Page 89 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
My fingers brush along the edge of a hall table as I move through the space, nerves fluttering like they do on a first date. Voices drift from the kitchen, low and teasing, and then?—
Walker rounds the corner, and my breath catches as it had earlier today. He’s wearing a forest-green T-shirt that hugs his shoulders, sleeves rolled just enough to expose strong forearms. His hair is slightly tousled like he ran his hand through it in frustration, or maybe nerves, and there’s flour smudged along the side of his neck.
“Evenin’, darlin’. Been waitin’ on you.” Then he ducks back into the kitchen.
Behind him, Ridge leans against the far wall in a dark navy shirt, auburn hair pulled off his gorgeous face. His posture is relaxed, arms folded, but the way his gaze tracks me tightens my stomach. He doesn’t just look at me. Heseesme.
“You all look…” My voice fails for a second as heat climbs my throat.Edible. Dangerous. Like a buffet I want to sample one at a time.I swallow and recover, barely. “Really nice.”
“And you’re beautiful,” Ridge says simply.
Not flirtatious. Not coy. Justreal.And that undoes me more than anything clever ever could. His voice wraps around me like velvet, rough at the edges, and I have to look away or I’ll combust.
The dining room is just off the open living space, cozy but elegant. The table is set like they’re expecting company, not just me. Real plates, actual napkins folded into triangles, and wildflowers spilling out of a mason jar in the center like someone careda little too much.That someone being them.
It’s sweet. And so alarmingly domestic that something aches deep in my chest. I can’t remember the last time someone made dinner for me just because they wanted to. Not out of obligation. Not for optics. Just… to see me smile.
“Walker’s cooking,” Cash explains, appearing at my side with a glass of lemonade I didn’t even ask for. “Ridge handled the music. I’m here for my sparkling personality.”
“And modesty,” I murmur, lips curving despite myself.
He flashes me that cocky grin, all dimples and hotness, and my thighs clench.God help me, I’m in trouble.
Country music drifts through the space, somethingeasy and warm that fills the air. I wander, letting myself absorb the scent of garlic and rosemary, the flicker of candles on a side table, the sound of Walker humming low under his breath in the kitchen. It’stoo much.Too good. Too tempting.
That’s when I spot a photo on the mantel.
My smile fades.
It’s Rose, seated on the porch of the guesthouse, her grin wide. And beside her, a much younger Nolan. My first Alpha has his arm around her shoulders, chin tilted just right to show off his best angles. Even in still life, he manages to suck all the air from the room.
My stomach knots. The sight of him, that easy smile and confident stare, pulls me straight into a memory I didn’t ask for.
“Jesus, Sophia, do you have to be so emotional about everything?”
“No, you can’t take that job. What would people think?”
“I’ve already decided. Discussion over.”
“You’re lucky I put up with you.”
A wave of cold washes through me. I wrap my arms around my stomach without thinking, trying to breathe past the tightness.
Ridge appears at my side. “Rose was an incredible woman. Kind, generous. Treated everyone like family.”
I nod, throat thick. “Shame her grandson was a walking dumpster fire,”I manage.
Ridge huffs out a dry laugh. “That’s insulting to dumpster fires. At least they provide warmth.”
“And light,” I add, grateful for the distraction.
“Occasionally cook food.”
“Serve a purpose in society.”
“Unlike the Alpha who never deserved that title,” he finishes.
Our eyes meet, and something warm sparks between us. But it’s his grin that really gets me. It softens all his edges and has me forgetting that when I was with Nolan, I didn’t think I’d ever feel safe laughing.
