Page 16 of Knotting With A Stranger

He’s examining our display case with the same careful attention I’ve seen art curators give to priceless paintings, one long finger tracing the glass above a row of eclairs. Tall enough that he has to duck slightly under our vintage crystal chandelier, with the kind of presence that makes our cozy shop feel somehow smaller and larger at the same time. His hair glints in the morning light, turning it to burnished gold, and when he straightens up, I see a glimpse of an intricate rose tattoo peeking from beneath his rolled sleeve.

My heart stumbles over itself when his gaze finds mine. Amber eyes are as bright as honey in sunlight. His mouth curves into a smile that feels like a secret shared between just us two. He strolls toward me like someone completely at ease in their own skin, and I find myself rooted to the spot, pulse thundering in my ears.

The way my body responds to his presence tells me everything my rational mind is still catching up to. He just looks at me, his smile widening just enough to show a hint of a dimple in his left cheek.

“I hope you’re the one responsible for those cinnamon rolls in the window,” he says finally, his deep voice sliding down my spine like warm honey. “Because they’re the most enticing thing I’ve seen all day.” His eyes say otherwise, and the heat in my cheeks tells me I’m not the only one affected by whatever this is between us.

For a moment, I forget how to breathe.

Then, I manage to find my words. “Most enticing thing all day? It’s barely nine in the morning. I’d hate to peak this early.” The words slip out before my brain can fully engage its filter, and fire slides up my neck.

Up close, his presence is even more overwhelming—a charcoal Henley that hugs broad shoulders, sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms corded with lean muscle. My eyes trace the sharp line of his jaw, those impossible cheekbones, and I’m convinced the temperature in the shop rises another few hundred degrees. I catch another whiff of that intoxicating scent. God, who is this man, and why does it feel like my whole world just tilted on its axis?

His laugh is rich and genuine, and something in my chest does a little flip at the sound. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, and the way his gaze shifts over me tells me he caught my double entendre.

Hannah catches my attention, her eyebrows raised in a way that says we’ll definitely be talking about this later. I should care about that. I should care about a lot of things right now. But all I can focus on is the way his amber eyes haven’t left my face, like I’m some rare first edition he’s just discovered.

My knees actually wobble.

A slight smile plays at the corners of his mouth like he knows exactly what effect he’s having.

“What can I get you?” My response comes out embarrassingly breathy. I clear my throat and try again.

Hannah chooses that moment to practically skip past, bless her evil heart, and the look she shoots at me can only be described as delightedly wicked as sheaccidentallybumps my hip while delivering a tray of fresh scones. The gentle nudge sends me a half-step closer to him from behind the counter. She disappears back behind the counter with a satisfied little smirk.

The Alpha—and good Lord, is he ever an Alpha—prowls closer. There’s no other word for it. He moves like someone who knows exactly how much space he takes up and how to use it to maximum effect. All the ladies in the bakery notice him, staring, gawking, lost in their own fantasies.

“What would you recommend?” His gaze never leaves mine, even as he surveys the display case.

My hands dip into the pockets of my apron, and I’m grateful for the space between us because my body is doing things it has never done before. Heat pools low in my belly, igniting into flames. My skin feels too tight.

“That depends. Are you feeling adventurous, or do you prefer to play it safe?”

Something sparks in those eyes. “Do I look like someone who plays it safe?”

No. No, he really doesn’t.

“In that case...” I move along the display case, trying to ignore how his presence seems to follow me like a physical touch. How other customers Hannah is serving keep watching us. “The almond croissants are fresh out of the oven. Or there’s our signature cinnamon rolls—Mom’s recipe, actually.”

“Oh?” Something like recognition shifts in his expression as I glance at him. “You grew up in the business?”

“Sort of.” My response comes easier now, on familiar ground. “She started in our home kitchen, just catering at first. Built it into this.” I gesture around the shop, pride mixing with the old ache. I don’t know why I’m saying all this, yet I can’t seem to stop. “My sister and I took over after... after she passed. Added our own touches while keeping her recipes alive.”

“That couldn’t have been easy.” A softness coats his tone, as if he knows about loss, too.

“Worth it, though.” I straighten slightly. “Every time someone says our cinnamon rolls taste like home, or a bride cries over her wedding cake... that’s Mom’s legacy. That’s what matters.”

He studies me for a long moment, something unreadable on his face. “A woman who knows what she wants and builds it herself. Impressive.”

The compliment settles warmly in my chest, different from the heat his presence inspires. This feels... real. Earned.

“So,” I manage a real smile. “About those recommendations?”

“I’ll trust your judgment.” He returns the smile, and oh, that’s not fair at all. “Surprise me.”

I gather an assortment of our best sellers, adding one of our special chocolateSin in a Box cookies.My hands still shake slightly when I pass him the bag, and when our fingers brush, electricity shoots straight through me.

His nostrils flare. His pupils dilate slightly. The air between us thickens with something that has nothing to do with baked goods.

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