Page 86 of Knot in Bloom
I’ve been up since four, but instead of coordinating installations like yesterday, I’m standing in Sadie’s shop watching her obsess over last-minute details that probably don’t need obsessing over.
“The welcome arch needs more white roses,” she mutters, examining a bucket of blooms that arrived with this morning’s delivery. “I specifically asked for extra white roses because they photograph better in morning light, and there are only enough here for half of what I planned.”
Reid and Levi arrived twenty minutes ago with coffee and concerned expressions. All three of us can smell that her condition has deteriorated significantly overnight. Her scent carries those unmistakable pre-heat notes now—honeysuckle turning richer, vanilla warming with desperate undertones that make every alpha instinct I have snap to attention.
“The arch looked perfect yesterday,” Levi says gently, though his voice carries strain from fighting his body’s response to her scent. “Everyone who saw it was amazed.”
“But the photographers will be here in two hours,” she insists, hands trembling slightly as she sorts through stems. “The tourism board specifically mentioned wanting shots of the welcome display, and if the white roses aren’t fresh enough, if they don’t have that perfect just-opened look?—”
“Sadie.” I move closer, close enough to steady her if she sways again like she did ten minutes ago. “The installation is beautiful. You’re not thinking clearly right now.”
Her pupils are dilated, her skin flushed, and she keeps shifting like she can’t get comfortable. Every movement sends fresh waves of her scent through the small space, making all three of us struggle to maintain composure.
“I’m thinking perfectly clearly,” she snaps, then immediately looks stricken. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just need everything to be perfect.”
“It is perfect,” Reid assures her, though his bergamot scent has taken on that edge that signals barely restrained control. “Everything you’ve worked for is already in place. The hard work is done.”
But she’s not listening, too focused on arranging and rearranging the fresh blooms with obsessive precision. Her biology is hijacking her rational mind, turning normal perfectionism into something frantic and scattered.
“The vendor booths need final touches too,” she continues, checking her list for the fifth time. “And I want to add some of these morning-fresh dahlias to the main street displays. People will be taking photos all day, and yesterday’s flowers might look tired in the afternoon light.”
I exchange glances with Reid and Levi. She’s creating busywork to avoid dealing with what’s happening to her body but fighting it is only making her condition worse.
“We’ll help,” I say simply. “Whatever you need.”
The morning passes with us trailing behind her as she makes tiny adjustments to displays that were already perfect. Adding fresh blooms here, adjusting a ribbon there, repositioning centerpieces that didn’t need repositioning. But it’s not really about the flowers anymore—it’s about having something to control when her biology is spiraling beyond her management.
By eight o’clock, when the festival officially opens and families start arriving, her condition is obvious to anyone with functioning senses. Other alphas give her more space, recognizing someone else’s developing claim. The mated packs in town nod knowingly when they see us flanking her protectively.
“Beautiful work,” Tessa says during her morning rounds, clipboard in hand and looking slightly frazzled from managing the tourism board all day. “How’s our star florist holding up?”
I glance toward Sadie, currently obsessing over a vendor booth centerpiece that’s been perfect for twelve hours, and choose honesty.
“She’s been pushing herself hard all week. Might need to wrap up early tonight.”
Tessa follows my gaze and understanding floods her expression. “Oh.Oh.Poor thing.” She glances around to make sure no one’s listening, then lowers her voice. “The important people have seen everything they need to see anyway. State tourism confirmed campaign inclusion, the magazine got their shots, and every vendor is booked solid through the holidays.” She touches my arm with gentle understanding. “Take care of her, Caleb. She’s done more than enough.”
But my attention stays divided between festival management and watching her condition deteriorate. Every time I check on her, she looks more flushed, more desperate, more like an omega fighting the inevitable onset of heat.
Around noon, while securing the welcome arch, I notice a group of visiting alphas clustered near the vendor booths. Tourists from Billings, judging by their license plates. They’re not doing anything obviously threatening, but they keep glancing toward Sadie with expressions that make my blood run cold.
They can smell her condition.
I abandon the arch work and cross the festival grounds with purposeful strides. Reid and Levi converge from different directions—we’ve developed this seamless coordination, reading each other’s intentions without needing words.
“Gentlemen,” I address the visitors with the firm politeness I’ve learned works best in these situations. “Enjoying the festival?”
“Oh, absolutely,” one responds, though his gaze keeps drifting toward Sadie. “Beautiful town. Beautiful... attractions.”
The way he says it makes my vision narrow.
“Our florist has created something really special,” Reid adds smoothly, moving to block their sight line to Sadie. “She’s been working with our pack all week to coordinate these installations.”
The emphasis on ‘our pack’ and ‘our florist’ is subtle but unmistakable. Pack language. Territorial markers that any alpha will recognize and respect.
“Lucky guys,” the tourist says, but he’s already backing down, reading the situation correctly. “Well, we should get going. Long drive back to Billings.”
They leave. I watch until their car disappears down Main Street before allowing my shoulders to relax.
