Page 65 of Knot in Bloom
For the first time since I got back, I don’t want to be the one who has to leave.
I grab my coffee and keys. Need movement to process what’s building in my chest. The drive toward town takes me past Willow Creek Road, where I slow down without thinking about it.
The cottage sits back from the road on what looks like several acres of land. White clapboard siding weathered to soft gray. Wide front porch with room for chairs and morning coffee. Garden space that’s been well-maintained but has room for expansion. From what I can see, it looks like four or five bedrooms, living areas that flow together on the main floor. It’s only ten minutes from Aunt Maeve’s place. Close enough to family but far enough for privacy.
Perfect for a pack. Room to grow.
But this afternoon, watching late light catch the windows, I can picture all of us living there. Sadie with her hands in the soil, coaxing flowers from that well-maintained garden. All of us having coffee on that wide porch on weekend mornings. The four or five bedrooms would give us space to grow, and there’s even what looks like a built-in nesting room on the upper level. Building something that lasts.
The fantasy of her in that space, surrounded by things we’ve chosen together, makes my cock stir with want and something deeper.
After Sunday, after the way she responded to all of us, it feels possible. Real.
I need to find my own place though. Not just because the Millers are coming back, but because I’m ready to stop borrowing other people’s lives and start building my own.
I pull into the driveway, heart beating faster than it should.
Time to show her what I’m thinking. See if she wants the same future I do.
My phone buzzes. Text from Sadie.Festival prep going smoothly today. Reid’s supplier connections are amazing. Think we might actually pull this off without disaster. You heading over soon?
Her energy comes through even in text messages. Confident, optimistic. Thriving in a way I haven’t seen from her before. Working together is good for her. She’s not drowning in stress anymore.
This is what she looks like when she doesn’t have to handle everything alone.
I text back.On my way. Want to show you something after we finish today?
Mysterious. I like it. See you in twenty.
Instead of dinner out, I have a different idea. Something that might be exactly what we need.
At five-thirty I’m standing outside her shop, watching through the window as she and Levi organize vendor schedules while Reid handles supplier confirmations on his phone. The three of them working in sync, each filling gaps the others leave. It looks right.
But it’s her I can’t stop watching. The graceful way she moves, how her hair catches the light when she turns her head. My alpha instincts recognize her as mine in ways that bypass rational thought.
When I push through the door, the bell chimes and she looks up with that smile that does something warm to my chest and sends heat straight to my groin.
“Perfect timing,” she says, gesturing at the organized chaos of papers and sample arrangements covering every surface. “We just finished coordinating the last vendor placement.”
Her honeysuckle and vanilla scent wraps around me immediately, richer than usual, and I have to fight the urge to cross the room and bury my face in her neck.
“Everything confirmed?” I ask Reid, who nods with satisfaction.
“Suppliers locked in, volunteer schedules distributed. Your logistics spreadsheets made the difference.” Reid closes his laptop with the air of someone who’s used to completing complex projects. “Unless disaster strikes between now and next Saturday, we’re actually ready.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Sadie warns, but she’s grinning. Three days ago she was panicking about timeline. Now she looks confident. In control.
“So,” she says, turning to me with curious eyes that make my pulse quicken. “What’s this mysterious something you wanted to show me?”
Levi and Reid both look interested, and for a second I wonder if I should invite all of them. But this feels like something I need to do with just Sadie first.
“A place I’m thinking about buying. I’d love your opinion before I call the realtor.”
The drive to Willow Creek Road takes fifteen minutes. Comfortable conversation about festival preparations, but underneath I’m hyperaware of everything about her. The way her scent—honeysuckle and vanilla—fills my truck and makes my mouth water. How she hums without realizing while watching the scenery pass. How the late afternoon light catches the soft skin of her throat.
Every breath I take is filled with her, and my jeans are getting uncomfortably tight.
When I turn onto Willow Creek Road, she sits up straighter.
