Page 148 of Knot Like Other Girls

I read between the lines easily enough. When missions go wrong. When they're injured. When they need to remember what normal life looks like. My heart aches at the thought of these five alphas, battered and exhausted, finding refuge in this unassuming mountain town.

Maybe it could be mine, too.

Before I can respond, Mabel arrives with the first round of food. Enormous plates loaded with golden pancakes, crispy hash browns, and perfectly cooked eggs. The conversation shifts naturally to appreciation of the feast before us, and for several minutes, there's little talk beyond requests to pass the syrup or butter.

I cut into my stack of pancakes, releasing a cloud of steam and the rich scent of blueberries. The first bite confirms Troy's enthusiastic endorsement—they're impossibly light and fluffy, studded with plump berries that burst with tart sweetness against the buttery backdrop.

"You were right," I mumble around a mouthful. "These are amazing."

Troy beams triumphantly. "Told you. Miraculous, right?"

Even Savva, normally so reserved about everyday pleasures, nods in appreciation as he samples his omelet. "The cheese is excellent. Locally sourced, I'd wager."

"From Casey's dairy farm just outside town," confirms a new voice.

I look up to find the woman from the nearby table—Diane, Mabel had called her—standing beside our booth. Up close, she's warmer somehow, with laugh lines around her eyes and a friendly, open expression.

"Best cheddar in the county," she continues, seeming completely unfazed by the sudden tension that has rippled through the alphas at her approach. "And the goat cheese is divine, though that comes from Watson's on the north side."

Roman's posture has shifted subtly, his shoulders straightening as he positions himself between the stranger and me, despite the table between us. "Thanks for the information."

His tone is polite but distant, clearly intended to end the interaction. Diane, however, seems undeterred.

"I'm Diane Ward," she introduces herself, extending a hand toward me rather than any of the alphas. "I run Wildflower Arrangements down the street."

Something in her direct approach to me, bypassing the protective alphas, makes me like her immediately. I reach out to shake her hand. "Bella Emerson. These are my…" The hesitation is slight but unmistakable. What exactly are they to me? They're not friends. Not quite mates, but heading rapidly in that direction.

"Say no more." She gives me a knowing smile that's no less assessing than her eyes. "Well, Bella, if you need anything while you're in town—directions, recommendations, or just some female company—stop by the shop. I'm there most days."

"Thank you," I say, genuinely touched by the offer. "That's very kind."

Diane nods, then directs her attention to the alphas with a more businesslike demeanor. "Sweetwater's a peaceful place. We like to keep it that way."

It's not quite a threat, but definitely a warning. My eyes widen slightly at her boldness—five enormous alphas whoradiate lethal capability, and she's essentially telling them to behave themselves.

To my surprise, Roman nods respectfully. "Understood. We're just here to enjoy Mabel's pancakes and show Bella around. We won't bring any trouble here."

Diane's expression softens slightly. "Glad to hear it." She looks back to me. "The omega shop on Lakeside Drive is excellent, if that's on your itinerary. Beth and Maggie have owned it for over a decade—they'll treat you right." This last bit is directed at me, with a significant look that seems loaded with meaning.

With that, she offers a final smile and returns to her table, where she immediately begins speaking with another woman, their heads bent close together. I have little doubt we're the topic of conversation.

"Well, that was interesting," I mumble awkwardly, slicing into another piece of pancake.

"She was just checking if you were okay," Cole says quietly.

"Making sure you weren't with us against your will," Liam elaborates, keeping his voice low. "People in small towns look out for each other. Particularly omegas."

I blink, fork halfway to my mouth. "Oh. But I'm a stranger."

"Doesn't matter," Roman says. "You're an omega with five alphas. That's going to raise eyebrows anywhere—especially in tight-knit communities like this. And we don't look especially friendly."

"Speak for yourself," Troy says playfully.

I consider this as I continue eating, noting how the initial curiosity from other diners has shifted subtly after Diane's visit to our table. There are still glances, but they feel less suspicious now, more welcoming. As if Diane's approval has changed our status from potentially dangerous outsiders to borderline acceptable visitors.

Guess it helps that Troy seems popular here.

"Does this happen often?" I ask, curious about their previous visits to Sweetwater.

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