Page 8 of In Knots

My heart hammers like a herd of stampeding buffalo and heat flows straight to my cheeks.

I flick my gaze away from the window, not wanting him to catch me watching, straighten my posture and stare down at my half-empty coffee cup. I hear the engine of the bike cut out. Then several agonisingly long minutes later, the door of the diner swings open.

“Hey there, stranger,” the waitress calls from the counter.

“Hey,” a masculine voice calls back.

His.

I’m frozen in my seat, too petrified to turn around and look his way. Heavy boots thump across the floor, closer and closer and pausing right next to me. His alpha scent is more powerful than it was out there in the fresh air, and even above the chirpy noise from the jukebox, I can hear the rush of his breath and almost feel the heat from his body.

“Princess,” he says simply and his voice so close to my ear draws my gaze his way. His eyes are intensely green, reminding me of the lush meadows I passed on my journey. “What are you doing back out here?”

I shrug, not trusting my voice, especially when my pulse races in my throat.

He slides onto the bench opposite me without an invitation, twisting the menu his way.

“Have you ordered?”

“No.” His eyes flick back up to my face.

“But you’re hungry?”

“There’s nothing I can really eat,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say.

“You’re allergic?”

I shake my head. “On a diet.” Always on a diet.

He frowns, his gaze running over my form. “You don’t need to be on a diet.”

“My mother would disagree.”

He frowns a little harder, then slides out of the booth and I wonder if that’s it, if the first man who has ever sparked my interest is already bored with me and leaving.

“Wait there. I’ll be back,” he tells me, strolling to the counter and talking quietly with the waitress. She’s an older woman, probably in her fifties, her blonde curly hair piled up on the top of her head and her eyeliner smudged from the heat of the day. Yet, a twang yanks in my gut as I watch her face light up as she speaks with him. Throwing her head back to laugh and touching him lightly on the shoulder.

Then he’s strolling back to me and reclaiming his seat.

“You didn’t call me,” he says, spinning the menu around on the tabletop.

I take another sip of my coffee, my hand trembling ever so slightly. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“Hello,” he leans back on the seat, his hands falling into his lap.

I can’t help smiling at that. He examines me for a long drawn-out minute.

“You’re on your own today,” I say when the weight of his stare gets the better of me. I’m used to people looking at me, alphas especially. Yet, this feels different, not uncomfortable, pleasant. I want him to admire me. I want him to like me.

“Yeah, we’re working today. They’re back at the garage. I had to deliver a package.”

“The garage?” I ask

“We fix up old cars and motorcycles.” His gaze flicks out to the window. “I’m pretty sure we did yours a few years back. She’s really something.”

“My dad bought it for me a year ago on my 18th birthday.” He nods. He can do the maths. I fiddle with my cup in its saucer. “I’m not meant to drive out on my own.”

“Why not?” he asks, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

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