Page 141 of Knot Like Other Girls

"I'm fucking starving," Troy announces, setting his empty mug in the sink. "There's a diner in town that does the best pancakes you've ever tasted, Bella. Like, legendary pancakes. The kind you'd tell your grandkids about."

"Better than yours?" Liam asks dryly.

"Way better," Troy says without skipping a beat.

"I could eat," I admit, smiling at Troy's enthusiasm.

"Excellent!" Troy claps his hands together. "Operation Breakfast is a go. Everyone get dressed in ten minutes or we're leaving without you."

"You're not dressed either," Savva points out.

Troy looks down at his boxers and rumpled t-shirt as if surprised to find them there. "Details, details."

As everyone disperses to get ready, I find myself lingering in the kitchen with Cole. The others shuffle back to the bedroom to collect their clothes and get dressed, leaving us in a comfortable silence punctuated only by the soft clink of mugs and the gentle hum of the refrigerator.

Cole moves to the sink, rinsing his empty coffee mug. His movements are efficient, measured, like everything he does. I watch the play of muscles beneath his t-shirt as he reaches to place the mug on the drying rack.

"I should get changed too," I say, but I don't move. Something holds me here, in this quiet moment with him.

He turns, leaning back against the counter, his single blue eye studying me. My hair is probably a disaster—I can feel it, tangled up and messy—and I haven't even brushed my teeth yet, but the way he looks at me makes me feel beautiful.

"Did you sleep at all?" I ask, moving closer to him.

A slight shake of his head. "No."

"Not even a little?"

His mouth quirks slightly at the corner that can still move. "Had better things to do."

"Like what?" I'm close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact with him.

"Watching you," he admits, his voice dropping lower. "Making sure you were safe."

The simple honesty of his words makes my heart squeeze in my chest. This incredible alpha spent the night keeping watch over me. Not because he had to. Not because it was his job. But because he wanted to.

"Thank you for holding me all night," I say softly, reaching up to touch his scarred cheek. "I loved it."

He goes still under my touch, his eye widening almost imperceptibly. For a second, I think he might pull away, might retreat behind those walls he's built so carefully around himself. But instead, he turns his face slightly, leaning into my palm.

"You looked peaceful," he murmurs.

"I was," I tell him. "I felt safe. Protected."

Something softens in his expression, a barely perceptible shift that most people would miss entirely. But I'm learning to read him, this man of few words and careful movements. I'm learning the language of Cole Beaumont, spoken not in sentences but in minute changes of expression, in the tightening or relaxation of his shoulders, in the focus of his gaze.

I rise on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his lips, lingering there for a moment as he freezes. "I'm not sure I ever thanked you properly," I say against his skin.

His hands come up to rest lightly on my waist, steadying me. "For what?"

I pull back just enough to meet his eye, but stay close, within the circle of his arms. "For being the first one to really see me. Not as an omega, not as Braxley's fiancée, but just... me."

Cole's expression changes, the shadows that usually haunt his face lifting slightly. He brings his hand up to cup my cheek, his scarred palm gentle against my skin.

"Hard not to see someone who shines so bright, Bella," he says, his voice rough and husky.

My breath catches at his words, at the raw honesty in them. This isn't the practiced flattery of someone like Braxley. This is Cole—straightforward, unvarnished Cole—telling me exactly what he sees when he looks at me.

Then he leans down and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is soft, tender. So at odds with his fierce exterior, yet so perfectly him. I melt into it, into him, my hands finding their way to his chest where I can feel his heart beating strong and steady through his shirt beneath my palms.

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