Page 56 of Hot Knot Summer
Levi guides me down a hallway that branches off from the main living area. The walls are lined with framed photographs—mostly landscapes, a few of the three Alphas in firefighting gear, and some of spectacular thunderstorms.
“These are gorgeous,” I comment, pausing to examine a shot of lightning illuminating a mountain range. “Local?”
“Mostly,” he says, stopping beside me. “We picked some of them up at the art market during the Summer Festivals. The photographers around here are incredible, they capture the valley in all seasons.”
He’s standing close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him and smell the intoxicating blend of campfire and lemon that seems to cling tohis skin. He doesn’t touch me, but the way he angles his body makes it clear he could, easily, if he wanted to. The realization sends a shiver down my spine.
“This one’s my favorite,” he begins, nodding to a photo of the watchtower silhouetted against a sunset. “Reminds me how lucky we are to call this place home.”
There’s something about the way he says ‘home’ that makes my chest ache a little. It’s been a long time since anywhere felt like that to me. I moved in with Chad about a year ago, but the apartment never felt like mine. Like I was borrowing someone else’s life, and it never quite fit.
We continue down the hall, passing several closed doors. “Atlas’s room,” he explains, pointing to one, then another, “River’s,” and then a third, “mine”, before reaching the end. He pauses, hand on the doorknob of the final door.
“This is you,” he says, then pushes it open.
I step past him, and the tiny gasp that escapes me is embarrassingly audible in the quiet room.
This isn’t just a guest room. This is... it’s like someone reached into my tired, Omega brain, extracted all my secret comfort fantasies, and manifested them into physical form.
The room is bathed in a warm glow from bedside lamps, the harsh overhead light dimmed to almost nothing. A four-poster bed dominates the center, draped with gauzy fabric that creates a secluded cocoon. The beddinghas a cloud-looking comforter. Plush blankets in jewel tones, throws that look butter-soft, and dear God, are those silk pillowcases? There must be a dozen pillows, all arranged in a way that practically screams dive in to me.
A small bookshelf holds what looks suspiciously like dog-eared romance novels, thrillers, and even a few literary fiction titles. Beside it stands a small table with, my heart actually skips, an arrangement of snacks that can only be described as a shrine to emotional eating. Chocolate in various forms, cheese crackers, trail mix, even a thermos of what smells like herbal tea.
Near the window is a reading nook with an oversized armchair and ottoman. The TV mounted on the wall is positioned perfectly for bed-viewing, with a remote already on the nightstand next to… are those mini chocolate bars?
But it’s the smaller touches that utterly undo me. Slippers by the door. An oversized hoodie hanging from a hook. The subtle scent of lavender and vanilla permeates the air. This isn’t just hospitality. This is an Omega nest. One created with deliberate, thoughtful care by an Alpha who... noticed.
Who saw me.
“You did this for me?” My voice comes out small, vulnerable in a way I hate.
Levi leans against the doorframe, watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle with awareness. “I noticed how you’d started to nest at thefire station last night. Figured you could use the real thing after what you’ve been through.”
I circle the room slowly, touching everything with my fingertips, the soft edge of a blanket, the smooth cover of a book, the cool ceramic of a mug waiting beside the thermos. A lump forms in my throat, hot and tight.
“No one’s ever done anything like this for me,” I admit, the raw honesty hanging in the air between us.
Something fierce and possessive flares across his face. For a split second, he looks like he might cross the room to me, but instead, he simply says, “That’s a damn shame, Emma.”
The way he says my name sends heat spiraling through me.
“I stocked the snacks like it was an emergency shelter,” he adds, nodding toward the table. “Chocolate for immediate crises, salty things for sustained energy, tea for comfort, backup treats in the drawer for when you inevitably demolish the visible supply.”
I laugh despite the emotion still thick in my throat. “Planning for the snackalypse?”
“Always be prepared,” he intones seriously, but his gaze is dancing. “There’s also an electric blanket already set up, controller between the mattress and headboard. And a massage pad under it, instructions in the nightstand drawer.”
I stare at him, genuinely speechless. “You thought of everything.”
“I pay attention.” He says it simply, but there’snothing straightforward about the way he’s looking at me, like I’m a treasure map he’s memorizing.
Heat crawls up my neck, and I feel compelled to clarify. “I’m not, um, going into heat or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
His smile is slow, deliberate, transforming his serious face into something almost predatory. “I’m not worried,” he says, voice dropping lower. “But nesting doesn’t automatically mean heat.”
He tilts his head slightly, and I watch with a mixture of alarm and arousal as his nostrils flare subtly. Is he... scenting me? The thought sends a jolt of electricity straight to places that have no business being electrified right now.
“Unless you are?” he adds.
