Page 31 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
“See? He can’t just admit my cooking is good. It has to be some kind of performance review.”
Theo lifts his spoon. “I, for one, appreciate Dane’s commitment to quality assurance.”
“And I appreciate that none of you poisoned me,” Cam says, raising her bowl like a toast.
We all follow, clinking spoons and mugs and glasses, the sound awkward and perfect. It’s such a simple moment. A small dinner at a kitchen table. But it roots something deeper in me. The kind of memory that makes you second-guess every exit plan you’ve ever drafted.
Later, after we’ve finished and the dishes are soaking in the sink, Cam leans back in her chair and sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this... safe.”
My throat tightens. Jamie reaches over and gently nudges her shoulder.
“That’s what we’re here for.”
And we are.
I just don’t know what that means anymore.
Chapter eighteen
Cam
By the time supper dishes are stacked neatly beside the sink and the last spoon clinks into the drying rack, I realize how late it’s gotten. The house is quiet now, warm in that sleepy, full-bellied way, like it’s exhaling after the long day we’ve had. The three alphas are still here, lingering like they don’t want to leave—and truthfully, I don’t want them to.
Gram’s always been here. This house has never felt empty before. But now, every room without her in it feels a little too big.
Theo leans in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes watching me carefully like he knows exactly what I’m feeling. Jamie’s busy wiping down the counter for the third time, and Dane’s thumbing through a cabinet like he might magically find something else to fix.
“You don’t have to stay,” I say, even though I don’t mean it. “I’ll be fine.”
Jamie turns, a slight frown pulling at his mouth. “We know youcanbe fine, Cam. That’s not the point.”
“We just don’t want you to be alone,” Dane adds, softer than I expect.
Theo shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We’ll take the living room.”
I blink. “There’s only one couch. And one armchair. And, like, two blankets.”
“We’ve shared worse,” Jamie says with a grin. “Remember that cabin trip?”
Theo groans. “Don’t remind me. Jamie thought snow pants counted as a sleeping bag.”
“I was young. And optimistic.”
“You were twenty-four.”
I laugh, the sound bubbling up before I can stop it. It feels good. Necessary.
“Alright,” I say, brushing my hands on my jeans. “I’ll grab more pillows. You three better not snore in unison.”
“No promises,” Dane murmurs.
Soon, I’ve got the living room half-converted into a den of alpha chaos. There’s a tangle of blankets and throw pillows, an Afghan from the back of the couch, and a couple of spare quilts from Gram’s closet. They seem content to sprawl and rearrange it all like it’s some kind of puzzle challenge.
Theo spreads out across the floor and claims a cushion pile with a single grunt of approval. Jamie starts recounting the worst sleep arrangements they've ever endured on jobs, and Dane critiques his storytelling technique with mock seriousness.
I sit on the edge of the armrest, watching them, my heart lighter than it’s been in days.
The clock ticks past ten. My eyelids start to droop, and I don't want to be the first one to break the moment, but if I don’t go now, I’m going to fall asleep here and drown in alpha scent.
