Page 63 of Knot on the Market

"Dean, Callum, and Julian care about you," Sadie continues, turning to face me with her hands folded. "They care a lot, actually. But they're alphas. They're idiots sometimes about how to show it without overwhelming someone." She pauses. "But this isn't about them today. This is about you."

The way she says it. Like my feelings matter independently of what three attractive alphas might want, makes my throat tight with unexpected emotion.

"I don't know what I'm doing," I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "I came here to be alone, to figure out who I am without... complications. And now."

"Now you've met three men who make you feel things you weren't planning to feel," Sadie finishes gently. "And you're not sure if that's good or terrifying."

"Both," I say with a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Definitely both."

Sadie nods like this makes perfect sense. "Do you have any girlfriends? People you can talk through this kind of thing with?"

The question makes me realize how truly alone I've been. "No. I left everyone behind in LA, and..." I swallow hard. "None of them called to check on me. Just my agent asking about contract details."

The words hang in the air like an admission of something I hadn't wanted to acknowledge.

Sadie's expression shifts to something fierce and protective. She steps closer and pulls me into a warm hug.

"You don't need friends like that, sweetheart," she says firmly. "You need friends who'll bring you flowers for no reason and watch trashy movies until your brain melts."

The offer is so normal, so completely unrelated to alpha attention or any of the complicated things consuming my thoughts, that I have to blink back tears.

"That sounds perfect," I manage.

"Good." Sadie's smile returns, bright and genuine. "Because I have a proposition for you. There's a vintage cinema in Pine Valley that's doing a 2000s romantic comedy marathon this afternoon. Perfect for someone who might want to watch a movie without worrying about being recognized." She pauses, studying my face with understanding. "No alphas, no decisions, just you, me, Ryan Gosling, and a bucket of salty carbs. Sound good?"

The description makes me laugh for real this time, surprised and relieved. When was the last time someone offered me something that was just fun?

"I would love that," I say, meaning it more than the simple words can convey.

"Perfect." Sadie claps her hands together with obvious satisfaction. "We'll leave around noon. Wear something comfortable and prepare to judge early 2000s hairstyles with appropriate ruthlessness."

The next hour passes in a blur of gentle activity. Sadie helps me choose an outfit—comfortable jeans and a soft blue t-shirt. She braids my hair in a simple style that gets it out of my face. Most importantly, she fills my kitchen with easy conversation that has nothing to do with complicated feelings.

We talk about the town, about her flower shop, about the ridiculous number of people who think roses solve every relationship problem. She tells me about growing up here, about leaving for college and coming back because she missed the mountains.

"The thing about Honeyridge Falls," she says, "is that everyone knows everyone, but most people are decent enough to mind their own business unless you need help."

"Good to know," I say.

"Though I should warn you," Sadie adds with a grin, "Maeve Bennett has officially adopted you, which means you're going to be fed whether you want to be or not."

As we're heading toward the door, a memory hits me without warning. The faint trace of cedar and sawdust from Callum's flannel, now tucked safely in my nest upstairs. The memory sends warmth racing through my system.

My body responds immediately—a rush of slick that makes me press my thighs together, a spike in my scent that I try desperately to control.

Not now, I think frantically.

But Sadie catches the change, her nose wrinkling slightly as she picks up the sweet, interested edge to my usual green appleand white musk. She follows my gaze toward the stairs, then looks back at me with understanding that makes my cheeks burn.

"Honey," she says gently, "are you feeling okay? You seem a little..."

"I'm fine," I say quickly, but my voice comes out breathier than intended. "Just... it's warm out."

Sadie studies me for a moment with the kind of assessment that comes from years of omega experience. "When's the last time you had a proper heat?"

The question makes me freeze. "What?"

"A real heat. Not managed with suppressants or scheduled around work. A proper, biological heat where you actually got to nest and be taken care of."

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