Page 19 of Knot So Sweet
"Then we wait and see if Violet is brave enough to take a chance on three broken alphas and a town full of meddling locals."
Liam's quiet for a long moment, staring into the dying fire like it holds answers to questions he hasn't figured out how to ask yet.
"What if she is?" he says finally. “And stays?"
"Then everything changes," I say simply. "And we figure out what comes next."
Because that's what you do when fate drops a beautiful, damaged omega into your carefully ordered life. You adapt. You strategize. You hope like hell that this time, things might turn out different.
Violet might be trouble, but she's our trouble now.
And if we're not careful, she just might break us all.
6
VIOLET
Iwake up on Saturday afternoon feeling more rested than I have in months, which immediately makes me suspicious. Good things don't just happen to me. There's always a catch, always a price to pay later.
The apartment is quiet. Too quiet after days of highway noise and the constant hum of anxiety that's been my soundtrack since leaving California.
My stomach growls, a sound so loud it echoes off the walls and reminds me I haven't eaten since Garrick's soup last night. That incredible, soul-warming soup that tasted like someone actually gave a damn about whether I lived or died.
Stop it, Violet. Don't read into kindness. Mark was kind too, at first.
After raiding the kitchen cabinets and fridge, it dawns on me that there's no food in here. This apartment hasn't been lived in for a while, and I don't even know where the nearest store is. I'm going to have to venture downstairs at some point. I've got maybe three granola bars and a bottle of water in my duffel bag. Not exactly a sustainable meal plan unless I'm planning to become a very sad bear preparing for hibernation.
Finally, I force myself to unlock the door. The narrow stairs creak under my feet as I make my way down to the bakery, and there’s a whir of what might be a mixer. The occasional muttered curse word that would make a sailor blush.
So Garrick's here. On a Saturday late afternoon. Working. Because apparently grumpy bakers don't believe in weekends.
I push the door, and the wave of scents that hits me is almost overwhelming. Fresh bread, cinnamon, something rich and chocolatey that makes my mouth water instantly. And underneath it all, that scent that made my omega hindbrain sit up and take notice yesterday. Coffee and cedar and something indefinably male that my traitorous biology finds far too appealing.
"We're closed," comes Garrick's voice from the kitchen, gruff and unwelcoming.
Well, hello to you too, sunshine.
"I know," I call back, hovering near the door like I might need to make a quick escape. "I was wondering if there was anywhere nearby I could get some food. I don't have a car, obviously, and I don't really know the area."
The sounds from the kitchen stop abruptly, followed by heavy footsteps. Garrick appears in the doorway, flour dusting his dark hair and forearms, wearing an expression that could sour milk and probably has.
"You haven't eaten today?"
“I had some granola bars.”
It’s technically true, if you count eating half of one stale bar as a meal. I planned to eat the other two over the weekend, I have to spend as little as possible until I have some real money.
Right now, I don’t have enough. So I have to forget about doing things as essential as eating.
Besides, I could lose a few pounds, so it’s fine.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
But my growling stomach clearly disagrees.
His jaw ticks, and he disappears back into the kitchen without a word. I stand there feeling stupid and intrusive, ready to mumble an apology and slink back upstairs when he reappears with a plate.
"Sit," he orders, setting it down at one of the small tables. "It's past five. You should have come down when I was open."
