Page 11 of Hot Knot Summer
Her mouth quirks in understanding. “Bad day or bad breakup?”
“Both. Plus, I just ran into the friend who was sleeping with my ex behind my back. So, basically, I’ve hit the trifecta of awful.” The words just pour past my lips.
Instead of the awkward sympathy I’m expecting, she grimaces. “Oh, that calls for the Emergency Chocolate Situation.” She turns and selects an enormous slice of triple-layer chocolate cake. “This has ganache between the layers, dark chocolate buttercream, and espresso in the batter. It’s basically therapy in cake form.”
“I’ll take two,” I decide. “One for now and one for later when I have to face my empty rental cabin.”
“Visiting for the festival?” she asks as she boxes the cake slices.
“Not intentionally. I was supposed to be on a romantic getaway, but that plan imploded rather spectacularly.”
She slides the boxes across the counter. “On the house.”
“What? No, I couldn’t?—”
“Cheating exes and backstabbing friends unlock the emergency cake protocol.” She waves away my protest. “I’m Lily, by the way. Co-owner of this sugar palace.”
“Emma,” I reply, touched by the unexpected kindness. “And thank you. Seriously.”
“Don’t mention it. Want that coffee, too?”
“Please, I need it.” I have at least four a day.
She laughs, a bright sound that momentarily lifts my mood. “Coming right up.”
While she prepares my coffee, I settle at a small table in the corner, opening one of the cake boxes. The slice is enormous, easily enough for two people, and looks like something from a food magazine. I take a bite and make an involuntary sound of pleasure that’s probably inappropriate for public spaces.
Lily brings my coffee over. “Good, right?”
“If this is what heartbreak gets me, maybe it’s not so bad,” I admit, taking another bite.
She glances at the clock. “My shift ends in tenminutes. Want company? I’m an excellent listener, and I know all the town gossip if you need a distraction.”
The offer is tempting. Normally, I’d decline—I came here to be alone, after all—but after seeing Megan, I feel shaky and raw. “I’d like that,” I hear myself say.
Lily grins. “Perfect. Let me just hand things over to my sister.”
She returns to the counter, speaking briefly to another woman who shares her curly, darker hair but looks more polished, less flour-dusted. Then she comes back with her own coffee and sits across from me.
“So,” she says, settling in. “Tell me everything.”
Surprisingly, I do. I tell her about Chad, about our year together, about the breakup and discovering the texts. Then, I mention Megan and our confrontation in the grocery store. I even tell her about my book series, which she recognizes with delighted surprise. I can’t believe I just blurted it all out to a complete stranger.
Lily whistles low. “Well, congratulations! You’ve just won the Worst Alpha Boyfriend Olympics. Gold medal for Chad the Cheater, silver for his terrible lack of scent skills.” She raises her coffee cup in a mock toast. “I mean, seriously? ‘Your scent is wrong’? That’s like rejecting someone because their elbow isn’t pointy enough.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “And Megan? With friends like that, who needs enemies? She’s what we call around here asmall-town piranha, smiles while she’s eating you alive.”
I smile, appreciating her words more than she realizes.
“The bakery is beautiful,” I say, suddenly embarrassed by my outburst and desperate to change the subject.
“Thanks. My sister Hannah and I opened it when we lost our mom.” Lily’s expression softens with memory. “She would have loved seeing so many people enjoying her recipes.” She snaps back to her energetic self, pointing her fork at me.
“Listen, I’ve dated enough Alphas to start my own reality show, ‘The Alpha-chelor: Who’ll Knot Be Eliminated?’” She snorts at her own joke. “Trust me, the universe isn’t cursing you; it’s doing you a solid. Better to find out Chad’s a walking red flag factory now than after you’ve picked out matching towels.”
“That’s a good way of looking at it.”
She leans in conspiratorially. “Between us Omegas, I used to be the poster child for terrible Alpha choices. My dating history was so bad my friends started a betting pool on my next disaster.” She winks. “But then I hit the Alpha jackpot… times three.”
“Oh, you’re one of the lucky ones.” I try to keep my tone light, but the words stick a little in my throat. It’s hard not to wonder if that kind of happy ending is something people like me get… or if it’s just the kind of story you hear from someone else’s life.
