Page 2 of Knot So Sweet
"Well, this is just fan-freaking-tastic," I mutter, pulling my jacket tighter against the mountain air. The fabric is thin – designed for California weather, not here. Months without suppressants, and my scent is getting stronger every day. The suppressants' effects are finally wearing off completely. Soon my body will remember what it's supposed to do. What Mark convinced me was disgusting. Primitive. Wrong.
The bakery door slams open hard enough to rattle the glass, the chime ringing out like a damn fire alarm instead of a welcome bell.
"You planning to blow up your radiator in front of my bakery?"
Then, the largest human being I've ever seen in real life, and I forget why I was singing, forget about Dolly's smoking engine, forget everything except the way he moves like he owns not just the bakery but the entire mountain range.
He has to duck slightly to clear the doorframe. As he approaches, me, I can smell fresh bread and cinnamon and vanilla underlaid with something dark and warm and purely alpha. His sandy hair is messy like he's been running his hands through it, with little bits of flour caught in the strands that catch the light from the bakery windows. There's stubble along his jaw that should look unkempt but instead makes him look ruggedly handsome in a way that has my traitorous omega hindbrain sitting up and taking notice.
My mouth actually waters, and I'm not sure if it's from hunger or something else entirely. The omega in me wants to step closer, to breathe deeper, to discover what that underlying warmth might taste like.
I lock my knees to keep from moving toward him, because the last thing I did was stop here for an alpha. I've learned this lesson already.
He stops in front of Dolly with his hands planted on his hips, and glares at me like I've personally ruined his entire week.
"Whatever the hell you were doing. Forget it.” His voice is a low rumble of pure annoyance that I feel in my chest.
"You were waking the dead with that racket, and you need to get your heap of junk out of my way before it explodes all over my storefront."
"Racket? I was singing."
"If you think so." He gestures sharply at Dolly's steaming engine.
"And this piece of junk looks about to blow sky-high." I blink at him, sure I must have misheard.
"Excuse me?" "Your car." He nods toward Dolly.
"It's leaking coolant and smoking like a chimney. Get it off my property or I'll have it towed."
"First of all," I cross my arms to mirror his stance, "her name is Dolly, not 'piece of junk.' Second, I didn't exactly plan this breakdown to tank your sourdough sales. And third..." I let my gaze drag over him, how his t-shirt stretches across his chest, the way his jeans hug his thighs, the way his scent seems to intensify when he's irritated. Then I force myself to focus on his scowling face.
"When you say 'piece of junk,' are you referring to my car or yourself? Because honestly, your attitude is doing more damage to your bakery's image than Dolly ever could."
His gaze drops to my mouth, then snaps back to my eyes like he regrets it instantly.
His scent spikes again, but this time it’s not just irritation. It’s deeper. Hotter. Like dark chocolate left too long in the sun—rich and messy and impossible to ignore.
My omega instincts jolt to attention submit, run, anything but stand still. I do it anyway.
"Look, omega…”
"Violet," I interrupt, taking a step closer despite every self-preservation instinct I have screaming at me to back away. He's bigger up close, broader, and the way he's looking down at me makes something flutter in my chest that I absolutely do not want to examine. "My name is Violet, not 'omega.' I know it's hard to keep track of us as individuals, but do try."
A muscle in his jaw ticks, and for a moment I think he might actually growl at me. The thought sends an inappropriate shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold.
"Look, Violet." He says my name like it costs him something, like it scraped its way up his throat and left a mark. Rough. Unwanted. I don't react. Not outwardly. Just tighten my arms across my chest and brace for the next blow.
"I don't care what your sob story is or what you're running from. You've got sixty seconds before I call a tow."
I laugh, but there's no humor in it. The sound comes out sharp and brittle, like glass breaking. "Sure. This is exactly how I pictured my Friday.”
"I think you're an omega with drama following you around like a lost puppy, and I don't need that kind of trouble in my town."
"Right, because alphas like you are such prizes. Let me guess, you're single because you're 'focused on your business,' nothing to do with you being an insufferable ass who thinks basic human decency is optional."
"Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine? I can see why you went into the hospitality business. Your customer service skills are truly inspiring."
As he comes closer, my body betrays me completely. My chin lifts without permission, shoulders straightening in classic omega display behavior I haven't done since college. The movement is automatic, instinctive, and I hate the way his nostrils flare slightly in response to my vanilla and honey scent growing stronger without suppressants to dampen it.
