Page 19 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
I lean against the freshly mounted shelf, heart pounding for reasons that have nothing to do with power tools.
This is fine. I can handle it.
I’m just here to build a candy shop.
Nothing more.
Chapter ten
Cam
The bell above the candy shop door jingles as I push it open with my hip, arms stacked with jars. They clink dangerously together, and the cardboard bites into my skin. Dust motes glitter in the sunlight slanting through the wide front windows, the air smelling of paint, sawdust, and the faint sugar that clings to me from this morning’s failed batch of caramels.
The shop is raw still—bare floorboards, half-painted trim, shelves waiting for jars and ribbon—but it’s mine. Zae’s dream, and now somehow mine alone. The ache of her absence is sharp enough to sting my eyes.
The bell rings again.
Jamie strides in, warm grin lighting his face. “Careful, Cam.” He plucks the box from my arms like it weighs nothing. His cedar-and-honey scent curls through the air, comforting, heady, distracting.
“I wasn’t overdoing it,” I mutter, brushing dust from my hands. “I was arranging.”
“Arranging, uh-huh.” He grins. “Why don’t you arrange while I grab the rest from your car?”
I should argue, but my gaze catches on the way his shirt pulls over his shoulders as he leaves, and my protest fizzles.
The door jingles again.
“Please tell me you filed your signage permit,” Dane says. Clipboard in hand, voice all exasperated Alpha.
“…Signage permit?”
His groan could shake the rafters. “Camellia Vale. The town will fine you before your ribbon cutting.”
“Not everyone runs their life like a military operation.”
“Some of us just like avoiding disaster.” He smirks, sharp and smug, but I notice he’s already scanning the shelves like he’s checking for uneven brackets.
Before I can snap back, Jamie returns, boxes stacked high. “Easy, you two. You’ll scare the candy.”
The bell rings yet again. Theo steps in, hair mussed, shirt dusty, holding a bag of brackets. His quiet gaze lands on me and softens.
“I brought these,” he says simply. His voice is low, and it threads through me like a hum.
Now the shop is filled with them—cedar, smoke, leather—all their scents weaving together until the space feels too small. Too warm. Too much.
Still, we work in tandem.
Jamie hums as he lifts crates I can’t budge, laughing when I boss him around about where to put them. Dane measures shelves twice, scolding my placement, then installs them exactly where I said in the first place. Theo crouches beside me, screwing brackets into place, his arm brushing mine. Each time it happens, I have to remind myself to breathe.
The room fills with warmth and sawdust and laughter. By mid-morning, I’m sweaty and tired but happier than I’ve been in years.
Of course, that’s when my foot slips on the stepstool.
I squeak, windmilling my arms, but three sets of hands steady me instantly—Jamie’s grip hot around my waist, Theo bracing the stool, Dane snatching the jar before it crashes.
For one suspended moment, I’m inhaling all of them at once, the world tilting under the weight of their nearness.
“Got you,” Jamie murmurs, voice low enough for only me.
