Page 147 of Knot Like Other Girls

"Please," Roman confirms with a nod, even though he just had a full mug at the pack house.

"And orange juice for the lady," Troy adds. When I look at him questioningly, he just shrugs. "Vitamin C. Good for what's coming."

I feel my cheeks warm at the casual reference to my approaching heat, but Mabel doesn't bat an eye.

"Got it. I'll give you folks a minute with the menus, but I highly recommend the blueberry pancakes." She winks at Troy. "Though I suspect someone's already sung their praises."

"Extensively," Savva confirms dryly.

Mabel chuckles and heads off to fetch our drinks, leaving us to examine the laminated menus. The offerings are classic American diner fare. Hearty breakfasts, sandwiches, and a selection of pies that, according to a handwritten note at the bottom, are "baked fresh daily by Mabel's sister Edna who thinks she's better than everyone."

"I like this place already," I say, amused by the personal touch.

"Wait till you taste the food," Troy says, eagerly scanning the menu though I suspect he already knows it by heart.

I study my own options, suddenly aware of just how hungry I am. The combination of early heat symptoms and the mountain drive has left me ravenous. I'm debating between the blueberry pancakes and a breakfast platter—knowing the alphas will insist I get both if they know I'm trying to decide between the two—when I notice a woman at a nearby table staring openly at us.

She's middle-aged, with dyed blonde hair and the weathered complexion of someone who spends time outdoors. When our eyes meet, she doesn't look away, but offers a small, assessing smile instead. There's something almost protective in her gaze as it moves from me to the alphas and back again.

"Don't worry about Diane," Mabel says, returning with a tray of drinks. "She's just the local welcoming committee."

I accept the large glass of orange juice she hands me. "Is that official or self-appointed?"

Mabel laughs. "Bit of both. Diane runs the flower shop and considers herself the town's social director. She's harmless, just curious about newcomers. Especially ones with such interesting... dynamics."

Her tone is gentle, not judgmental, but I still feel a flutter of uncertainty. Are we that obvious? What exactly does our "dynamic" look like to outsiders?

"We're just passing through," Roman says smoothly, accepting his coffee mug. "Showing Bella some of the sights."

"Mmhmm," Mabel hums, clearly not buying it but polite enough not to push. "Well, have you decided what you'd like to eat?"

We place our orders—blueberry pancakes for me and Troy, the lumberjack special for Roman and Liam, veggie omelet for Savva, and steak for Cole. Mabel jots everything down with practiced efficiency, then tucks her pencil behind her ear.

"Coming right up. Holler if you need anything before then."

As she moves away, I take a sip of my orange juice, noting it's freshly squeezed. Everything about Mabel's feels authentic, from the slightly wobbly tables to the hand-written specials board. After months in Braxley's world of carefully curated Instagram aesthetics and overpriced, underwhelming food chosen more for its photogenic qualities than taste, this place is refreshingly real.

"You look happy," Cole observes quietly.

I glance up to find him watching me, his one blue eye intent. "I am," I admit. "This place feels... genuine."

He nods, understanding without needing elaboration.

"Have you been to Sweetwater before?" I ask. "I mean, besides when you needed a safe place."

"Few times," he answers, lifting his coffee mug carefully with his left hand. His right remains under the table, as if he's conscious of drawing attention to his scarred arm. "Mostly supply runs."

The others are engaged in their own conversation—something about the best local fishing spots that Troy is enthusiastically detailing to a skeptical Savva—giving Cole and me a small bubble of privacy despite being at the same table.

"You like it here?" I ask.

He considers this, his gaze moving past me to the large windows that frame the lake view. "It's peaceful. People mind their business, for the most part."

For Cole, I'm learning, that's high praise.

"And the pack?" I press gently. "Do they come here often?"

"When we can." His voice drops lower. "After hard jobs. When we need to... decompress."

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