Page 37 of Knot in Bloom
Something shifts in his expression. More heat, less careful politeness. “Planning. Right.”
For the next few hours, we work on organizing the festival requirements. But there’s an undercurrent of awareness threading through everything we do. When he reaches across me to grab a pen, his arm brushes my shoulder. When I lean over to show him something, my hair falls forward and he gently tucks it behind my ear—fingers trailing along my neck like he’s scent-marking me.
The way his scent mixes with the lingering cedar from Levi’s visit creates something rich and complex that calls to my omega biology.
Around noon, he glances at his watch. “I should grab us some lunch. We can eat here and keep working.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” He stands, stretches in a way that makes his shirt ride up slightly, revealing a strip of tanned skin. “Besides, this is technically our dinner date, right? Just moved to lunch timing.”
“You’re counting working lunch as our dinner date?”
“I’m counting any time we spend together as exactly what it is.” He moves closer, backing me gently against the counter. “Time with someone I care about, doing something that matters to both of us.”
My pulse jumps against my throat. His scent deepens, sandalwood and leather growing richer with interest. My omega biology responds immediately, recognizing an alpha in my space who wants me.
“Caleb.”
“Besides.” His hands settle on either side of me, caging me against the counter but not trapping me. “This way we get to focus on what’s important instead of worrying about what fork to use.”
His thumb traces along my jaw. “I also know you’ve been stressed about money, about the festival, about whether you can handle everything that’s happening. This way, we work together and I still get to feed you.”
The thoughtfulness behind it makes my chest warm. He’s not trying to impress me with expensive restaurants. He’s trying to make things easier while still giving us time together.
“That’s actually perfect,” I admit.
“Good. Ham and swiss or turkey club?”
“Surprise me.”
When he returns with sandwiches from Millie’s, we settle at my work table surrounded by festival plans and flower samples.
“This feels very domestic,” I say, unwrapping my sandwich. Turkey club with avocado, exactly what I would have ordered.
“Domestic’s not a bad thing.” He bites into his ham and swiss, watching me with those dark eyes. “I missed domestic. Missed having people to take care of.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Taking care of me?”
“Among other things.” His gaze drops to my mouth as I take a bite, and desire pools low in my belly. “Definitely among other things.”
The afternoon passes with planning and casual touches. Every shared look feels like we’re moving toward something inevitable.
“You know,” he says around three o’clock, “you never asked me why I really came back to Honeyridge Falls.”
I look up from the papers I’ve been pretending to organize. “Why did you come back?”
“Seeing Dean settle down with his pack was part of it. But mostly...” He leans against my counter, studying my face. “I was tired of not being where I wanted to be.”
“And where did you want to be?”
“Here. In this town. Near people who matter.” His gaze drops to my mouth for just a second before snapping back up. “Near you.”
Electricity shoots through me. My scent spikes involuntarily—honeysuckle blooming richer, vanilla turning warm and inviting. From the way his pupils dilate, he catches every nuance of my body’s response.
“Caleb.”
“I know that probably sounds crazy. Organizing my entire life around someone I hadn’t seen in years.”
