Page 2 of Knot That Serious

She tapped him on the shoulder as she passed, lifting the half counter and slipping through to the other side.

It felt like an ocean instead of a few feet.

“I cleaned the apartment!” he shouted after her.

Eli paused with her hand on the door, shoulders slumping. “Thanks, Jack.”

And before he could take in the messy pink bun falling from the claw clip, before he could appreciate that she was wearing one of his old, stained shirts and her favorite comfy pants, before he could part his lips to call out after her, to fix this whole mess, she was gone.

She pushed through the door, bell tinkling to announce the omega’s departure without so much as a glance back.

Jack huffed, tilting his head to the ceiling and letting out a long groan that began with F and ended with uck.

He slammed the drawer shut and hung his head. Eli had every right to be upset with him. He’d just have to set a few more alarms, make sure he got out of bed on time and fucking showed up to the business they’d both spent the last several years of their life keeping afloat.

The morning dragged on, and Jack dutifully waited on customers, recommending his favorites, and at one point he even tricked a dad into getting a decorated cookie for the little boy at his side. He saw them off with a wink.

He made the next two weeks’ schedules for their few other employees. Double-checked that bills were scheduled to be paid. Packaged the incoming online orders and prepared them for pick-up. And watched the clock tick by in torture. Surely Eli was asleep by now. Probably had a hot, steamy shower and made her favorite snack and went to bed. She’d be chipper as ever when he got home.

But what if she was still mad?

Jack hated not fixing things right away. Hated that she might be at home stewing over all his little fuck-ups and maybe deciding they were big fuck-ups and then deciding she was better off without her stupidly dependent roommate best friend.

His gaze trailed to the brownies. Maybe that would make him feel better. A sugar rush.

No. This was his punishment. No brownies. No sweets for the stupid alpha who kept letting his best friend down.

But there were no fucking customers, either. Jesus, where was everyone?

The bell dinged as if summoned, and Jack parted his lips, the welcome slogan falling out of his mouth before he even glanced up. “Hello, welcome to Heat Treats—oh! It’s Hot Suit Guy!”

Hot Suit Guy arched a brow, cleared his throat, and gazed around the bakery as he made his way to the counter. Jack pretended he’d meant to let his little nickname for the guy slip and grinned. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Suit Guy hummed, color flushing his otherwise pale cheeks. “Well, not to sound like a creep, but I just happened to see which building you ran into. Is that too forward?” he asked.

“No more forward than me calling you Hot Suit Guy,” Jack returned, leaning on the counter.

“I do have a name, though I’m growing partial to that one.”

Oh, this guy was fun. “I’m Jack.”

“Ah.” Suit Guy grinned, and it felt private, just for the two of them. “See, I was thinking Hot Late Guy.”

“Close,” Jack mused.

“I’m Beckett,” he announced, sticking a hand between them.

Beckett was hot—as established—and blond, hair pushed back into place, his blue eyes earnest and pretty. His suit was still as vibrant green and pressed as it had been hours ago, though half the day had come and gone.

They couldn’t be more opposite. Jack was wearing black jeans to go with his black shirt that just so happened to have the bakery logo in the corner. His own dark hair could probably go for a wash, and his wrist was missing a fancy, shiny watch gleaming beneath the low lights. Instead he had a leather wrap bracelet that he’d forgotten to take off before bed.

“Nice to meet you, officially,” Jack said, and eventually remembered to give him his hand back, after Beckett’s gaze dropped once to where they were touching.

“You know, I’ve seen this place on my morning commute several times, but never stopped in. Are you…”

“An owner? Yeah. My roomie and I run the place. She bakes, I sell.” They had other employees, of course, but they weren’t there right then, were they?

“Oh, really? What would you recommend?” Beckett asked, lifting a single brow, almost in challenge.

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