Page 2 of Knot Their Boo
The chandelier lights the room with a dim glow, adding to the vibe my Grams spent so long perfecting. I love it here. I always have. This is my happy place. It looks like I have some dusting to do, particularly on the higher shelves that Bee clearly couldn’t reach. The thought brings a smile to my face.
All around me are memories that make me smile as I walk through the shop.
Black velvet and white lace are draped over tables filled with little trinkets, narrow aisles of tall wooden shelves, and glass display cases that require keys to unlock fill the room.
The floors are lined with faded multicolored rugs, and the walls are covered in old antiques and framed mirrors. The wood creaks and groans with every step I take.
In the front, close to the door, is a counter with the same old rusty-bronze register that I can’t believe still functions, considering it’s the original. And there’s a grandfather clock that’s always a little slow, no matter how many times it’s been serviced.
I can’t resist the urge to run my fingers over the different surfaces as I make my way further into the store and head to the backroom, searching for Bee.
I’m expecting boxes filled with items for the sales floor or the nightly cleaning supplies, but what I find instead has me crying again in an instant as I realize what I’m seeing.
The wood-hewn workbench holds a neat stack of cardboard boxes featuring a logo of a beeswax vendor I know well.
“Oh, Grams,” I murmur, swiping at the tears.
“Surprise!”
“Ah!” I yelp, startled right out of my emotional state, and spin around to find Bee standing behind me, grinning brightly.Her curly white hair hasn’t changed once in all my life, and I swear she hasn’t aged in the last ten years. Although I do think she’s shrinking… Is she shorter than she was the last time I saw her, just two months ago?
“Your Grandmother and I spent weeks setting this room up for your candle making. Of course, we had Plum’s help. And we even set up a wonderful display for the front!” She scurries over, pulling me down for a hug, because even though I am only five foot four, Bee is shorter than I am.
She’s an omega in her eighties, and is still as spry as I’ve always known her to be. She and my Grams were best friends for seventy-five years–since the first day of kindergarten, they’d say–and I’ve known her my entire life. Hugging her almost feels as comforting as a hug with Grams always was. She smells like berries and sugar, and I breathe in her soothing scent, letting my emotions get the best of me yet again.
“It’s wonderful, Bee. Thank you,” I sniff, swiping the tears away as she releases me. The second she sees my face, she pats my arm, giving me a stern but encouraging look.
“None of that, dear. Your Grams was very proud of this and swore me to secrecy until you returned.” She chuckles, padding past me toward the candle pouring station. It’s not brand new. Instead, it looks worn and well-used. It looks loved and cared for. It’s perfect.
“Everything you need is here, my dear, and we even have a contact for a vendor when you’re ready to order more supplies,” she says, warmly. “Your Grams even got you set up with a few local businesses that may want to add your candles to their shops.”
“She always thought of everything.” It warms something in me, knowing Grams was planning ways to make sure I was okay after she passed.
“Indeed, she did. Now, be a dear and take these boxes out back. I tried, but they’re too heavy for these weak old knees,” she says, pointing to the stack of empty boxes by the door. Right to business as always. “Then I’ll get out of your hair!”
“Sure.” I nod, chuckling as I lift the small stack and head out the back door to the dumpster. Several businesses in this area use it. We’re just lucky enough to have it on our lot. Grams used to complain that she had to walk “for hours” to throw out the trash before her parents managed to get the dumpster installed.
I have to place everything on the ground before I can reach to open the tall wooden gate that keeps the dumpster hidden, but the second I do, the door swings open from the inside, scaring the hell out of me.
“What the–” I brace myself to go flying to the ground when strong arms wrap around me, pulling me into a firm chest. Oh my, that scent… I know that scent. Smoked oak, clove, and leather.
“Are you alright? Sorry, I was just throwing some stuff out for the café, and I didn’t see you there,” he rushes to explain, not even realizing who he’s talking to yet.
“Colter?” I yelp, pressing my hands to his chest, feeling the heat and muscle under his long-sleeved dark gray Henley. I’m sucked into him, drawn to the way he looks now. So unlike the boy I once knew.
Ash brown tousled hair, rough stubble, and intense steel gray eyes that hold me in place. Oh, hell. It’s really him. And I’m clinging to his shirt like a desperate groupie.
“Sable…” Colter whispers, staring at me for a long moment, not reacting, not even blinking…creepy. When he takes in a sharp breath, his entire body shivers against me, breaking him out of his shocked stupor.
“Hey. Been a while.” I try to be casual, but I’m pretty sure I’m just terribly awkward, wincing up at him.
“Why are you here?” he demands suddenly, clearly not excited to see me, his dominance making my heart race. The sound of his voice sends shivers across my skin. Oh, he's all man now.
“What?” is all I manage to ask, not sure why he’s being so grumbly. I haven’t seen him in years. Even when I came back to town to visit Grams, it was never for long. Or very often. I’m a shitty grandkid.
Maybe I was hiding from my past, but can you blame an omega when her past looks like a Greek god and sounds like sex? His rejection still burns under the skin.
My instincts don't care one bit how long it's been. My attraction to Colter kicks in like a hammer to the heart, and I have to force myself not to feel the man up. Why is he using the dumpster in this alleyway? The firehouse is a block away. Oh, wait, he mentioned something about the café, right? Jeez, he’s already scrambling my brains.
