Page 24 of Knot So Sweet
The words hit different. Too knowing. Too close to true.
"I can ask for help when I need it," I say, defensive.
"Can you?" He straightens, and suddenly he's right there, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've been taking care of everyone else for so long you've forgotten how."
The accuracy steals my breath.
I should tell him to back off. Instead I tell him about Mark. About the three years of control and fear and losing myself piece by piece.
Xaden's jaw tightens. His scent spikes with anger, sharp and protective. "He hurt you."
"Yes." The word comes out smaller than I intend.
He moves then, not closer but to the side, giving me space while staying close enough to ground me. Leans against the counter with his arms crossed, every line of his body screaming barely controlled fury.
"What made you finally leave?"
I take a shaky breath. "I realized he was going to kill me. Maybe not that day, but eventually."
"Jesus." His shoulders go rigid. "You said his name was Mark. What's his last name?"
I freeze. "No. I'm not giving you more info."
His gaze flicks to mine. Holds. Then he nods. "Fair."
"Last thing I need is you showing up on his doorstep with a side of garlic bread."
A ghost of a smile. "How did you get out?"
"Waited until he went to work. Packed what I could carry. Drove until Dolly gave up." I huff a laugh. "Turns out my car had better instincts than me. She broke down here. In front of the bakery."
"Could've picked worse places."
"Yeah. Could've ended up at a gas station in the middle of nowhere with nothing but vending machine burritos."
"Lucky for you, you got cinnamon rolls and Meredith instead."
We finish eating in charged silence. I'm hyperaware of every time he moves, every glance, every breath.
He starts packing up containers and I move to help, which means we're back in close quarters again. Our hands brush reaching for the same container. This time neither of us pulls away immediately.
His fingers are warm. Callused. Strong.
I look up and he's watching me with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
"Can I ask you something?" My voice comes out breathy.
"Shoot."
"Why are you being so nice to me? All of you. You don't know me. Don't owe me anything."
He pauses, wiping his hands on a napkin. Taking his time with the answer.
"Maybe because we recognize something," he says finally.
The answer should make me feel better. It doesn't. Because help has never been free in my world.
"Do you think Garrick would mind if I helped in the bakery tomorrow?" I ask, needing to change the subject before I do something stupid like kiss him. "Basic stuff. Cleaning, organizing. If I'm staying upstairs, I should pull my weight."
