Page 9 of Knotting With A Stranger

“He’s got a family, and I fucking hate defending him, but for his kids…” Archer starts.

“We’ll leave them completely out of it,” I promise. “But Travis? He’s got some skeletons. Everyone does. Especially trustfund boys playing cowboy at the lodge while others do the real work.”

“We’ll see. For now, just lie low and get the hell out of this joint,” Hunter states.

I smile, remembering Grandfather Thorne’s words from another fireside night. “What was it he always said about wolves?”

Hunter’s lips curl into a predatory grin. “The pack that hunts together...”

“...survives the winter,” Archer finishes softly.

The guard shifts at the door, facing us, nodding in my direction to indicate time is running short. But it doesn’t matter. A few more weeks is nothing after waiting eighteen months. And when I walk out of here, we’re going to remind Travis why we’ve always been more wolf than sheep.

Even if we have to do it with half a fucking map.

Three Days Later

I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling in the night after messaging Hunter, when my phone lights up. Lily’s name appears on the screen. I turn onto my side, away from the door, keeping the light hidden as I type…

Shouldn’t all good bakers be asleep by now?

Says the chef messaging me at midnight.

I smile.You messaged me first.

Fair point. I’m knee deep in true crime documentaries and can’t sleep. You?

Let me guess, trying to solve another small-town murder?

Hey, someone has to figure out why the local librarian vanished with all the first-edition cookbooks.

I muffle a laugh.Pretty sure that’s called theft, not murder.

But what if she was silenced because she knew too much about secret recipes?

I sink comfortably into my mattress, lost in my world called Lily, typing away.

And here I thought I was the one who should be worried about criminal tendencies.

Please, the worst crime I’ve committed is putting pineapple on pizza.

My chest tightens at her casual joke. If she only knew.

That IS pretty unforgivable.

Nerd. So why are you up? Bertha giving you sourdough troubles?

The question hits closer than she knows. Truth is, nights are the worst here. When the walls feel closer, and memories get louder.

Actually... thinking about my grandfather. The anniversary of losing him was last week.

There’s a pause before her reply comes.

I’m sorry. Those anniversaries are brutal.

Yeah. Sorry to bring it up. I know you mentioned losing your mom and... I’m doing a shit job of this late-night conversation thing.

Nah, you’re balancing the heavy and light like a pro. Besides, grief club members get to talk about this stuff. It’s in the bylaws. Anyway, want to play a game?Her text lights up my screen.

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