Page 7 of Hot Knot Summer
We fall into silence, but it’s somehow less tense than before. I glance down at my notebook in my hand, flipping to a blank page and attempting to channel my emotional turmoil into something useful for my next book. My pen hovers over the paper as inspiration strikes.
Dark-haired Alpha hero. Mysterious summer job. Eyes like midnight over the ocean. Voice like velvet-wrapped steel, smooth but unyielding...
I frown at the page. Too safe. Too bland. My publisher is always pushing me to turn up the heat in my romance novels. Well, fine. Let’s see where this goes.
Alpha businessman meets Omega on a crowded flight. Cramped seating leads to accidental touches. Turbulence throws them together. His scent overwhelms her suppressed instincts. Bathroom small but not impossible. Mile-high Knot Club definitely not going to happen in real life, but makes for excellent fiction...
My cheeks are burning as I scribble frantically, aware that I’m channeling my inconvenient attraction into increasingly explicit scenarios. I shift in my seat, hoping he can’t somehow read my thoughts, or worse,catch a whiff of my changing scent as my imagination runs wild.
I sneak another glance at Atlas, only to find him watching me with that maddeningly knowing look. I slam my notebook closed so fast, I nearly catch my fingers in it. Great. Now, I’m writing airplane smut about the stranger sitting next to me. This trip is already a disaster, and we haven’t even landed yet.
“Working on something interesting?” His voice slides over me like warm honey.
“Just... notes.” I tuck the notebook firmly into the seat pocket in front of me, as if putting physical distance between us and my inappropriate fantasies might somehow neutralize them. “Nothing worth reading.”
“I doubt that.” There’s genuine interest in his tone, not just Alpha flirtation. “I’ve always admired people who can create something from nothing. Just... pull worlds out of thin air.”
I risk looking at him again. He’s watching me with something that feels uncomfortably like respect. Great. Now, I feel guilty about mentally undressing him.
“It’s not as magical as it sounds. Mostly, it’s staring at blank pages and stress-eating snacks.”
He laughs, and the sound vibrates through me, setting off little tremors of pleasure that have no business existing between strangers.
A flight attendant interrupts, leaning over with a trash bag. “Any garbage to collect before landing?”
I fumble with my empty cup and napkins,somehow managing to drop half of them on the floor between us. Atlas and I both reach down at the same time, our heads bumping with a dull thud that sends my already scrambled thoughts into complete disarray.
“Sorry!” I gasp.
His pupils dilate slightly, midnight eyes growing darker as he hands me the fallen napkins, our fingers brushing with deliberate slowness. “No harm done,” he murmurs.
My skin prickled. Every nerve on high alert. I’m drowning in the quiet, aching awareness between us.
“Deep inhales and exhales. It helps with the pressure change.”
But it’s not the altitude making my ears ring or my pulse race. It’s him. His proximity. The subtle notes of his Alpha scent.
The captain’s voice crackles overhead, announcing our descent. I almost jump, my breath catching in my throat. I’ve never been so grateful for an interruption in my life.
As the plane begins its descent, I find myself oddly reluctant for the flight to end. Despite my initial hostility, Atlas’ calm presence has been strangely comforting. He hasn’t tried to hit on me, fix my problems, or mansplain anything. He’s just... been there. A solid, steady presence that somehow makes the jagged edges of my pain a little less sharp.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our final descent into Mistcrest Regional Airfield,” thecaptain announces. “Local time is 2:17 p.m., and the temperature is a pleasant 74 degrees. Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for arrival.”
I gather my scattered belongings, tucking my notebook back into my bag. The notion that I’ll never see Atlas again after we land creates an unexpected pang in my chest. Which is ridiculous. I don’t know this man, and I certainly don’t need another Alpha complication in my life.
“Do you have plans for your stay in Whispering Grove?” Atlas asks as we begin our descent.
“Solitude, wine, and possibly some angry writing,” I reply honestly, and we fall silent.
Finally, the plane touches down with a slight bump, tires screeching against the runway. We’ve arrived, and with that, my brief interlude with a captivating Alpha is coming to an end.
When the seatbelt sign dings off, Atlas stands and retrieves his bag from the overhead compartment. Then, without being asked, he gets mine, too.
“Thanks,” I say, accepting my carry-on.
“You’re welcome.” His eyes meet mine, and for one disorienting moment, I feel like I’m falling into them. “I hope you find what you’re looking for in Whispering Grove.”
Something about the way he says it feels significant, weighted with meaning I can’t quite grasp. Then he’s moving down the aisle, his height making him easy to track as he exits the plane.
