Page 36 of Knot on the Market

I set everything on the floor and open the windows, letting the summer air flow through the space. The room immediately feels different. Alive somehow, waiting for something to happen.

I'm just arranging things temporarily, I tell myself as I spread the cream blanket across the floor in a patch of warm sunbeams. Just seeing how everything looks, making sure nothing was damaged in shipping. It's not like I'm creating a space for any particular purpose.

The pillows look ridiculous piled in the corner, so I spread them out a little. Better distribution, more visually appealing.

The scent-neutral sheets can't be returned if they've been unfolded, so I might as well see if they're actually as soft as advertised. I shake them out and let them settle over the blanket, then smooth out the wrinkles with more care than the task requires.

I step back to assess the results and realize I've created exactly what it looks like I've created.

The natural light streams through the windows, warming the space and making everything glow softly. The cream and blue color palette is soothing without being boring. The pillows are arranged in a way that suggests comfort and relaxation, and the blankets layer together to create texture and depth.

It looks like a nest. It looks like a place someone might retreat to when the world feels overwhelming. It looks exactly like the kind of space an omega might create when she needs to feel safe and contained and surrounded by softness.

"I'm not nesting," I say aloud to the empty room, as if saying it will make it true.

The room doesn't answer, but the way the light catches the fabric suggests otherwise.

I sit down on the edge of the arrangement. Just to test the comfort level, obviously. The blankets provide cushioning against the hardwood floor, and the pillows arrange themselves around me without effort. The blanket wraps around my shoulders like it was designed specifically for this purpose.

My scent immediately begins to warm the space, green apple and white musk mixing with the clean scent of new fabric. It's subtle but unmistakable. The beginning of the scenting process that turns a collection of objects into something personal and claimed.

I should get up. Should put everything back in the boxes and pretend this never happened. Should maintain the careful emotional distance I've been building since I decided to start over.

Instead, I find myself adjusting a pillow and wondering where I should hang the fairy lights.

That's when I see him.

Dean jogs past my house with the kind of easy rhythm that suggests he does this regularly, part of his daily routine. This morning, he's close enough that I can see the focus on his face, the way his breath comes steady and controlled.

Close enough to notice that he's not wearing a shirt.

My brain stops working entirely.

Dean shirtless is a revelation I wasn't prepared for. All that golden skin gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, musclesmoving with the fluid coordination of someone who's naturally athletic. His chest rises and falls with his breathing, and I can see the definition in his abs, the way his shoulders work with each stride.

He's beautiful in a way that bypasses rational thought and goes straight to something much more primal.

That's when he looks up and sees me watching him through the window.

Our eyes meet across the distance, and something electric passes between us. Dean's stride falters slightly, surprise flickering across his face before it transforms into that warm smile that has my heart skip a beat.

He slows to a stop and raises his hand in a wave, his expression brightening with obvious pleasure at seeing me.

I wave back automatically, my heart hammering against my ribs, completely unable to look away from all that exposed skin and the way he's looking at me like seeing me has made his morning better.

That's when my body decides to betray me completely.

Heat blooms beneath my skin like someone struck a match, starting in my chest and spreading outward until I'm flushed and breathless. My scent flares immediately, green apple and white musk turning rich and warm and unmistakably interested, filling the small room with evidence of exactly how affected I am.

The pillow I was holding ends up clutched against my chest like armor that won't protect me from anything.

Dean's grin widens, and he gives me a little salute before resuming his run, disappearing around the corner with that easy athletic grace.

I sit frozen in my accidental nest, clutching a pillow and breathing in my own scent like some kind of hormonal disaster. My heart is still racing, and I can feel the flush across my cheeks and down my neck.

This is exactly what I was afraid of. Not Dean specifically—though Dean shirtless is definitely now filed under "dangerous territory"—but this feeling. The way my body seems to have its own opinions about attractive alphas that my brain hasn't approved yet.

I came here to be independent. To figure out who I am without pack dynamics and alpha politics and the constant navigation of omega expectations. The last thing I need is to start scenting like an interested omega every time someone attractive jogs past my house.

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