Page 36 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

“Just one cup?” The words come out smaller than I wanted them to. Needier. I hate how desperate I sound, but I can’t help it. These moments are so rare now.

Something softens in his expression. “Yeah, okay. One cup.”

I head to the kitchen quickly and busy myself with the kettle, pulling down our usual mugs—his favorite black one with the chip in the handle, my blue one with the painted stars. Ren had been the one to design mine. Said he loved looking into my eyes when we…during my…when I have my heats. That they were like stars in the night.

I gulp hard. The familiar motions should be soothing, but there’s tension in the air. Questions I’m afraid to ask.

Stone finishes mopping and I hear him pad to the utility room shortly before he appears.

“How was your day?” he asks, settling onto one of the bar stools at the island. There’s genuine interest in his voice, but also…something else. Like he’s trying too hard to be casual.

“Same as usual.” I keep my back to him, watching the kettle. “Cleaned. Cooked. Gardened.”

“The tomatoes coming in?”

“Almost. With all the rain, I’ve had to move the saplings to the greenhouse.” I smile slightly, remembering how he used to help me in the garden. How his hands would cup the ripening fruit so gently, testing for readiness. “I have to give them some more time.”

The kettle clicks off and I pour the water, letting the tea steep. When I finally turn, he’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“Finn—” he starts, then stops as I hand him his mug.

The ceramic of the mug is warm against my palms as I watch Stone blow on his tea. He takes a careful sip, and for a moment, everything feels almost normal. Almost like before.

Then he shifts, and something tickles at my senses.Something…different. My nose twitches slightly, but I push the thought away. I’m being paranoid. Reading into things that aren’t there. Again.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, wrapping my hands around my mug. “I could heat something up.”

“Yeah, actually.” He takes another sip, shifts slightly on the stool, and there it is again. That hint of…something. “Starving.”

My chest tightens. The container I’d packed for him earlier is gone from the fridge—I’d checked obsessively throughout the day, watching it disappear like all the others this week. “But you already ate your dinner.”

“Oh.” He blinks. That telltale pause before he lies. The one he thinks I don’t notice. “Yeah, I did, but…you know how it is. Still a bit peckish.”

I turn to the fridge, using the movement to hide whatever might be showing on my face.

“Jax won’t mind,” I say, pulling out the container I’d packed with Jax’s dinner. My voice sounds strange to my ears. Distant. “It’s not like anyone eats what I make anymore, anyway.”

“Finn—”

“It’s fine.” I pop the lid, focusing on the simple task of transferring the food to a plate. I sniff as quietly as I can, trying to pinpoint what that strange note, that single thread of a scent is.

My hands shake slightly as I put the plate in the microwave. I punch in numbers without really seeing them.

“You’ve been working late,” I say to the microwave door, watching the plate rotate. Keeping my voice neutral is proving difficult. “Must be a big project.”

Another pause. Another lie coming. “Yeah, lots going on at work.”

The microwave beeps. I pull out the plate; set it in front of him. Everything on autopilot while my mind spins, trying to deny what my senses are screaming at me.

The scent gets stronger as he moves, lifting the fork to his mouth. It’s sweet. So sweet. Like summer honey and…

No.

“Thanks, babe.” He swallows the first bite, then takes another, looking honest-to-God like he really has been starving. I have to turn away again. That endearment. That scent. The lies.

The scent is unmistakable now, growing clearer with every passing second. It’s faint but I catch it. Maybe because I’m actually looking for it. For something to blame all this pain on. My hands tighten on the edge of the counter as the scent registers. An omega.Anotheromega. Nausea rises within me, but I force myself to stay steady, to keep my voice casual. “You’re welcome.”

It’s honey. Vanilla.Omega.

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