Page 26 of Knot So Sweet
Please let them be exactly what they seem.
Because if they're not, if this all falls apart, I don't think I'll survive putting myself back together again.
7
LIAM
Monday morning and I arrive at Rise & Shine just after eight, my hands still carrying the faint smell of antiseptic from the emergency call I handled before dawn. Mrs. Peterson's ancient tabby had gotten into a fight, probably with a raccoon judging by the pattern of scratches, and needed stitching.
The second I step inside, the air shifts. Yeast and cinnamon, brown butter, and beneath it all, Garrick's steady presence holding the space. But none of this stops me in my tracks.
It's her.
Violet stands behind the counter next to him, lost in one of his spare aprons. The fabric strains across her chest and hips, clings where it shouldn't, and hangs loose everywhere else. She's all curves and quiet confidence, shaped like she was made for touch and built to take whatever an alpha gives without breaking. My instincts lock on her before my brain has a chance to process anything else.
She's not dressed to impress. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, strands slipping free around her face. There's flour on her cheek, a dusting across her hands. She's focused, listeningto whatever Garrick is saying, completely unaware of how her presence rearranges the room.
She doesn't have to try. Which is the problem.
My pulse steadies, not from calm but from control. Every part of me goes still. Watchful. Ready.
"Morning," I say as I approach the counter. Garrick slides a coffee toward me without needing to be asked. I catch it mid-slide, take a sip, and let the heat settle in my chest. "You ready for your first day as our newest veterinary assistant?"
Violet looks up. Her eyes meet mine, pale blue and guarded, too wary for someone her age. I catch the shift in her smell the instant it happens. The sweetness sharpens. More honey than vanilla now. Less fear, more curiosity. Omega scents never lie, especially when they're off suppressants. She definitely is.
"As ready as someone with zero veterinary experience can be," she says, tugging at her apron strings. "Just so we're clear, my animal experience consists of one freeloading cat who thought my fire escape was a five-star hotel."
"Everyone starts somewhere," I tell her. Her smell pulls at something deep in my chest as I breathe it in again. Sugar and spice, rich and comforting, like the memory of a kitchen you didn't realize you missed until you walked back inside. "Most of the job is answering phones and organizing schedules anyway. The animals usually know who they can trust."
Garrick snorts from the espresso machine. "Let's hope they're better judges than their owners."
I glance around the bakery. It's busier than usual for a weekday morning. "Speaking of owners, looks like you're having a good day."
"Violet made cinnamon rolls," Garrick says, and there's something in his words I haven't heard in a while. Pride, maybe. Not in himself. In her. "From scratch."
I turn back to Violet, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you said you couldn't bake."
"I can read," she says with a shrug. "Turns out baking's just chemistry with more butter. Garrick did have to talk me through it like I was defusing a bomb, though."
Knowing Garrick, she's putting it lightly. The man bakes the way some people conduct experiments. Getting his cinnamon roll recipe out of his hands, let alone having him teach it to someone else, isn't a small thing.
"They're good," Frank Stern calls from his usual table near the window. He lifts his coffee in salute. His golden retriever, Buster, is passed out at his feet, snoring through the noise. "Almost as good as Dorothy's, and saying something."
It is. Frank's been married to Dorothy for over fifty years, and anyone who's lived in town longer than a minute knows the story about her cinnamon rolls and the proposal two days later.
"Well, don't sound so shocked," Violet says with a slight smirk.
Her smell blooms again, rich and bright with real pleasure. And I feel it hit, low and certain.
She's starting to settle.
And I'm starting to notice.
"We should probably get going," I tell her, finishing my coffee. "My first appointment is in thirty minutes, and I'd like to show you around before Mrs. Henderson arrives with Whiskers."
"The infamous biting cat," Garrick laughs.
"The very one. Between you and me, Whiskers is all bluster. He just doesn't like change." I stand up, noting how Violet automatically moves toward the door. Good instincts. "Plus, I suspect Mrs. Henderson feeds him too many treats, which makes him irritable."
