Page 4 of Knot So Sweet
I remind myself of my victory. I’m free. Freezing my ass off in a broken-down car outside a bakery owned by some surly alpha who probably thinks I'm trash, but free.
And for the first time in years, nobody gets to tell me what to do next.
2
GARRICK
Ishould've known it'd be Meredith Blackwell.
Eight o'clock sharp. Just like every damn morning. Low heels clicking, that powder-blue cardigan, already talking before she's through the door.
I'm pulling scones from the display case, but I'm not listening to her church committee bullshit.
Because that beat-up Ford is parked outside. Like a rusty middle finger aimed right at my storefront.
"Good morning, Garrick, dear," Meredith says, but her attention dart straight to the windows. "One maple pecan scone and a large coffee with two sugars and a splash of cream, please."
Of course she's looking. Of course she's already got questions.
"Coming right up," I mutter. Flour still cakes my hands from this morning's batch. T-shirt sticks to my back from the ovens.
Should've figured Meredith would notice the car.
She’s already drifting toward the window, adjusting her glasses like she’s about to bust a kid for skipping homeroom. That look’s legendary…and unfortunately effective.
Violet’s out there. Curled up like she's got nowhere else to go.
Not my problem.
Meredith's mouth purses. "Garrick, dear, there's a woman sleeping in that car out there. Has been since I drove past on my way to morning yoga. Is she alright?"
I focus on the scone. Don't look outside again.
But I do. Violet's awake now. Sitting up with her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. Hair's a mess. Breath fogging in the cold.
Stubborn little thing is probably freezing her ass off and too proud to admit it.
Good. Maybe the cold will convince her to move along.
"I thought the same thing when I heard her sing." I yank Meredith's scone from the case too hard and crumbs scatter across the tissue paper. "Trust me, she's fine. Just passing through."
Wait. There's already a scone in the bag.
Shit, I really need to get it together.
"She sings?" Meredith's eyebrows shoot up. Hands clasped like she found Christmas morning. "Oh, how wonderful! We've been desperately needing a new voice for the church choir."
I pour her coffee. Two sugars, splash of cream. Muscle memory. Easier than dealing with that matchmaking look she's getting.
"She's not joining your choir, Meredith."
"Well, why not?" Meredith's at the counter again. "Fresh blood is exactly what our little community needs. I'll pop out there and introduce myself…”
"No."
My grip tightens on the coffee cup. Cardboard crumples.
Meredith steps back, with her hand to her throat.
