Page 23 of Knot So Sweet
I undo the chain. Step back.
He moves into the tiny apartment like he owns it, all controlled grace and barely contained energy. Sets the bag on the table. Glances around without judging, just noticing.
"How are you settling in?"
"Fine," I lie.
He doesn't buy it. Just waits, giving me space to fill the silence or not.
And somehow that makes the truth easier.
"Actually, I don't know how to do this." I lean against the counter because standing unsupported feels like too much work. "Be alone without being lonely. Be free without being lost."
He starts unpacking food, his hands steady and sure. "Yeah. I remember when I got out of the military. That first week, I bought six brands of toothpaste because no one was telling me what kind to get."
A laugh slips out. Rusty and surprised.
"It's overwhelming," he adds, quieter. "When your world shrinks down to survival, and then suddenly you're supposed to know what to do with freedom."
Something unknots in my chest. "Exactly. I finally escaped but I left my roadmap behind." I should stop talking. But thewords keep coming. "I don't know who I am when no one's telling me who to be. And I'm scared if I get it wrong, I'll end up back where I started."
"You won't." Not a question. Just certainty.
I want to believe him so badly it hurts.
He reveals containers of lasagna and garlic bread. "Homemade. Way too much of everything, so I hope you're hungry."
"I am." And it's not just about food.
He serves us both, and I realize we're standing too close in this tiny kitchen. His arm brushes mine as he reaches for plates. The contact sends electricity straight through me.
I step back. Give myself space to breathe.
We eat standing at the counter because sitting feels too formal, too date-like. But standing means I can't stop watching the way his throat moves when he swallows. The way his hands hold his fork. The way his eyes keep drifting to my mouth.
"Did you make this?" I ask, needing to say something before I do something stupid.
"Guilty. My grandmother's recipe."
"Seems like grandmothers are a theme here. Garrick mentioned his yesterday."
Xaden moves to lean against the counter beside me, close enough that his scent wraps around me. "Liam's grandmother is why he became a vet. She had this ancient Border Collie she adored, and when it got sick, twelve-year-old Liam announced he'd become a vet so no one would ever lose their best friend."
The sweetness of that image makes my chest tight.
"What about yours?" I turn to face him, which is a mistake because now we're too close and I can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. "Is this her recipe?"
"She always said a good sauce can't be rushed." He's watching my mouth again. "Let it simmer. Let it breathe. And then, one shredded carrot. Cuts the acidity."
"Wait, seriously? There's carrot in this?"
"Melted right in. Balance." His voice drops lower. "Balance is underrated."
He's definitely not talking about sauce anymore.
I should move. Put distance between us. But my body has other ideas, swaying slightly closer like his gravity is pulling me in.
"She used to say some people need feeding even when they don't know how to ask for it."
