Page 42 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

Ricky was halfway turned toward his car, already reaching into his bag for something sparkly and unnecessary, when I said, “Hey. You want to grab a coffee or something? My treat. Consider it a thank-you for finding me the only place in town that doesn’t smell like black mold and broken dreams.”

He blinked, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously, lips curling into a grin. “Well,damn, is this your version of a date? Be still my heart.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s a coffee, not a proposal.”

“Fine,” he said with a sigh, flipping his sunglasses back down. “But I’m ordering something ridiculous and expensive. You only get one shot at impressing me.”

We ended up at a small café near the town square, the kind with mismatched chairs and ivy on the brick walls. He ordered an oat milk caramel macchiato with extra whip and a sprinkle of cinnamon. I stuck to black coffee—strong, hot, and mercifully quieting the pounding in my head.

The conversation drifted, as it always did with Ricky, to the topic of whoever wasn’t around.

“So,” I said carefully, once we were seated, “you mentioned you knew Ada. Or, at least, knewofher.”

Ricky’s face lit up like I’d just offered him a gossip magazine and a bottle of wine.

“Who doesn’t?” He took a dainty sip from his ridiculous drink, then leaned in. “Though, truth be told, I knew Adam better. Ada only moved here after they mated. I think she’s from Miami. Cuban-Mexican mix, if I remember correctly.”

That tracked. There was fire in her. Passion.Pride.

“She came from a modest family,” Ricky continued. “But once she moved here and mated with Adam, it was like… they were golden. Meant to be. Everyone felt it.”

I stayed quiet, letting him talk.

“She stayed after he died, though,” Ricky added. “Whichsurprised a lot of people. I mean, most omegas would’ve gone back to their home pack. Their parents. But not Ada. She dug in her heels and built her business from the ground up. Grit and grief, baby. That woman could teach a masterclass on resilience.”

I took a sip, the coffee suddenly bitter on my tongue.

“There were rumors,” Ricky said, voice dropping slightly, like he knew he was treading sacred ground but couldn’t help himself. “That the first few months after the funeral were bad. Like,hospitalbad.”

I looked up sharply. “Hospital?”

He nodded. “I didn’t see her myself, but word is she was admitted two months after Adam passed. People whispered… suicide attempt. Exhaustion. Maybe both. Whatever it was, she came back thinner. Quieter. But she never talked about it. Not once. Just put her head down and started working.”

Something in my chest twisted. Cold and sharp.

Last night in the kitchen, when I cornered her, pushed her, teased her until she snapped and kissed me like she was on fire—that hadn’t just been tension. That had been her breaking point.

I thought she was running from me. That she was playing some kind of power game. But maybe… she was just trying not to drown. I stared down at my coffee, the bitterness now sitting like a stone in my gut.

It wasn’t that she didn’tlikeme. It was that I reminded her of something she couldn’t survive again. And fuck, did I feel like the worst kind of asshole for not seeing it sooner.

Ricky, of course, wasn’t done.

He leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, and twirled his straw like he was holding court. “I was actually the one who sold Ada her new apartment, you know. Over on Oak Street.”

I raised a brow. “You don’t say.”

He nodded, clearly proud. “Mmhm. Gorgeous little place. She renovated the whole thing herself. I saw pictures of how she decorated it on Instagram—green everywhere, sleek lines, books for days. Very her, very clean, very‘do not touch unless you’ve washed your hands twice.’” He grinned over the rim of his cup. “But again—super private. Even the neighbors barely see her. And they look.”

My thoughts drifted before I could stop them. To Ada padding barefoot through her apartment, hair loose, glasses on. Her curling into a nest of pillows on a quiet night, surrounded by order and soft things. Nothing like the woman who threw spatulas and tried to kill me with her eyes.

A soft sigh from across the table snapped me back.

Ricky sipped his overpriced coffee, pinky up, and then smirked. “Want to hear some other gossip about this pack that might interest you?”

I gave him a look, but he carried on anyway. “The cashier at the bank? The one with the too-perfect eyebrows? Total scammer. She’s been forging loan approvals for months. Pack Leader Adrian? Word is he’s picked a future Luna.”

That caught my attention. “Yeah?”

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