Page 54 of Knot Baked Out For This
"I'm not on the market. Markets imply commerce. Exchange of goods. I'm not goods."
"No," he agrees quietly. "You're not."
The weight in his voice makes me look up. He's closer than I expected, leaning against my prep counter, those amber eyes serious in a way that makes my chest tight.
"Would you actually give us a chance?" he asks. "If we asked?"
Us. Plural. All three of them.
I look around, confirming Reverie hasn't snuck back in to eavesdrop, then face him properly. The afternoon light streaming through the windows turns his dark hair auburn at the edges, catches the gold flecks in his eyes.
"I see it," I admit quietly. "The genuine interest. The... care. But?—"
"But?"
"You were Korrin's best friend." The words taste bitter. "His pack, his people. How can I—my heart might not be ready for pack dynamics. For diving into whatever this is that's brewing."
He nods slowly, understanding in his eyes. "We're not a pack."
"You move like one."
"We move like friends who've known each other too long. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes." He straightens, and I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "A pack means hierarchy. Alpha dominance. Omega submission. We don't want that."
"What do you want?"
"To know you. The real you, not the version you show the town. Not the performer who smiles through exhaustion. You."
Dangerous. This is dangerous territory.
"Can we get to know you first?" he asks. "Before calling anything official? Before the town starts planning weddings and Dottie writes more fanfiction?"
"Dottie doesn't write?—"
"Her granddaughter transcribes. Same thing."
I can't help but laugh. "We're past the age of courting, Rowan. This isn't the 1800s."
"True." He moves closer, and his cedar smoke scent wraps around me like a warm blanket. "But it doesn't hurt to court a woman you desperately wish to make yours."
Desperately. Yours.
The words hit like physical things, embedding themselves under my ribs where my heart is doing its best to escape through my chest cavity.
"That's... that's a lot," I manage.
"Too much?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Probably."
He studies me for a moment, then nods.
"Then we'll go slow. Glacial if necessary."
"Glacial might be too fast."
