Page 19 of Knotting With A Stranger

I giggle.Now who’s getting cocky? I’ll have you know I just had a very charming customer who set a high bar for mysterious strangers.

Sounds like I have some competition. I better bring my A-game and best murder alibi.

You’re ridiculous. And that’s not the compliment you think it is.

And yet you’re smiling right now. Aren’t you?

I am, damn him.I plead the fifth. Now, stop fishing for compliments.

Outside the kitchen window, snow starts to fall again. My thoughts drift between bergamot and old books, the mysterious stranger’s wink that turned my knees to butter, and James’s words that still manage to make me laugh even when I want to be mad at him. I’m standing in the middle of my bakery store, suddenly understanding why my mother always said relationships were the most complicated recipe of all.

5

LILY

The January morning rush finally ebbs around eleven, leaving the bakery smelling of vanilla and fresh coffee, dusted in flour like the snow outside. Our little shop sits quiet now after the chaos of post-holiday customers desperate for comfort food in the bitter winter cold. The industrial mixer hums as I work on a batch of Italian buttercream, trying to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of sugar and egg whites coming together. But every few minutes, my attention drifts to my phone, dark and silent on the counter for another message from James. He’s been quiet for the past week. Again.

Hannah’s been watching me all morning, wearing that expression I know too well—the one she’s worn since Mom died, as though she has to be both sister and mother now. I see her reflection in the polished display case as she approaches, her steps measured.

“That’s the fourth time you’ve checked your phone,” she says, reaching past me to turn off the mixer. “And you nearly droppedMrs. Lyn’s birthday order form in the sink earlier when you got a message. This isn’t like you, Lily.”

“I’m just expecting an important message.”

“You’ve been checking your phone all morning,” Hannah observes, wiping down the counter. “Even during the rush. That’s not like you.”

I grab the phone and tuck it deep into my apron pocket. “Just waiting for a message.”

“From James?” She tries to sound casual, but I catch the way her eyes narrow slightly.

Heat creeps up my neck. “Maybe.”

“You can talk to me, you know.” Hannah abandons her cleaning, leaning against the counter.

“You know that wedding cake fiasco right before Christmas when you left me all alone to do it?” I focus on arranging cream puffs on a golden tray, buying time. “When I was elbow-deep in cake and desperately needed your new number to complain about it?” I shoot her a look. “By the way, thanks for changing your number right in the middle of the busy season. Really, this is your fault, sis.”

She rolls her eyes at me.

“Anyway, there I was, trying to type your new number, and apparently, my desperate finger hit the wrong number.” I fidget with another cream puff. “And instead of, you know, ignoring the crazy person having a wedding cake meltdown, he actually wrote back.”

“And you kept talking to the wrong number guy?” The big sister tone creeps into her voice.

“He was actually really funny and made me forget about my stress!” I chance a look at her. “And then we just... kept talking.”

“Lily...” Hannah stares at me deeply. “Have you even met him?”

“Not exactly.” The cream puffs can’t be arranged any better, but I keep fiddling with them, anyway. “We’ve talked about everything, and he has this sourdough starter named Bertha. And he mentioned catching up, maybe on Valentine’s Day.” I trail off, seeing her expression. “What?”

“So you’re sharing personal things with someone you’ve never met?” Hannah’s voice has that edge to it, the one that says she’s trying not to sound judgmental but definitely is. “Do you even know what he looks like?”

“Does it matter? I know it’s a guy.”

Hannah scoffs. “Yeah, maybe he’s a serial killer.”

I let out a strangled laugh, remembering our playful messages about murder. If she only knew.

“Or,” Hannah continues. “What if he has a family? You know how many men do this? Prey on women online, especially Omegas?—”

“He doesn’t know I’m an Omega,” I cut in. “I never told him that.”

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