Page 21 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

Through the wall of glass, I could see her.

Ada.

She hadn’t seen me yet—too focused on her laptop, one hand massaging the back of her neck, brows drawn together in quiet concentration. She looked tired. Focused. Strong in a way that had nothing to do with physical power. She moved like someone who carried too much and refused to let it show.

“She always that intense?” I asked, keeping my voice light.

Liam chuckled softly. “Only when she’s awake.”

“What’s she like?”

Liam’s knife paused just slightly before he resumed. “Ada’s… one of a kind. Tough as hell, but not unfair. If she yells, it’s because something really needs fixing. But if you earn her trust…” He nodded. “She’ll fight for you.”

I stayed quiet.

“She’s the reason this place exists,” he added, his voice quieter now. “Started it all on her own. No big investors, no sugar daddies, just… drive. Eight years ago, she rented this dump of a building, cleaned it up, begged and bribed her way into the catering scene. And now—well. You’re wearing the jacket.”

I nodded slowly. “Impressive.”

Liam glanced up at me, then away again. “She went through something. A long time ago. Before she started this. I don’t know all the details—she never talks about it—but I heard she lost her mate. Maybe ten years back. Some kind of accident.”

My hands stilled for a second.

“She kind of disappeared for a while after that,” he continued gently. “Went quiet. Shut out the world. And then one day, she just… came back. Built this place. Put all that pain into something solid. She doesn’t say it, but I think this kitchen saved her.”

I looked up at the glass wall again.

Through the glass, she was still a picture of composure.

I carried on with my work—chopping, seasoning, portioning. But I was hyperaware of every movement in that upper office. Of the way she walked. The way she stood like her spine had steel in it. The way she kept her arms crossed while she listened, like she needed something to hold together.

I forced myself to focus. When the first break hit, Liam headed out back for air, and the rest of the skeleton crew scattered to the staff lounge or hovered near the pastry station,sneaking espresso shots.

I didn’t hesitate.

I wiped my hands, smoothed my new uniform, and made my way toward the entrance, where Ada and Mila were now reviewing the produce list with the driver. There was no pause, no hesitation from her when she saw me approach. Just the flicker of her gaze over me—sharp, unreadable, professional.

“Morning,” I said with a polite smile. “Didn’t get a chance to introduce myself officially.”

Mila turned, a little too quickly. “Oh, great. Ada, this is Sebastian Laurente. Our new sous-chef.”

Ada didn’t blink. “Yes,” she said smoothly. “I’ve heard.”

Her voice was cool. Even. Not a hint of the woman who had moaned my name into a pillow less than twenty-four hours ago.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” I said. “For the opportunity.”

She smiled—barely. “We take our food seriously here. Earn it.”

“I intend to.”

Mila looked between us, slightly suspicious, but Ada didn’t give her anything. Her poker face was ironclad.

“Well,” Ada said, holding out her hand, “good luck, Mr. Laurente. Let’s hope this isn’t a waste of yourtalent.”

I reached for her hand, already bracing for something cold.

What I got was a grip that tightened just a second too long, just a fraction too hard. The kind of squeeze that said I see you. I haven’t forgotten. And I’m not forgiving you anytime soon.

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