Page 10 of Knot So Sweet
A laugh escapes before I can stop it, as though I haven't used it in ages. I take in a deep breath and for a second it’s as if we're stuck in time.
I may be cold, but it's nothing compared to how she's feeling out there.
"You're right."
"There we go," she says, as though I've just admitted something important. "Now, why don't you tell me what's really going on?"
And somehow, sitting in this freezing car talking to a stranger, I find myself spilling everything. Not the details. I'm not stupid. But enough. The car breaking down. The fact I'm broke, and heading to Texas but I don't have money for repairs.
What I don't tell her is about Mark. About the bruises finally faded last month. About the way he'd corner me in our apartment, backing me against the kitchen counter while he explained in his calm, reasonable voice why I was wrong about everything.
Some stories are too burdensome for a stranger's shoulders.
Meredith listens without interrupting, occasionally making sympathetic noises which don't feel patronizing. When I finish, she's quiet for a moment.
"You know," she says finally, "I taught elementary school for three decades. You develop a sixth sense about people running from something."
My chest tightens. "I'm not…"
"I don't want the details," she says quickly. "What I'm saying is sometimes when you're running, you end up exactly where you need to be."
"In a broken-down car in the middle of nowhere?"
"In a place where people still help one another." Her smile is warm but determined. "Now, you can't sleep in this car. You'll freeze to death, and I'll have to explain to my book club why I let a perfectly nice young woman turn into a popsicle on my watch."
Despite everything, I smile. "Your book club sounds intimidating."
"They are. They'll give me the riot act if anything happens to you." She straightens up. "There's an apartment above the bakery. It's furnished, it's warm, and it's sitting empty. You'll stay there until we figure out your car situation."
"I can't afford…"
"We'll work out the details later. Right now, my maternal instincts are screaming at me to get you somewhere warm before you catch pneumonia."
I want to argue, and insist I can handle this myself, I don't need charity from strangers. But I'm so tired, and the thought of another night in this car makes me want to weep.
"Okay," I whisper. "Just until my car's fixed."
"Wonderful." Meredith claps her hands together. "Gather your things. We're getting you fed and settled."
Walking behind Meredith across the empty street feels surreal. Like I'm watching someone else's life through a window. The bakery glows warm and golden, and even from here I can smell bread and something else. Something which makes my stomach growl despite my nerves.
Coffee. Rich and dark with hints of cedar.
"The men are having their Friday poker game," Meredith explains as we approach the door. "Don't mind them. They're mostly harmless."
Men. Right. The alphas I've been studiously avoiding.
The bell chimes as we enter, and I'm immediately hit with a wave of scents so complex my omega hindbrain goesinto overdrive. Fresh bread and cinnamon from the baker, the asshole with the attitude problem. Dark coffee and cedar from someone else. And something clean and calming, like chamomile and cotton.
Three alphas. In a confined space. Looking at me like I'm some exotic animal which wandered in from the cold.
My fight-or-flight instincts scream flight, but I force myself to stay still. To breathe through my mouth so their scents don't overwhelm me completely.
"Gentlemen," Meredith announces like she's presenting me at court, "I'd like you to meet Violet Morrison. She's going to be staying here for a little while."
The silence which follows is thick enough to cut. I can feel them cataloging me. The way I'm holding myself, the smell of two days without a proper shower, the way I keep glancing toward the exit.
The baker looks like he'd rather swallow glass than have me here. Good. The feeling's mutual.
