Page 13 of Knotting With A Stranger

“With real bells.” Hannah parks behind a line of much fancier cars than our practical Honda.

“Fifteen minutes is too long,” Dad mutters. “I’m downgrading to seven.”

“Dad,” Hannah protests.

“Five. Final offer.”

She shakes her head at us.

I check my phone one last time before we head inside. Still no response from James. It’s been days of silence and pretending it doesn’t matter while knowing it matters far too much. My stomach twists with that now-familiar mix of worry and hurt. We’d been talking every day, building something that felt real despite the distance, and then... nothing. The rational part of my brain says there could be a hundred innocent explanations, but the rest of me keeps circling back to darker possibilities. Or worse—that I’d imagined the connection between us, read too much into every late-night conversation and shared secrets.

The walk to the front door feels like a march to execution. Hannah leads the way while Dad and I drag our feet, sharing conspiratorial looks.

“Remember,” I whisper. “If cousin Rebecca starts on about her Alpha husband’s latest promotion?—”

“Sudden migraine,” Dad nods. “If Patricia mentions her Omega support group?—”

“Spontaneous combustion.”

“If Martha asks about grandchildren?—”

“We run like hell.”

Hannah throws us a look over her shoulder. “I can hear you both.”

“We know,” we say together, grinning.

The door opens before we reach it, spilling warm light and the smell of cinnamon onto the snow-dusted porch. Great-Aunt Martha fills the doorway like a Christmas-themed battleship, all red velvet and perfectly coiffed white hair.

“Hannah, darling!” She air-kisses both Hannah’s cheeks. “You look lovely. Theodore, you’re actually wearing a vest, how... comfortable. And Lily...” Her smile tightens slightly, then she turns to me. “Still working at the little bakery?”

“Still co-owning the successful business Mom built, yes.” I paste on my best customer service smile. “How’s your hip replacement? Still setting off metal detectors?”

Dad snorts. Hannah elbows me. Martha’s smile turns decidedly frosty.

“Do come in.” She steps aside. “Everyone’s in the parlor. Rebecca was just telling us about Charles’s new position on the hospital board...”

I catch Dad’s eye.

The house might as well be Santa’s workshop. Every surface holds some festive tchotchke. Every doorway sports mistletoe. Every window frames an electric candle. The overall effect is lesswinter wonderlandand moreChristmas having a manic episode.

But Mom used to love this. The thought hits me sideways, making my chest tight. She’d walk through these rooms, touching everything, exclaiming over new additions, genuinely delighting in the excess of it all.

Dad’s hand finds my shoulder, squeezing gently. He knows. He always knows.

The parlor buzzes with expensive perfume and even more expensive gossip. Cousin Rebecca holds court by the fireplace, her Alpha husband Charles looking appropriately adoring as she details his latest achievement. Despite myself, I feel a pangseeing them together—the easy way he anticipates her needs, how his scent wraps protectively around her.

“Lily!” Patricia swoops in before I can find a defensive position. “Darling, you look... healthy. Still haven’t found your Alpha match? You know, there are organizations that help Omegas who struggle?—”

“Actually,” my mouth says before my brain can stop it, “I have someone. He’s traveling for work right now. James. He’s a chef.”

Dad’s coffee mug pauses halfway to his mouth. Hannah’s eyes widen slightly.

“Oh?” Patricia’s perfectly plucked eyebrows rise. “How... nice. And what restaurant does he work at?”

“It’s... complicated. He’s starting at a new place. Very exclusive stuff, and I can’t spoil the name until it opens up.”

Oh God, I’m making it worse, but there’s a part of me delighted to see them stare at me with something other than pity for a change. Well, except for Hannah, who’s frowning in my direction.

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