Page 10 of Knot on the Market

"See this spring here? It's what makes the latch retract when you turn the handle. And this piece connects to the mechanism on the other side of the door." He glances up at me. "Your hair tie was actually holding the most important connection. Without proper tools, it was pretty ingenious."

"You're just being nice."

"I'm being honest. There's a difference." He stands up, brushing dust off his hands. "Mitchell knows how to fix things, but he's never had to figure out how to fix them with whatever's lying around. That takes a different kind of problem-solving."

I watch him work, noting the way he moves with quiet confidence and how his hands handle the delicate door mechanism with surprising gentleness. He automatically explains what he's doing without making it sound like a lecture, and there's something deeply attractive about competence in action.

But more than that, there's something attractive about someone who wants to teach instead of just taking over.

"Dean," I say as he's organizing the door hardware. "Thank you. For yesterday, for today, for not making me feel like a complete disaster."

He looks up from the scattered pieces and gives me that beautiful smile. "That's what neighbors do, Lila. We take care of each other."

After Dean gets the door mechanism temporarily secured and promises to come back tomorrow with proper tools to show me how to fix it permanently, he gathers up his equipment and heads for the door.

"You should go to the diner for dinner," he says, pausing in the doorway. "Good food, and Millie's great company. If you wanted to... I mean, if you're going anyway..."

"Oh," I say, my heart doing a little skip as something warm and entirely inappropriate unfurls in my chest. "Oh. Like... together?"

Dean's cheeks turn slightly pink, and the sight of this confident, capable alpha getting flustered over asking me to dinner does things to my composure that I'm not prepared to examine. "I mean, not like a date or anything. Unless you… I mean… I'm actually having dinner with my aunt tonight, so I won't even be there. You should just go. To the diner. For food. Because you need dinner and they have good food."

He's adorable when he's flustered, but there's something in his eyes that's not adorable at all, something that makes me very aware that we're standing close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes and smell the clean, warm scent of his skin.

"Dean," I say gently, fighting the urge to step closer instead of maintaining proper distance, "are you okay?"

"Yep! All good!" he says too quickly, backing toward the porch like I'm dangerous. Which, given the way my body isresponding to his proximity, might not be entirely wrong. "Just go to the diner. Millie will take care of you."

"I could drive you back to the station," I offer.

"Nah, I like to walk! Good for fitness. Gotta stay in shape for the job, you know? Plus it's nice out and I like walking and—" He's already halfway down the front steps, talking faster with each word. "Okay, bye! Enjoy the diner! Tell Millie I said hi!"

I watch him practically speed-walk down the street, his ears still pink, and can't help but smile despite everything.

Something flutters in my chest, not the desperate, grasping feeling I used to get with Dustin when I was never sure where I stood, but something lighter. Warmer. More dangerous.

Dean's interest is written all over his face, sweet and genuine and completely without pretense. When was the last time someone was flustered by me instead of calculating what I could do for them? When was the last time an alpha looked at me like I was someone worth getting tongue-tied over instead of a convenient omega to enhance their pack's social status?

The thought should be comforting, but instead it sends a spike of panic through me. I came here to be alone. To figure out who I am without a pack, without alphas, without the constant negotiation of pack dynamics and designation politics.

But Dean doesn't feel like negotiation. He feels like...possibility.

After he disappears around the corner, I realize I still need dinner. I clean up the worst of the mess and change into jeans and a sweater before walking into town as the evening light turns everything golden.

The diner Dean mentioned has a cheerful red neon sign reading "Millie's" and windows that glow warmly. A bell chimes when I enter, and conversations pause just long enough for me to feel recognized, but it's friendly curiosity, not the predatory attention I'm used to in LA.

"Sit anywhere you like, honey," calls a woman with silver hair and a name tag that reads "Millie."

I choose a booth by the window. The menu offers the kind of comfort food that makes me miss home.

"What can I get you?" Millie asks, appearing with a coffee pot and a warm smile.

"The chicken pot pie sounds amazing," I say. "And coffee, please."

"Good choice. That's my grandmother's recipe." She fills my cup with coffee stronger than what I made this morning. "How are you settling in at the Anderson place?"

"It's... an adventure," I admit. "I burned dinner tonight, so here I am."

Millie laughs. "That old oven's got a mind of its own. Takes some getting used to. Don't feel bad, half the town burned their first meal in houses that old."

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