Page 53 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

“Yes, yes, I’m sure the rest are perfectly competent,” she interrupted with a dismissive hum. “But he’s a Laurente. That name still carries weight. And that mind of his… I mean thatmenuof his was divine.”

Right.

“May I ask where the event is taking place?” I managed.

“Oh! I didn’t tell you?” she asked, delighted. “We’ve reservedHeaven’s Door.”

My breath caught.

“You mean the—”

“The one carved into the mountain, yes. The old wolf temple.” Her voice was filled with pride, like she’d secured the gates of the moon itself. “The entrance arches? Massive, ancient, all carved from stone by claw and hand eight centuries ago. When the moon shone full and silver blades protected our kind.”

She paused for effect. “They say the cave sings when you step inside during a solstice. Can you imagine anything moresacred?”

I swallowed. Everyone knew about Heaven’s Door. A legendary, almost mythical location buried deep in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Part temple, part cave, part ancestral site—it was only open for private events once every few years, and only to those with status or powerful connections. Most wolves never even saw it in person.

Charlene had pulledseriousstrings.

“There’s no kitchen, of course,” she added sweetly. “But I assume that won’t be a problem for a professional like yourself, will it? You’ll cook on-site?”

“Of course,” I said through gritted teeth. “We’ll make it work.”

“Splendid! I knew I could count on you, Ada. And do let Sebastian know—he’s made quite the impression.”

She laughed. I did not.

When the call ended, I lowered the phone to my lap and stared out the window.

I should have spent the rest of the morning on my couch, drinking coffee and trying to pretend Sebastian’s texts—and that dream-warm pull in my belly—never existed.

Instead I was stripping out of my sleep shirt and stepping beneath scalding water, running through numbers and logistics while steam kissed the mirror.

I dressed for war: high-waisted black trousers that skimmed my hips like a second skin, a forest-green, silk camisole tuckedin neat, and a cropped cream blazer rolled to the elbows. Gold hoops, low bun, gloss instead of lipstick—clean, sharp, impossible to rattle. At the last minute I slid on my favorite nude stilettos; height was armor, too.

By eleven I was walking in the kitchen’s side door, heels echoing across concrete. I found Mia upstairs in my office, already surrounded by print-outs and a tablet.

She glanced up, ponytail swinging. “Day off, huh?”

“Charlene Whitmore booked Heaven’s Door,” I said by way of greeting, dropping my tote and shrugging out of the blazer. “And she wants Sebastian as head chef.”

Mia’s brows shot up. “That cave-temple? The one with no electricity?”

“And no built-in kitchen.” I tapped the desk. “We’ll have to haul induction burners, generators, refrigerated vans—the works. Menu has to travel, reheat, and plate beautifully in cave lighting.”

Her lips parted in a slow, awed smile. “Gods, I love when you’re stressed.”

I flipped her off; she kicked the door shut and spread three floor-plan PDFs across the desk. For the next forty minutes we mapped load-in routes, vendor counts, prep timelines. I was so deep in generator wattage requirements I barely noticed when she rose to buzz the intercom.

“Ready for the golden boy?”

My pulse skipped. “Send him in.”

A beat later the door opened and Sebastian stepped through, shoulders filling the frame. His ash-blond hair was twisted into a lazy bun at his crown, a few strands brushing the line of his jaw. He wore dark jeans and a black henley pushed to the forearms. The casual look shouldn’t have hit me like a body-shot, yet my thoughts short-circuited for one treacherous heartbeat.

Focus.

I straightened a stack of papers that didn’t need straightening. “Laurente, close the door.”

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