Page 21 of Knot So Sweet
He goes back to the dough, but I notice his movements have changed. Less aggressive now. More controlled. Like he knows I'm watching and it's affecting him too.
"Was she a professional baker?"
"No. Just someone who believed food was love." His hands pause for just a moment, and I catch something soft in his expression before the scowl slides back into place. "She said anyone who could feed people properly would never be useless."
The way he says it makes me think his grandmother was probably one of the good ones. The kind of person who made you feel safe in their kitchen and never made you explain why you showed up at their door looking like a disaster.
"She sounds great,” I say quietly.
"She was." He shapes the dough into a loaf with practiced efficiency. "Died when I was ten. Left me her recipes and a stubborn streak a mile wide."
I finish my sandwich in companionable silence, watching him work and trying to figure out what it is about Garrickthat makes my omega instincts purr with contentment even when he's scowling at me. He's not conventionally handsome. His features are sharp, his expression guarded. But there's a solidness about him. Reliable. Safe.
I brush crumbs off my jeans. "Thank you for the food. And for letting me stay upstairs. I know you didn't exactly have a choice in the matter."
He looks up from his dough and our eyes meet. His are dark brown with flecks of gold, like coffee with honey stirred in.
"Meredith doesn't force anyone to do anything they don't want to do," he says. "She just makes it clear what the right thing is and waits for you to come to the same conclusion."
So basically, she's a master manipulator with a heart of gold. Got it.
"And you think letting me stay is the right thing?"
He considers this, rolling the dough into a tight, practiced shape. "I think you're not the first person to end up in Cedar Ridge running from something. And most of us turned out okay."
"Well," I say, moving toward the stairs, "thank you. For everything."
I can't stop watching his hands. The way they press into the dough, knead it, work it until it's soft and pliant. My mouth goes dry. My omega is practically vibrating, whispering things I absolutely should not be thinking.
Like how those hands would feel on me. How that strength would translate to touching skin instead of bread. How he'd probably be just as skilled, just as thorough.
The words almost slip out. Come upstairs.
I bite them back so hard I taste blood.
Too soon. Too much. Too dangerous. I barely escaped one alpha. I can't just jump into bed with another one, no matter how good his hands look or how warm his scent makes me feel.
I need to leave. Now. Before I do something stupid.
"I should..." I gesture vaguely toward the stairs, backing away. "Go. Upstairs. I'm tired."
Not tired. Turned on. But he doesn't need to know that.
I'm halfway to the door when his voice stops me.
"Violet."
It's softer this time. Almost gentle. The sound of my name in that deep voice does things to me that are absolutely not helpful right now.
I pause, my hand on the banister. Don't turn around. If I turn around and see those eyes, I'm done for.
"There's leftover soup in the bakery's fridge. Heat it up if you get hungry later."
It's such a simple gesture, but it hits me right in the chest. When's the last time someone thought ahead about whether I might be hungry? Planned for my needs without me having to ask?
"Thank you," I whisper, and flee upstairs before I can embarrass myself by crying over soup or doing something really stupid like going back down there and kissing him again.
I make it to the apartment. Close the door. Lean against it.
