Page 8 of Knot a Good Idea

Yet it doesn’t stop my heart from beating out of my chest as he looks at me with icy blue eyes, his dark brows furrowed with an intense gaze.

“Hello. Can I help you?” My voice is steady even as I breathe in his scent.

He smells like the ocean. He smells like the best memories I’ve ever had with my mom, just the two of us, relaxing on the beach in overcast weather.

It’s sea salt with a hint of woodsy earthiness.

“Just a black coffee,” he sighs, his voice low. “Apparently, your coworker suddenly had to organize your pastry counter and was unable to help me.”

I glance at Devyn, who has innocently buried her face in the macarons, straightening out an already perfect row of the chocolate peppermint flavor.

It suddenly makes sense why she called me out here.

Thebrat.

A nineteen-year-old playing matchmaker for me was not something I had on my bucket list.

Besides, the Alpha in front of me may be handsome and smell incredible, but his scowl and attitude do not entice me.

Biologically, yes.

But rationally? Absolutely not.

Not that I could have a normal relationship, anyway. If he knew my past, he would run screaming.

“Sure,” I reply cooly, wanting this man to leave. “What size?”

He waves his hand in dismissal as he looks at his phone. “Whatever is fine.”

I let out a scoff before I can stop myself, and he looks at me, surprise etched on his features. “Is something the matter?” he asks quietly.

Devyn, who apparently has been listening to the exchange, lets out a tiny “oop.”

Aside from your abysmal attitude and sense of entitlement? Nothing.

I swear I could hear Skylar’s voice in my head and it’s tempting to say the words out loud.

But the last thing we need to do is lose a customer and leave a bad impression even if they’re only buying a coffee.

“Nothing at all,” I say. “But I need to brew a new batch. Do you mind waiting a few minutes?”

Hopefully he leaves without making a big deal out of it. But he just looks at me, his eyes curious, and nods.

“I don’t mind,” he says softly. He swipes a black credit card, one that screams wealth and privilege.

He’s definitely not from Isleton.

“It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” I murmur, handing him his receipt. He continues to look at me as if expecting me to react to something.

I turn away from him to prepare his coffee, ignoring his scent and the way my cheeks flush.

But as I turn, I accidentally hit the counter with the back of my burned hand and hiss in pain.

Damn it.

Devyn appears next to me as I pour a bag of coffee beans into the grinder.

“Hi,” she says innocently, her ponytail swishing with excitement.

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