Page 10 of Knot Your Baby

“I’ve got it.” She ties an apron around her waist and checks the oven. “Your only job is to keep that baby happy.”

The bell above the door chimes. A tall man in a business suit walks in, his eyes darting between the display case and...me? There’s something odd about the way he’s looking at me.

“Welcome to Sweet Dreams!” Harlow calls out. She’s elbow-deep in soapy water, washing the mixing bowls.

“Two coffees, six blueberry muffins and ten gougères to go, please.” His gaze keeps sliding back to my belly.

“Six muffins and ten gougères?” Harlow whistles. “Someone’s living dangerously. You know sugar is addictive, right? First it’s muffins, next thing you know you’re mainlining cookie dough in dark alleys.”

He laughs, finally looking away from me. “They’re for my office and the boss loves the gougères.”

“Likely story.” I join in. “That’s what all the muffin addicts say. We have a support group that meets on Thursdays. And on Tuesdays, I run the cheese addicts’ group myself.”

His shoulders shake with laughter. “Maybe I should get Thorne to join—”

A sharp pain cuts through me, and I groan, clutching my belly.

“Are you alright?” The man’s expression shifts to concern.

“Oh, this little gymnast is just trying to somersault their way out.” I rub circles on my stomach. “But they need to stay put for a few more weeks.”

“Freya.” Harlow’s voice is stern as she hands the man his order. “You need to see a doctor. Those pains are getting worse.”

“It’s the same pain as always.” I wave my hand dismissively, though my lower back screams in protest. “Baby’s just running out of room.”

“I suppose, and it will be worth all the discomfort.” Harlow’s eyes soften as she glances at Jagger.

I shoot her my best evil eye. “I’ll remind you of that when you’re the size of a house.”

The man in the suit steps closer, coffees in one hand, gougères and muffins balanced in the other. “I could take you to the hospital to get checked out. Better safe than sorry.”

My eyes drift over his broad shoulders and firm jaw. For a split second, I imagine him helping induce labor the fun way. Heat floods my cheeks, and I chuckle at my own ridiculous thoughts. “No hospitals. Really, I’m fine.”

“That’s it.” Harlow throws her hands up. “Go home. I’ll handle the shop for the rest of the day.”

“Would you like a ride?” The man asks, his eyes concerned.

“I have a car.”

His gaze drops to my very pregnant belly. “You still drive?”

“I push the seat back.” I straighten up, thankful for my long legs. “It works fine.”

His eyes linger on said legs for a moment, and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a smile that makes my stomach flutter.

My omega preens at the attention. When was the last time an alpha—or is he a beta—look at me like that?

Mental note: skip the scent blockers for the next time he comes in.

“Are you going home?” Harlow’s stern voice breaks through my daydream.

I roll my eyes. “God, you’re as bossy as your alphas.”

The timer’s shrill beep makes me jump. “The croissants! They’ll burn!”

“I’ve got them.” Harlow moves to the oven, about to pull on the door.

“No, wait—you have to check if they’re golden brown, and certainly don’t let them go dark brown. And the chocolate ones need exactly two more minutes than—”

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