Page 8 of Knot the Last Chapter

I glance out the garage again. Rain’s easing off now, leaving the street shiny and steam-warmed. Across the road, someone’s hanging wind chimes on a porch beam, letting them tangle with the last of the breeze.

I could go back to work. I should.

Instead, I sit on the edge of a workbench, let the damp air hit my face, and scroll up through our messages.

I don’t know who she is.

But I know how she makes me feel.

And that’s enough—for now.

Chapter five

Lila

There’s something sacred about walking into a bookstore and smelling dust, ink, and potential heartbreak all at once.

Starling Grove’s own specialty shop, The Velvet Spine, is tucked between a tea salon and an antique store that smells like cloves and old regrets. I’ve passed it a hundred times but never stepped inside. Probably because I assumed, unfairly, that it was one of those faux-literary gift shops that sells seven-dollar bookmarks and candles that smell like “melancholy.”

I was wrong.

The moment I step inside, I’m swallowed whole. The lighting is low and warm, filtered through glass sconces that flicker like candle flames. The air smells like cedar, binding glue, and something else—

Oh.

Alpha.

It hits me in the chest. Low and slow, like velvet-wrapped thunder.

I don’t recognize the scent, but it’s potent. Wood smoke and spice, with something warmer underneath. Something dangerously close to—

“Welcome.”A voice, smooth and low, floats over a shelf of rare editions and lands directly in my spine.

I look up and promptly forget how to breathe.

The man behind the counter is straight out of some fantasy-romance fever dream. Golden hair, like sunlight caught in honey. Skin the color of porcelain in the glow of firelight. And eyes—sharp, golden, and unsettlingly kind.

He’s wearing a dark vest over a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The shirt fits his frame like it was stitched just to hold secrets. His scent rolls toward me in another wave.

I swallow and say the first thing I can think of. Something about his scent makes me lose all sense of properness.

“I’m looking for inspiration, but honestly, I think I just found a religion.”

He grins. And dear stars, he has dimples.

“Strong opening line,” he says, stepping around the counter with the lazy confidence of a man who knows exactly what effect he has on a room. “Do you prefer mystery, fantasy, or seduction disguised as literary fiction?”

“I—uh.” I blink, scrambling. “Mystery. Definitely mystery. I mean, I’m writing one. Trying to. Sort of. Not very well.”

“I’m sure it’s better than you think.” He cocks his head, watching me like he’s already read me cover to cover. “You’re new here.”

“Not technically. I grew up in Starling Grove. Moved away. Came back recently under... dramatic circumstances.”

“Ah,” he says, as if that explains everything. “A classic reluctant return arc. Very cozy mystery of you.”

“You mock, but I already have a mysterious texter and a dead body.”

He raises one perfect eyebrow.

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