Knot in Doubt (Finding Home #1)

Chapter 1

Maisie

“Another slice?” My hand only shakes a little today.

“Please,” Wyatt says, his voice gruff.

He usually comes in with three other alphas who work at the construction site down the road where a new condo is being built. This morning, it’s just him.

I finish topping up his coffee, set the coffeepot down on the counter, and head for the glass cabinet to serve him his second slice of blueberry pie.

I nearly poured hot coffee into his lap on my first day. Not that he seemed to mind one bit. He just smiled and said, “Take your time, darlin’, I’m in no hurry.”

“Maisie, right?” He adds a splash of creamer to his cup.

It says so on the badge attached to my light pink dress, but he always keeps his eyes on mine, not on my chest. I appreciate that. “Yeah.”

“How are you finding Rios?”

I’ve lost count of how many minutes I’ve spent replaying his sexy drawl over and over in my head when I’m back in my apartment. Southern, but not the Texas twang I’ve heard so many times before. His is smooth. A slow caress along my senses.

It’s been a month since I started working at this small-town Iowa diner.

Nico, the Greek American owner, took pity on me when I drifted in, exhausted from too many hours on the road.

Nico’s Diner was supposed to be a quick pit stop before my next hiding place.

Yet here I am, thirty days later, making no move to leave.

“Quiet. Everyone is nice.” I remove his empty plate and place the small dish with the generous slice of blueberry pie in front of him.

Wyatt doesn’t usually sit at the counter like this, but it’s a quiet early fall morning, and he’d smiled when he walked in and said he’d sit at the counter, save me from dashing to whatever table he picked out.

“Well, if you have any trouble, let me know. I’ll straighten it out.”

I believe him. My eyes linger on the strong, tanned hand he wraps around the coffee handle. Everything he picks up seems so small. “Thanks.”

“Wyatt. Wyatt Comeaux.” He flashes me a grin so sexy I nearly polish my hand instead of the counter. “Figured I’ve been rude long enough not telling you my full name. There must be at least twenty construction workers named Wyatt in the country.”

There might be twenty of them, but there’s only one six-three alpha who smells of bourbon and hot iron. And I doubt any of those Wyatts would have the same effect on me as this one does.

Tawny brown eyes, chestnut hair, and long, sooty lashes. He’s almost always in low-slung blue jeans, a gray long-sleeve tee, and steel-toed boots. Even if he didn’t have shoulders like doors, this Wyatt is one of a kind. I like the way he looks almost as much as I love the way he smells.

“Lina already mentioned it,” I say, torn between wishing someone would come into the diner to distract him from all the attention he’s paying me and dreading it at the same time.

Mondays always start slow.

I get here for the morning shift at 6:30 with Nico, who’s in the kitchen finishing his prep for the day.

Lina, his daughter, rolls in at 10 after dropping off her son at school.

We’ll have a slow trickle of Rios locals through the morning as the residents of this small Iowa town crawl out of bed and come searching for strong coffee to kick off a new week.

A dimple forms on his cheek. “Hope she hasn’t been telling you all my flaws.”

“You have flaws?” My cheeks burn at what sounds suspiciously like flirting talk. I take a step back, nervous fingers plucking at my white half-apron. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

His deep, rich chuckle wraps around me. “Sweetheart, no man on the planet is gonna ask for an apology for a compliment from a beautiful woman,” he gently interrupts with another devastating smile.

“Least of all, me. Accuse me of having a big head if you must, but I intend to savor being unflawed until the next time I walk into something.”

“I don’t believe you.”

His long-sleeve gray shirt conceals muscled arms and powerful shoulders. He’s big enough for everyone and everything to move out of his way for fear of him running them over.

Everyone in Oregon said I was clumsy, but my clumsiness didn’t come from tripping over things or walking into doors; it came from marrying the wrong man.

Looking me right in the eye, he says, “I have a tendency to walk into many things when I’m distracted.”

“Distracted by what?”

His lips tilt up in a crooked smile. “How about we leave the answer for another time? I’m not sure now is the time to get into it.” His long, hungry look communicates that I’m the biggest source of his distraction.

I’ve spent the last month trying and almost failing on multiple occasions to avoid pouring coffee in his lap.

At almost no point have I stopped being jumpy and downright awkward around this veritable bear of a man.

I never imagined that while I was doing all those embarrassing things, he was finding me attractive.

Shy and quiet, tongue-tied and awkward with no idea how to even flirt back if that’s what this is, I say nothing.

From his perch on one of the five cherry-red bar stools on the other side of the front counter, he takes a sip from his coffee and sets it down to admit, “My family would be ready with a long list of things I do wrong. I have two older brothers and three older sisters, each with kids of their own now.”

“Sounds like you have a big family.”

“Most families do in the town where I’m from. New Orleans, Louisiana.”

Ah. That’s the accent.

“I’ve heard it has amazing food.” Parades, too, but the thought of thousands of men so close to me is the stuff of nightmares.

He bops his head. “Best food in the world. I try to get home to see family a couple of times a year. The Comeaux Sunday dinners are legendary.”

“You miss it.”

New Orleans and his family. The smile in his eyes comes from his heart. When you see love as clearly as I do, you feel it.

“I do, but I wanted to see a little more of the world before I settled. What about you?”

“I don’t have a big family, just an older sister.” This interesting conversation is suddenly littered with too many traps to avoid. “The rest is the same.”

