Page 86 of Knotted By my Pack
A throat clears behind us. Loud. We both turn and find Mrs. Harwood standing on the sidewalk with a tote bag slung over one shoulder and her orange tabby poking its head out.
“Well,” she says, adjusting her glasses. “Is this when you’re opening the bakery, or do I need to go find a bear to feed?”
“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly. “I’ll have scones ready by eight thirty, promise.”
She grumbles something about her cat being a demanding little gremlin and keeps walking, muttering under her breath about youth and sex and burned oatmeal.
I open the door, and Noah follows me inside, the bell above it jingling like it always does.
“It’s only a matter of time before the whole town knows you were kissing him out front,” Noah says, setting his coffee on the counter.
I look over my shoulder at him.
“Do you mind?” he asks, quieter this time.
“Mind?”
“That talk will be around town about him…and me…and that you carry our scents on you?”
“Noah…”
“I know how you feel about the whole Alpha thing.”
There’s something in his voice that makes me pause. A flicker of doubt buried beneath his usual confidence.
I cross to him slowly, wrap my hands around the collar of his flannel, and pull him down to meet me. I press my lips to his in a kiss that answers his question before I say a word.
He kisses me back, taking his time to feel every second of it. When I pull away, his eyes are darker, mouth parted slightly like he’s still chasing the moment.
“No,” I say softly. “I don’t mind, Noah.”
He grins then, something soft and pleased curling at the edges of it. “Good. Because that man looked like he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. And neither am I.”
“I’m okay with that.”
I smile as I turn from him, heading behind the counter. The lights flicker on with a soft hum. I grab the trays, start arranging the morning pastries.
My fingers work from habit, but my chest is still humming.
And under it all, something bright and a little dangerous begins to stir. Something that tastes a lot like joy.
25
JULIAN
It’s been a week. Seven long days since I sent her home, and every goddamn hour since, she’s been making sure I notice just how fine she is without me.
I’ve seen her. Laughing with Noah outside the bakery, sliding into Elias’s truck like she belongs there.
Sometimes she wears her hair in this lazy knot at the top of her head, those smooth thighs bare beneath her dress, her apron slung low on her hips. Always moving like she doesn’t give a damn who’s watching.
But she knows I am. She’s doing this on purpose.
Rubbing it in.
I’ve kept my distance. I haven’t stepped foot inside Whisked since that night. It’s better this way. Cleaner. Let her have her games. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.
Like this goddamn hotel project that refuses to move.
