Page 13 of Knot on the Market

After a quick stop at the general store for basic supplies, I make my way home, arms aching but pride intact. I spend the rest of the morning unpacking my purchases and trying to make sense of the toolkit.

The instruction manual might as well be written in ancient Greek, but I manage to figure out which end of the hammer to hold and how to adjust the screwdriver bits without injuring myself. I decide to start with something simple, the loose handle on one of the kitchen cabinet doors that's been driving me crazy since I arrived.

It takes three attempts and considerable creative cursing, but I finally manage to tighten the screws properly. The handle no longer wobbles when I open the door, and the small victory feels disproportionately satisfying.

Emboldened by this success, I tackle the bathroom door that's been sticking. A few strategic applications of the screwdriver and some of the spray lubricant, and suddenly itopens and closes smoothly. Two successful repairs in one day feels like a minor miracle.

By afternoon, I've discovered at least three new problems that definitely require professional help, including the kitchen faucet that's developed an ominous drip since yesterday. But I've also proven to myself that I'm not completely helpless with tools.

The independence thing is harder than it looks in the movies, but maybe that's the point.

I'm sitting on the front porch with a cup of coffee, contemplating my modest victories, when I hear footsteps on the walkway.

A woman in her twenty’s is approaching the house, carrying what looks like a large bouquet of flowers. She's pretty in a natural, understated way, with long brown hair and the kind of gentle smile that suggests she probably rescues injured animals in her spare time. Even from this distance, I can tell she's an omega.

"Hi," she says when she reaches the porch steps. "I'm Sadie Penrose. I own the flower shop in town."

"Lila," I say, standing up. "Though I'm guessing you already knew that."

"Small town," she says with a rueful smile. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion, but I wanted to bring you these."

She holds out the bouquet. A beautiful arrangement of white roses, eucalyptus, and something with small purple flowers that smells absolutely divine.

"They're lovely," I say, accepting them carefully. "But you really didn't need to?—"

"Actually, they're not from me," Sadie interrupts gently. "There's a card."

She hands me a small envelope, and I can feel my hands trembling slightly as I open it. The handwriting is neat andprecise, written in dark ink that looks like it came from an actual fountain pen.

From someone who's survived heartbreak too.

No signature. No identifying information. Just those simple words that hit me like a punch to the chest. Someone in this town knows what I've been through. More than that, someone in this town understands.

"Do you know who sent them?" I ask, looking up at Sadie.

She shakes her head, but there's something in her expression—a slight smile, a knowing look that suggests she definitely knows who sent them.

"Sorry, but I never tell tales about my customers," she says with a gentle but firm smile. "Part of the service."

I nod, not trusting my voice to remain steady. The kindness of the gesture is overwhelming in a way I wasn't prepared for.

"Thank you," I manage. "For bringing them."

"Of course," Sadie says. "And if you need anything, anything at all, the flower shop is on Main Street. I'm usually there most days."

She leaves with a gentle wave, and I'm alone on the porch with a bouquet that smells like hope and a card that makes my chest tight with emotion.

I bury my face in the flowers and breathe deeply, trying to identify the different scents. The roses are obvious, sweet and classic. The eucalyptus is clean and fresh. But there's something else woven through the arrangement, something subtle and sophisticated that makes my omega instincts stir in a way I haven't felt in months.

Black tea and bergamot, with an undertone of worn leather that wraps around me like an invitation I don't understand. It's the kind of scent that makes me want to breathe deeper, to seek out its source.

I pull back from the flowers, startled by my own reaction. That's definitely an alpha scent woven through the arrangement, and it's triggering something primal and inconvenient. My body is responding like there's an alpha nearby, which is impossible since I'm alone on my porch with a bouquet.

But alpha scents can linger on things they've touched, especially flowers. Someone must have handled this arrangement, scented it without meaning to.

Still, I can't deny that it's affecting me. Making me feel calmer and more settled, but also more aware of myself in ways I've been trying to ignore.

I settle back into the porch chair and pull out my sketchbook, but my hand keeps drifting back to the flowers, and my mind keeps circling back to that anonymous note and the way someone I've never met managed to make me feel seen without saying a word.

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