Page 18 of Knot That Serious

“You’d have to take it up with Eli,” Jack mused.

Riiight. The roommate and best childhood friend who Jack spoke so highly of… who also was an omega.

This had the potential for a sticky situation, and yet, Beckett leaned further across the table.

“Did she do any of these?” he asked, stroking a finger along the ink. Maybe the cinnamon roll was for her.

“No, no, of course not,” Jack said, frowning down at his arm. “A lot of the baked stuff is because of her, though. We run the bakery together. I might be the admin guy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the artistry. I mean, you saw some of her stuff.”

The glass counter had been filled with baked goods, from brownies and cookies to golden flaky pastries he’d have to read the sign to identify. “Did she go to school for that?”

Beckett was struck with the desire to learn everything about Jack, and by default, his roommate. How had their lives intertwined all this time? And was there room for Beckett in all of it, or was he wasting his time?

“No, no. I mean, I’m sure she studied on her own, but she didn’t pay to go to school or anything. As long as I’ve known her, she’s been into baking and sweets, always watching those baking shows.”

“And admin is your baking?” Beckett asked, doubtful.

“Well, I don’t mind numbers, and there’s nothing quite like the feeling of getting the books right or tallying up what we made for the week. Eli hates that kind of thing, so I enjoy doing it. I went to college for business.”

“So the bakery was in the works for a long time, then?”

Jack hummed. “Yeah, I guess so, actually. I mean, Eli wanted a bakery ever since she was little. When it came time to decide what came after college, I didn’t really have any direction, but she did. So I kind of followed her.” He frowned suddenly.

Their hands were still linked, and Beckett stroked his thumb over Jack’s skin. “Does that bother you? Why the frown?”

“No, no. I just realized I think I meant to figure out what I wanted in the meantime, and I never did. So here I am.”

“I mean, you own a successful business, so that sounds pretty impressive to me,” Beckett told him.

“Yeah,” he said, and then, “Yeah!” with more enthusiasm. “Our little bakery is kicking ass. And I’m happy there. I can’t see myself doing anything else, and I don’t think I’d even want to.”

Beckett squeezed his hand affectionately. “That’s the most important thing,” he said.

The waiter arrived with their food, and the conversation resumed after he’d gone.

“What about you?” Jack asked.

“What about me?” he echoed.

“Are you… you know, happy?”

Beckett cocked his head at the phrasing. He could’ve just asked if he liked his job. That would’ve been an easier answer.

Beckett shrugged, not wanting to bring the mood down. “Like you, I don’t think I could see myself anywhere else. I think I’m right where I need to be.”

“I think you are, too,” Jack said, a pointed glance over his fork of pasta.

Safe, with excellent income and a roof over his head. The weekends were a little lonely, but he filled his time. Heat rushed to his cheeks and he covered it by taking a sip of his water.

Conversation flowed smoothly about Beckett’s interests—collectibles, colorful clothes, awful reality television, and music.

“I even got that one signed,” Beckett gushed, and leaned back in his chair. “I mean, it was part of the preorder package, but still.”

“That’s really awesome! I haven’t seen a record player in… ages,” Jack said.

Beckett covered his chest as if he’d been shot. “I love records. I have so many.”

“You’ll have to show me,” Jack said, brow arched suggestively.

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