Page 84 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
That gets me a rare, slow smile from Dane, the kind that makes me feel seen.
Somewhere between hands, Theo starts adding small stakes: “If I win this one, you’re on dish duty.” Jamie grins and raises the ante: “If I win, I get the last piece of bacon next breakfast.” I counter with, “If I win, I get to choose the next game.”
The morning is slipping away without me noticing. The stove clicks softly as it cools, wind taps against the cabin wall, and the air is warm with tea and the faint lingering scent of breakfast. Summer seems to be slipping away all around us, the warm weather turning cooler every day on the island. I’m grateful, because it makes my heat all that more tolerable.
My knee brushes Theo’s once when I shift in my chair; Dane’s hand steadies my mug when I nearly tip it reaching for a card; Jamie bumps my foot under the table in mock annoyance when I beat him again.
It’s during one of these quiet beats that Jamie says, “We should probably start looking for another bloom.”
The words land heavier than I expect. I set my cards down. “Maybe it was a sign,” I say. “The first one failed. Maybe we shouldn’t push our luck.”
Dane shakes his head. “Not a sign. Just bad luck.”
Theo’s voice softens. “Or maybe it’s about not letting fear decide for you. We can try again. Together.”
The word together hangs there, sinking in. What I’m afraid of isn’t not finding the flower. It’s losing Jamie. Losing any of them. It’s of breaking the spell we’ve woven together in the cabin, safe and together.
Jamie nods. “We don’t have to rush. But giving up completely? That’s not you.”
I look at them — Theo’s steady focus, Jamie’s easy reassurance, Dane’s calm certainty — and for the first time since the bloom failed, I feel the tiniest spark of wanting to believe again.
“Maybe,” I say at last, and the game goes on, warmer now, threaded through with belonging.
Chapter sixty-three
Cam
The cards keep shuffling until the sun shifts, light slanting deeper into the cabin. At some point, Theo collects the deck and sets it aside, and it’s the natural kind of pause that happens when everyone’s stomach starts rumbling again.
“I’ll make lunch,” I say automatically, though I’m not sure I’m ready to be on my feet for long stretches. Heat drains me and makes me feel like a shadow of my usual self.
Theo shakes his head. “You cooked breakfast yesterday. Sit.”
Jamie tilts his head toward the counter. “We can all help.”
Before I can protest, Dane is already pulling out the cutting board, moving with quiet purpose. Theo gathers ingredients — bread, cheese, tomatoes, a hunk of cured meat — and lays them out in a neat row. Jamie directs from his seat, which earns him a sharp look from Theo, but it doesn’t stop him.
“Slice those tomatoes thinner,” Jamie says to Dane. “You’re not making steak here.”
Dane’s knife stills, and he looks at Jamie with an expression so blank it’s almost comic. “Do you want to get up and do it yourself?”
Jamie spreads his hands, grinning. “Nope. Just offering my expertise.”
Theo makes a noise that’s half amusement, half exasperation, and I cover a smile with my hand.
I try to get up and help, but Theo gently guides me back down with a hand on my shoulder. “You’re on tea duty. That’s it.”
Tea I can do. I move slowly, pulling the tin from the shelf, measuring leaves into the pot. The kettle hums to life. The smell of herbs rises, weaving into the sharper scents of sliced tomato and the buttery richness of cheese being laid out.
It’s domestic, almost achingly so. Dane’s precise knife work. Theo’s efficient assembly line. Jamie’s easy chatter from the couch. I realize, watching them, that this is the kind of rhythm people settle into over years. Yet somehow, in the space of a few days, I’ve fallen into it like I was always meant to be here.
When the sandwiches are sizzling on the skillet, the air turns mouth-wateringly warm. I carry the pot of tea to the table, pouring for everyone, and Theo slides the first plate in front of me before taking his own. Dane follows, setting a jar of pickles down like it’s treasure.
We eat together, shoulders brushing in the tight space. The bread is crisp, the cheese perfectly melted, the tomato warm and sweet. Jamie keeps up a stream of commentary about how his sandwich is clearly the superior one, and Theo fires back without missing a bite. Dane chews in silence but slides the pickle jar toward me when he sees me eyeing it.
By the time the plates are cleared, the light outside has softened. It’s the golden edge of afternoon, when the forest seems to hold its breath.
Theo leans back in his chair. “It’s too late to start anything big outside, and it looks like it’s about to rain anyway. We should do something in here.”
