Page 76 of Knot So Sweet
I open it, watching the number appear in my account balance. Three hundred dollars for the bakery feature. Not bad for a week's work.
I should feel relieved. Instead, my thumb hovers over my banking app, already pulling up Emma's contact.
She texted yesterday. Utilities shut-off notice. The kids need winter coats. The transfer takes thirty seconds.
Three hundred dollars, gone. My balance drops back to forty-seven dollars and change.
My phone buzzes. Meredith.
The doorbell rings and I look at my watch.
Shoot, I'm late!
I open the apartment door, and before I can even say hi to Meredith, she tilts her head with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Ready for some real small-town drama?" Meredith grins as I grab my purse like it's a weapon.
We clatter down the stairs, but when we hit the bottom, there's Garrick. Planted across the doorway like a human guard dog.
"I hope you're not planning on getting her drunk again," he says, all stern authority, like he's my dad catching me sneaking out with a fake ID.
I blink. "Wow. It's six o'clock on a Friday, not Mardi Gras. Maybe chill?"
His eyebrow ticks up, and for a second he looks almost shocked I snapped back. "It is my business if I'm the one who ends up hauling you two home at midnight. Besides..." His eyes catch mine, that weird crackle of static zipping between us again. "You can't keep dragging Meredith out past her bedtime."
Meredith lets out a squawk that echoes off the bakery windows. "Excuse you! I'll have you know I can stay up past nine-thirty. On weekends."
I snort, rolling my eyes so hard it nearly gives me whiplash, and push past him out the door. Fine, let him worry. He's got poker night anyway. Maybe the cards will distract him from micromanaging my life.
Sliding into Meredith's passenger seat, I mutter as I click my seatbelt, "How old does he think I am? Twelve?"
Meredith's laugh fills the car as she throws it into reverse. "Oh, honey. Clearly he thinks you're too young to be hanging out with me. Corrupting the innocent youth of Cedars Ridge." She wiggles her eyebrows, and I groan, hiding my burning face in my hands.
We both dissolve into giggles, and I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders. This is exactly what I need, a beta and not an alpha walking around protecting me as if I'm his child. Ever since last week, he has been sweet, at times. But now it's as if he's agitated and I can't keep walking around worrying about what has triggered him this time.
"So where exactly are we going?" I ask.
"Town meeting," she says cheerfully. "First Friday of every month. Usually boring as hell, but I figured you should start getting involved in the community."
My stomach drops a little. "Town meeting? Meredith, I don't know anything about local politics or..."
"Relax." She pats my knee. "Half the people there don't know what's going on either. We just nod and look interested when someone mentions the budget."
The community center is a modest brick building that smells like old coffee and industrial carpet cleaner. As we walk in, I'm immediately hit by a wall of mixed scents. Various alphas, betas, and a few other omegas, all mingling in the warm evening air. It's overwhelming at first, my omega senses trying to catalog and process all the different pheromone signatures.
"Violet!" Dorothy Fletcher waves from the second row like she's flagging down a parade float, her matronly beta scent bubbling with excitement. "So glad you could make it, dear!"
I paste on a polite smile and wave back, letting Meredith steer me toward the middle like she's my handler at a dog show. The prickle of eyes following us makes my skin hum in the worst way, like I'm standing under a spotlight in my underwear. The goosebumps up my arms say otherwise.
Mayor Peterson clears his throat like he's about to declare war. "First item on tonight's agenda, the weather service has issued a storm warning for this weekend. We want to make sure everyone has emergency supplies ready. Food, water, batteries, the usual."
"When's this storm supposed to hit?" I ask, raising my hand slightly.
Meredith waves dismissively beside me. "Oh honey, they issue storm warnings every year around this time. It never happens. Remember last year's 'storm of the century'? We got maybe two inches."
A few people around the room nod and chuckle knowingly.
"Still," Mayor Peterson continues, "better safe than sorry. Moving on to the annual Founders' Day celebration..."
