Chapter 12
Lia
Dancing in the kitchen is my favorite activity.
The deliveries yesterday went phenomenally, and I started my morning with even more of them. With checks processing to my bank account and bills getting paid on time, I’m starting to feel like I’m finally climbing out of this emergent energy that’s surrounded me for almost a week.
Who cares if a tree limb went through the roof of my apartment? Who cares if my apartment space is half the size I’m used to?
Thanks to my Alphas—
I freeze in my dancing.
My Alphas?
Since when?
“Please, don’t stop on my account.”
I gasp and whip around at the sound of Knox’s voice. “Knox.”
He’s grinning from ear to ear as he leans against the doorway of the kitchen. “Heard the music. Thought I’d come see what we were celebrating.”
He pushes off the doorframe to come inside, but I hold up my hand. “Uh-uh. You’re covered in grease.”
He looks down at his hands, a smirk on his face. “Got the trolley up and running, though.”
I snicker as my head still bobs a bit to the music. “I bet he’s loving that.”
“If I wash my hands,” he says as he wipes at them with a rag from his overalls pocket, “can I keep watching you dance around the kitchen?”
My cheeks flush at his words. “If you’re quiet. I need to concentrate.”
He chuckles. “So, you can concentrate with music blasting, but not with me talking?”
“Absolutely,” I say as I turn and dust the countertop with flour. “Music is different. Music helps me focus. Words pull me into a conversation, and that takes my focus away from what I’m doing.”
The sink kicks on. “Read you loud and clear, Sunshine.”
I pour the pastry dough onto the flour and gently work it just enough to turn it into a disc. I move it back to the oiled bowl so that it can rest before I work with it again. I check on the cookies cooling on the countertop, holding my hand over them to test their warmth. Not quite set yet.
The music pumps through me, bobbing my head and moving my shoulders as I bebop from task to task. I almost forget Knox is in the kitchen with me.
Almost, anyway.
“Does Pickles ever get to taste your creations?”
I whip my attention over to him and see him scratching Pickles behind the ear. It makes me smile. “When it’s safe. This one won’t be safe, though.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s got chocolate in it. Dogs can’t have chocolate.”
“Ah. Well, good thing I can.”
I giggle softly. “Is that your way of saying you want a taste?”
“Of course, Sunshine. It smells amazing in here.”
I hear Pickles’ tail thumping softly against the kitchen floor as the oven dings.
The first round of orange and chocolate pastries are ready to be taken out.
I slip on my oven mitts and walk over, opening the hot oven door and allowing the air to pour over me.
I reach in and remove the pan, and already I can see one that has overflowed.
“I’ve got the perfect one for you to try,” I say as I set the tray on top of the stove.
Pickles moves when Knox moves. The two of them come over to me while I use one of the spatulas to remove the overfilled pastry. I slip it onto a paper towel and hand it to Knox, the pastry dough steaming with heat. Pickles licks his lips, but I just give my German shepherd a look.
“You can’t have chocolate, buddy,” I say as I remove my hand from the oven mitt and pet down his back. “Sorry, big guy.”
His ears sink against his head as he growls under his breath.
“I’ll make you a special treat later,” I whisper to him while Knox chomps into the pastry. “Go lay down. Lay down, Pickles.”
My dog grumbles again before turning and making his way back to the little corner he’s claimed for himself.
Such a pouter.
“Oh. My. God,” Knox groans. “This is better than those pastries I used to fish out of the dumpster on Friday nights.”
I pause at his words. “What?”
“Mm, mm, mm. You got another one you want to give away over there?”
When he doesn’t answer me, I stand and toss the oven mitts onto the countertop behind me. “What did you say, Knox?”
“Ugh, so good,” he says as he devours the last of the pastry and licks his fingers.
I watch his tongue for a moment before my attention pulls to his face. “Did you say, ‘fish out of a dumpster’?”
He pauses before waving his hand dismissively through the air. “Bah, just when I was a kid. Dumpster diving on Fridays was the best. I could always find food for me and the other kids on Friday nights.”
Each word that comes from him is more horrifying than the next. “I’m not following. Why were you sifting through dumpsters?”
