Page 18 of Knot So Sweet
"When she walked into the bakery something just... clicked into place." He pauses, gathering his thoughts. "What’s our end game? Sure, we've all been rejected by an omega for one reason or another and that's kind of how we became a pack in the first place. But we've never discussed the future. The next stages in our lives."
I don’t get those kinds of feelings. I train them out.
So the fact that I’m having one now?
Yeah. That’s the part that worries me.
"Let's face it, Xaden," Liam continues, his voice gentle but relentless. "When you came out of the military and came here, the first thing you wanted was an omega."
I sigh because Liam has this annoying habit of cutting straight to the heart of things. "Yeah. And she ran off to join a convent rather than bind herself to me. Apparently, I'm so compelling that I made her choose celibacy over a future with an alpha." The words taste bitter, even after all this time. "What about you, Liam? Your ex said you cared more about the animals than you did her."
He nods, accepting the hit. "Maybe Violet is the one. But who says we won't have the same story repeating in a few months? But this time we’ll be the rejected pack." He meets my eyes.
"It doesn't matter," Garrick says, but his voice lacks conviction. "Pack bonds don't work that way. You can't just claim someone because you feel sorry for them."
"It's not pity," Liam insists. "It's recognition. She belongs with us, Garrick. I know it sounds crazy, but..."
"It doesn't," I interrupt because someone needs to say it.
"She's leaving," Garrick says again, but he sounds less certain now.
"Maybe," I concede, already running calculations on how to stack the deck in our favor. "But maybe not, if she has a reason to stay."
"Like what?"
"Like a pack that gives a damn about her wellbeing. A community that doesn't ask questions about her past. A baker who makes soup that tastes like home."
Garrick's scent shifts again, coffee notes warming toward something richer and more complex. He's not ready to admitanything yet, but he's thinking about it. In my experience, getting Garrick to think about something is half the battle.
Progress.
"I need to check on the overnight bread," he says suddenly, standing with the kind of restless energy that means he's reached his limit for emotional conversations.
He's halfway to the door before Liam speaks up.
"Garrick."
Our baker pauses but doesn't turn around.
"She's safe here," Liam says softly. "Whatever happened to her before, it can't touch her here. Not with us."
For a moment, I think Garrick might actually respond. Instead, he just nods once and disappears into the night.
Liam and I sit in the resulting silence, each processing the evening's revelations in our own way. The fire has burned down to embers, casting dancing shadows across the room that remind me of other nights, other conversations about the future of our little pack.
"Think he'll bolt?" Liam asks eventually.
It's a fair question. Garrick has a history of running when emotions get too complicated. He's done it before, disappeared for days while he sorted through whatever demons were chasing him. But he always comes back. Always.
"He might," I admit, though I'm already planning contingencies. "But not tonight. He has just put bread in the oven, and Garrick doesn't abandon food."
"And tomorrow?"
I consider this, weighing what I know about our stubborn baker against the unprecedented situation we find ourselves in.
“He'll find excuses to check on her. Bring her food, make sure she's settling in okay, probably lecture her about proper nutrition while he's at it."
"And then?"