But my reason for traveling was not the same as his.

One person tried to help me before. Just one. They spent three days in intensive care because of it. Now I know not to involve anyone else in my trouble and to keep my problems to myself. I miss my sister, but Pittsburgh would be the first place Derek looked for me.

“Well, Rios is friendly,” Wyatt says, giving me a probing look.

“I know.” It’s why I’m still here.

Picking up his fork, he decimates his second slice of pie.

Four quick, large bites, and his plate is empty of everything except a smear of dark blue sauce.

“This pie is damn good,” he says, eyeing the cabinet as if he’s thinking of another slice.

“Not sure what Nico did, but lately I’ve been dreaming about these pies.

” He sets the fork on his empty plate and wipes his mouth with a napkin.

Looking down helps me hide my red cheeks.

“I’ll tell him you said that.” Then I blurt out, “Lina said the condo is nearly done,” wincing at my inability to communicate without sounding like a crazy person.

My eyes automatically flick over his left shoulder, settling on the five-story apartment building that I’ve watched taking shape over the last month.

When my eyes return to him, his are on me.

He takes a sip of his coffee. “Most of us go where the work is. Once the condo is done, it’s time to move to the next job.”

“Including you?” I wipe the spotless counter for something to do. Before I helped Nico open up this morning, I gave each counter a quick wipe, even though Lina, Nico’s daughter, who closed up last night, would have done the same, since I always spill sugar when I’m refilling the canisters.

“I have a job waiting for me in Florida.”

My heart gives a little flip. “Florida?”

Stop repeating him. He’s going to think you’re an idiot.

“We’ve got a good team. The company that hired us for this job likes our work and wants us to manage the next one. It’s a big new resort.”

You knew this, Maisie.

Lina and Nico told me once this condo goes up, all the construction workers will move on to the next town, since the company isn’t based in Iowa.

I’ve had a month to get used to their leaving. So why do I feel so strange at the thought of Wyatt no longer stopping in for a coffee and a slice of pie?

Why do I think I’ll miss him?

“That sounds great.” I force a smile to my lips. “A bigger job means better pay, right?”

Means I never get to see you again.

He doesn’t smile back. “Right.”

We’re silently studying each other, a new tension crackling between us, when the door to my left swings open and Nico steps out of the kitchen with a grin. “Hey, Wyatt. How’d you like the pie today?”

As Nico approaches, I wander away, trying to look busy but always keeping Wyatt in view just out of the corner of my eye.

“Damn good,” Wyatt says, straight white teeth glinting with his smile. “New secret ingredient? It went from amazing to addictive.”

I pause my wiping.

Nico, the fifty-year-old, dark-haired and brown-eyed beta, laughs. “I guess you could call it a secret ingredient. Except this one’s a secret I’m happy to share.”

Wyatt cocks his head. “Yeah?”

“Maisie,” Nico says, pointing at me. “I let her loose in my kitchen, and the girl went and out-baked me with barely any effort.”

Wyatt snaps his head toward me. “You made the pie?”

I stop pretending to wipe the counter. “Nico was out sick one morning, and Lina couldn’t leave her son with her husband away for work. My grandma used to make pie. It’s how I learned.”

He shakes his head at me. “And you weren’t gonna tell me you did this baking?”

I shrug. “It’s just pie.”

Wyatt looks at Nico. “That girl can bake. You should have her make all your pies.”

Blushing at Wyatt’s compliment, my muscles stiffen as I tense up, nearly jerking away when Nico pats my shoulder.

Don’t freak out. It’s just your boss. Don’t freak out.

“She already is. Why do you think all the pies have been flying out the door?” Nico asks, giving me another friendly pat on the arm.

It’s taking everything I have not to rip my arm from his and retreat to a safe distance.

Wyatt glances at me. His tawny brown eyes sharpen, and he turns to point at the glass cabinet. “Can I get another slice to go, Nico?” he asks casually.

Nico takes his hand off my shoulder, and I release a quiet sigh of relief when he moves away from me. Wyatt glances at me again. Quick. Assessing. Then relieved.

“Here you go.” Nico slides the pie box toward him as a loud beeping in the kitchen pulls Nico’s attention from Wyatt. Flashing Wyatt an apologetic smile, he tilts his head to the back. “I’d better go deal with that.”

“See you around, Nico.”

I watch Nico go.

“You should mention it to Nico,” Wyatt says quietly.

I turn to look at him, pretending I don’t know what he means. “Mention what?”

“The arm thing. He does it to everyone, but if you tell him you don’t like it, he’ll stop. He’s a good man.”

“I know.” I consider it. “And I’ll tell him if he does it again.”

A bell over the door chimes, and our quiet morning ends with Lucy’s arrival in her nurse’s uniform. She stops in to grab coffee for herself and the doctor before her early start at the clinic down the road.

The town is awake, and I’ll have a steady flow of customers until my shift ends at 3, though I’ll stay for another two hours to make more pies for Nico to fill the glass cabinet tomorrow morning.

Wyatt pushes himself to his feet as Lucy approaches the counter with a friendly smile that I return. “I’d better get to work. Keep the change, darlin’.”

I’m so distracted by his smile I don’t notice the two twenty-dollar bills on the counter until it’s too late to call him back and tell him it’s too much for a $10 order.