Page 17 of Knotting With A Stranger

“We’re open every day except Mondays.” I try to be professional, miss by a mile, and land somewhere around breathlessly interested. “Though mornings are best for the croissants.”

“Actually, I’m only in town for the day for business.” His smile turns rueful as he leans slightly closer, and I catch a few women at nearby tables shooting daggers in my direction. “Local antiques dealer wouldn’t stop raving about this place. Said your cinnamon rolls were worth crossing state lines for.”

“Just the cinnamon rolls?” I arch an eyebrow, channeling my inner femme fatale, but pretty sure I look more like a flour-dusted disaster. “Our scones have been known to start minor turf wars.”

He laughs, a ridiculously sexy sound that has me daydreaming about what it would feel like to be kissed by a man like him. “Is that why there’s a line out the door? Here, I thought it was the charming company.”

“Smooth,” I snort before I can stop myself. “Do you practice those lines in front of a mirror, or do they just come naturally?”

“Only to a beautiful baker.” His eyes are dancing up and down my body, and I’m suddenly very aware of how the morning light streaming through our front windows reflects the brightness in them.

“Let me guess—you say that to all the pâtissiers,” I shoot back while my heart flutters when his grin widens. I can’t stop staring at that adorable dimple of his.

The bell above our door chimes as another wave of customers floods in, and he glances over his shoulder at the growing crowd.

“I should probably stop monopolizing all this prime bakery real estate,” he says, adjusting his hold on the bag of pastries, stepping back with obvious reluctance. Then he winks—actually winks—and I swear my knees turn to butter on the spot. “Thanks for making my brief stay in town memorable.”

Just then, my phone dings in my apron pocket with a message from James.

Hey baker girl. Missed chatting with you.

I stare at it for too long. He’s been radio silent for days. Of course, he’d choose this exact moment to resurface. I stuff the phone away in my apron.

As the gorgeous customer slips out the door, I become acutely aware that every female gaze in the shop is locked onto me with laser focus.

“Ladies, our chocolate croissants are just as dreamy and far more attainable,” I quip, earning a few grudging laughs. But even as I head back to my mixing bowls, I can’t quite shake the lingering scent of bergamot and old books or the way his smile made the whole world feel a little brighter.

My phone beeps again, but I ignore it and jump into serving customers as the shop is chaotically busy. When we’re finally quiet, shelves close to empty, I head back into the kitchen, Hannah quickly on my heels.

“Well, well, well.” She’s leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. “That Alpha was interested in you.”

“That was nothing.” I busy myself with the abandoned frosting. “Just a customer.”

“Lily, your scent changed the moment he walked in. I could smell it from the register.” She moves closer. “Has that ever happened before?”

“No,” I admit quietly. “Never. I don’t... I don’t react to Alphas. You know that.”

She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Maybe you just hadn’t met the right one.”

There goes my phone again, insistent. Hannah’s gaze tracks over my apron.

“Speaking of the right ones... you’ve been awfully attached to that phone lately. Something you want to tell your big sister?”

“Nope.” I pop thepsound, aiming for casual. “Nothing to tell.”

“Really? Because you’ve been checking it a lot. And now this Alpha walks in, and your Omega practically purrs, which has never happened before. Is he the one messaging you?”

I focus very hard on piping perfect swirls of frosting. “It’s nothing. Just... just someone else I text with sometimes. It’s not serious.”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone drips skepticism. “And thisnot-seriousperson is James, right?”

“It’s not serious... I mean, we haven’t even met. It’s just texts. Fun conversations. Nothing worth mentioning.”

“That’s why you’re keeping it a secret?”

Sometimes, I hate how well she knows me. How she can see right through my defenses to the truth I’m trying to hide from myself—that I’m terrified of how real this feels, how much I looked forward to his messages, and how defeated I felt when he stopped sending them.

“I just...” I struggle to find the words. “If I tell people, if I make it real... then it turns out to be nothing...”

---