Page 93 of Knot Happening

"Different something," she says cryptically. "But I'd rather tell everyone at once."

The oil starts heating, and I add the kernels while Belle hops up to sit on the counter beside the stove. She's close enough that I can smell her natural vanilla and honey scent, sweet and warm and completely addictive.

"How are you doing?" I ask quietly. "Really doing. With everything that's changed. Moving in here, running this campaign, living with three alphas who probably drive you crazy with their organizational obsessions."

Belle tilts her head, considering the question. "Happy," she says finally. "Happier than I've been in years, honestly. It's just..."

"Just what?"

"It's an adjustment," she admits. "Going from complete independence to pack life. Not bad, just different."

The first kernels start popping, and I shake the pot while studying her face. "Different how?"

"Like, yesterday I spent ten minutes standing in front of the coffee maker trying to figure out if I should make a full pot or just a cup for myself," Belle says with a self-deprecating laugh. "Because for one year, I've only had to think about what I needed. Now I'm constantly calculating whether anyone else might want coffee, or if I should wait and ask, or if making assumptions about people's caffeine needs is presumptuous."

"Belle," I say gently, "you can make coffee whenever you want. You live here now. This is your home too."

"I know that intellectually," she says, swinging her legs slightly. "But emotionally? There's still part of me that feels like I'm visiting, like I need permission for things. Even though youguys have been incredible about making space for me and my campaign chaos."

The popcorn is going crazy in the pot now, and I turn down the heat while processing what she's telling me. "Is there anything we can do to help you feel more settled?"

"You're already doing it," Belle says immediately. "Just by being patient while I figure out how to be part of something instead of just being by myself. And by letting me turn your house into campaign headquarters without complaining about the mess."

"Take all the time you need," I tell her, dumping the finished popcorn into a large bowl. "There's no timeline on feeling at home. And Belle, the campaign isn't chaos. It's the most organized, strategic effort I've ever been part of. You've turned what could have been a hopeless fight into something we might actually win."

"Actually," Belle says, and there's something different in her voice now, something more purposeful, "about timelines and winning battles..."

"Yeah?"

"That's part of what I need to talk to you about. All of you."

I add the truffle salt she requested, then turn to face her fully. "Should I be worried?"

"No," Belle says quickly. "Definitely not worried. Just... prepared."

Before I can ask what she means by that, Felix appears in the doorway carrying his sketchpad and looking mildly exasperated.

"The fight's over," he announces. "It went to a decision, which is probably the most exciting thing that happened all evening."

"Who won?" I ask, carrying the popcorn toward the living room.

"Nobody," Theo calls from his chair. "Least of all the people who paid to watch that."

"In my professional opinion," Belle says, hopping down from the counter, "that wasn't boxing. That was interpretive dance with safety equipment."

"Harsh but accurate," Felix agrees, settling back into his usual spot on the sectional.

I reclaim my corner, and Belle curls up in the middle again, immediately reaching for the popcorn. For a moment, we all sit in comfortable silence, the terrible fight forgotten in favor of good snacks and better company.

"So," Theo says eventually, "what's next? Another fight, or do we admit defeat and find something actually entertaining? Or do we go back to reviewing those media interview schedules Belle organized?"

"Actually," Belle says, setting down the popcorn bowl, "before we decide on entertainment or more campaign work, I have something to tell you. Something personal."

The shift in her tone makes all three of us focus on her immediately. Belle straightens up slightly, tucking her legs under her, and I can smell the change in her scent—not distress, but nervous anticipation.

"Okay," I say carefully. "What's going on?"

Belle takes a deep breath, and when she speaks, her voice is steady but carrying an undercurrent of something that makes my alpha instincts prick with attention.

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