane’s sharp warmth, Theo’s unreadable hunger.
I duck my head, heart pounding, pretending to chase dust.
***
When they finally leave, the bell jingling closed behind them, the shop feels too quiet. I sink onto the stool, breathless. Their scents linger in the air, teasing me. Too much, too distracting.
But when I picture Zae, I hear her laughter in the echoes of their banter. See her crouched on the floor, knotting ribbons. Feel her hand brushing mine.
She’d love this.
She’d whisper:This is what you always wanted.
Maybe she’s right.
Chapter eleven
Cam
The scent of rosemary and baked apples greets me the second I step inside the house, like a warm blanket wrapping around my shoulders. Gram always says food is the language of love, and tonight, the kitchen is practically singing.