He chuckles as he leans against the countertop, folding his arms across his broad chest. “I forget you’re not technically from around here. Most everyone in town knows my story. I grew up in the foster care system out in Stone Creek City.”
I was just in Stone Creek City last night. “But I don’t understand why you’d be—”
His smile is effortless, like we aren’t talking about him living on the streets as a kid.
“When you’re a problematic child like me in the foster care system, they don’t really care what happens to you.
I was breaking curfew in my foster house and running the streets with others in the system long before I aged out at eighteen. ”
It’s hard for me to catch my breath while he speaks. Knox grew up homeless?
“Anyway,” he says as he peers around me, looking at the M&M cookies that are still cooling on the tray, “it’s not that big of a deal. Happens more often than you think, especially to boys. Honeysuckle Grove opened its arms to me, and I’ve called this place home ever since.”
The question is out of my mouth before I can catch it. “How did you end up in the foster care system?”
“Parents gave me up.”
He says it so plainly. “I’m so sorry, Knox.”
He tosses me a wink. “Nothing to be sorry for, Sunshine. I found my way in life and I’m happy with where I’ve ended up.”
He holds my gaze for a while, and there’s something that simmers beneath his words. It catches my breath in my throat, and for a split second, his lips against mine flashes through my mind. I swallow thickly as the music bumping in the kitchen pulls me out of the recesses of my thoughts.
I’m thankful when he speaks. “Oven treating you okay?”
I look toward the oven he fixed before I pivot to the cookies on the countertop. “Oh, absolutely. Here, try one of these. I pulled those out of the oven you fixed about half an hour ago.”
He takes one of the cookies and practically inhales it.
“Good God, Sunshine,” he says with a mouthful as he chews. “You ever thought about opening your own bakery?”
I smile brightly as I turn and slide the spatula beneath the rest of the cookies to lift them from the pan. “That’s the dream, one of these days. Just have to build up enough money first. That’s the hard part.”
I leave out the part where the city where I want to establish myself is an hour and a half away.
I’m not sure why I leave that out, but I do.
“How much you still need to raise for it?”
“All of it.”
I feel him studying the profile of my face as he leans against the countertop. “You haven’t set any of your money aside yet?”
I shrug as another timer goes off. I head to the stove and lift the lid, the smell of warmed cherries wafting toward my face. I grab the slotted spoon and start stirring, lifting it to see how the juice drips off the steel.
“Not quite thick enough,” I murmur as I blow on the juice before tasting it. “Needs more sugar.”
“Where is it? I’ll get it for you,” Knox says.
I point in the general direction of the sugar, and soon enough, I’ve got it at my side.
One more cup of sugar goes into the cherry compote I’m making on the stove, and I stir it constantly while the sugar’s dissolving.
The smell is divine, and I lean over the steam to inhale it again.
I hold the spoon up, watch it drip from the end, and then blow on it before trying it again.
“Nope, one more cup,” I say.
Knox chuckles. “Bitter cherries?”
“You know,” I say as I measure out the sugar again, “cherries are hit or miss. It really depends on the batch. Some don’t need as much sugar, but some batches get a little too much sunlight.
Or they’re on the back of a truck a little too long.
Finicky things like that can really make or break fruit in the kitchen. ”
“Could I try one?”
I giggle as I dip up a cherry with its juice into a little ramekin cup. “Sure, you can let me know if I’ve sweetened them too much. They’re going into a pie.”
I hand him the ramekin and he reaches for it, his fingers brushing against mine. The contact is accidental, but the heat that blooms low in my belly from the feel of his skin against mine is anything but. It’s sharp, and immediate.
I’m suddenly all too aware of his scent. Petrichor and mocha, like having hot chocolate after a cool spring rain. It wraps around me like a vise, and I can already feel the sweat beneath my breasts soaking into the underwire of my bra.
“Mmmm,” Knox hums. He brings the ramekin to his face and licks at the juice on the bottom. My cheeks burn with the image of his head between my thighs, licking at me with that tongue of his. “This is… really good, Sunshine.”
I’m shocked I can school my voice. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says as he sets the ramekin down. “Dangerously good. If you mess up that pie, let me know. I’ll take it with me.”
My head falls back with a bark of laughter. “Not happening, but on the off-chance it does, I’ll let you know.”
“Good.”
Pickles chooses that moment to come sit beside Knox again, leaning his weight into the man’s leg. I look down at my dog, noticing the way he seems to almost relax in Knox’s presence. Like he’s meant to be there.
“Hey, boy,” I say as I reach out and scratch behind Pickles’ ear.
Knox reaches down and pats the side of his face. “Got anything else you need quality-controlled?”
I turn my attention back to all of the baked goods I’m volleying at once. “Not right now, but I know who to call if I do.”
I expect him to leave. To get back to work on something else at the vineyard. I’m sure Walker could find other things for him to do. Instead, he asks me a question, and his question makes me pause.
“You doing okay today?”
I pause for a little longer than I’d like. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just focused.”
“You sure? You take your tea and vitamins this morning?”
That makes me freeze.
Right. He knows.
They all do.
“I did, yes,” I say as I test the firmness of the cookies again. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I’m used to pushing through this part of my heat cycle. I plan my entire schedule around it. Comes with the territory when you’re freelance.”
Knox makes a sound low in his throat. Not quite a growl, not quite a sigh. “If you need rest, you should be able to rest. You don’t have anyone that can step in and help you?”
I risk a glance at him. He’s closer now. Close enough that I can smell him properly. He smells clean. Warm. Threaded with something steady that makes my Omega side want to lean toward him whether I want it to or not.
“My work depends on it,” I say quietly. “If I slow down, things fall apart. And I haven’t gotten to a point where I’m profitable enough to start saving money back for my own bakery. So, I have to keep chugging.”
“Or,” he says gently as he reaches for my wrist, stopping me from moving for a second, “you could let people help. People who want to help you out.”
The space between us feels suddenly charged and heady. Like one wrong move could tip everything out of balance.
“I can help,” he adds, softer. “With anything. Lifting. Cleaning. Taste-testing. Deliveries. Negotiating contracts. Whatever you need.”
A smile tugs at my mouth despite my nerves. His hand is still wrapped around my wrist. Warm, with calluses that feel good against my skin.
I bet those calluses would feel good in other places, too.
“Taste-testing seems risky.”
I swear, his smile could knock a statue off its base. “I’m brave.”
For a moment, we simply stand there. Much too close to be safe.
The music beats in the background. The cherries on the stovetop simmer.
The oven ticks and whirrs as it adjusts temperature, readying itself for my next pan of creations.
I feel Pickles watching us both from Knox’s side, like he’s waiting for something to happen.
Knox’s face moves closer.
My head tilts upward, and I feel his breath upon my lips.
His hand draws my wrist closer to him, pulling me against his body.
“Knox,” I whisper softly.
“My Sunshine,” he murmurs as his head dips down.
BZZZZZZ!
The timer on my phone goes off and I gasp. “The cinnamon rolls.”
I tear away from Knox’s presence, but the heat of his grip around my wrist lingers. I slip the oven mitts onto my hands and quickly rush over to the second oven. I flip down the door before reaching in for the pan, and when I pull them out, I smile.
“Oh, they’re perfect,” I say as I nudge the oven door closed with my hip.
Knox rubs his hand along the back of his neck. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
I study him for a moment. “Thank you for coming to check on me.”
His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. I find I don’t like that. “Anytime, Sunshine. And remember: I’m only a text or a phone call away if you ever need help.”
I’m not able to get another word out before he disappears through the exit. The steaming pan of cinnamon rolls sits in my mitted hands, and I feel empty.
As I stand there in the warmth of the kitchen, surrounded by his scent of forest rain that seems to overpower everything else I’ve got going, I find myself wanting something I’m not sure I’m ready to want.
Despite the rough childhood Knox seems to have had, he’s turned into such a ball of genuine happiness. Always smiling. Always offering help, like kindness is his natural state.
I’d be lucky to have an Alpha like him.
My instincts already miss him, which is jarring and curious at the same time.
It makes a whimper bubble up my throat that I can’t help but to let loose.