Knotting with the Exes

Chapter 1

SAVANNAH

The Riverside Pack's reception is going perfectly, which is what people pay me the big bucks for.

Guests are mingling, the band is playing at exactly the right volume, and the bride is glowing instead of having a nervous breakdown in the bathroom.

All good signs for a wedding planner who's built her reputation on making everything look effortless.

That's when I noticed him.

Rick of the Stonepeak Pack picks up his champagne flute and runs his tongue around the entire rim before taking a slow, calculated sip, his gaze scanning the reception for something specific.

Look away, Savannah. You're the wedding planner. You're an unmated omega whose romantic life is basically a masterclass in "how to get your heart broken in creative ways." You have a job to do and a reputation to maintain.

But then my vision betrays me, becoming magnets drawn to exactly what he's doing to that poor, innocent champagne flute.

The way his tongue moves with deliberate precision, the way his lips curve around the glass like he's making love to glassware.

I should look away, but apparently my brain has decided to take a coffee break and leave my eyeballs in charge.

It's like watching a car accident in slow motion, except I'm about to become the car accident.

He notices me staring. Of course he does. His eyes lock onto mine across the reception hall, and he slowly lowers the flute from his lips with the kind of theatrical timing that suggests he's done this before. Then he mouths "your turn" in my direction with enough smug confidence to choke a horse.

"Shit!" I scream out, jerking backward so fast I nearly bump into the table holding three tiers of lemon buttercream that are about to redecorate my black dress in the most expensive way possible.

"Whoa there." Strong hands steady the wobbling cake stand while another arm catches me around the waist, preventing both a fashion disaster and what would have been the most mortifying moment of my professional career. "Easy, sweetheart. That cake's probably worth more than my truck."

"Thank you," I gasp. "It would have been a disaster of epic proportions."

"No problem," he says with a slight smile. "You looked like you'd seen a ghost."

More like I'd seen an alpha with a champagne flute and a complete lack of shame, but I'm not about to admit that to a stranger. Especially an alpha. "Just wedding planner nerves. I'm always expecting something to go wrong."

He nods and walks away as if he's bored with the small talk or just me.

This is exactly why I left Pine Hollow eight years ago.

I knew back then in my small town that there was a bigger world out there, and more alphas.

But then after a couple of years, I decided it was just best to concentrate on my career and forget about finding a pack.

Yeah, I'm doing just fine. At first I tried to be a dancer. Broke my toe, my leg, and somehow my finger just during auditions.

I tried singing. Got told my voice wasn't even good enough for drunk karaoke.

Acting? I thought obsessing over Angelina Jolie was enough. Spoiler: it's not.

Chocolatier? I love chocolate, so I figured I'd make and eat it. Sweet plan, bitter ending.

Finally someone suggested event planning. I like organizing things, and I needed a win. It stuck.

Given my love life, I figured planning weddings was safer than having one. Because if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a bride.

Honestly, I make “dumped omega” sound like a career path.

And here I am at the tenth wedding I’ve planned this year, watching as the pack has their first dance. My business is finally thriving. I’ve got one full-time assistant, a growing list of clients, and things are looking brighter every day.

The opening beats of "Shut Up and Dance" by Walk the Moon fill the reception hall, and I can’t help but smile despite the knot in my chest.

The Riverside Pack moves like they've been choreographing this moment their entire lives. Then again, they didn't care about anything else in relation to this wedding, only this dance, so I was thinking it better be good.

Not bad.

Sarah, the bride, is radiant in her flowing cream dress as she spins between her six alphas with effortless grace.

And by radiant, I mean she's practically glowing like she swallowed a disco ball.

The woman is five-foot-nothing in heels, with wild curly red hair that defies every hair product known to mankind, and freckles that make her look like a fairy tale come to life.

Rogue, the head alpha, takes her hand first. He's built like a linebacker, all broad shoulders and smoldering dark eyes which never leave hers as they sway to the beat.

Then Jake cuts in with a playful grin that transforms his entire face from "dangerous alpha" to "golden retriever who found a tennis ball.

" He's tall, athletic with sandy hair which flops into his green eyes, and he lifts Sarah clean off her feet, spinning her until she laughs so hard I can hear it over the music.

Devon steps forward next, he’s the pretty boy of the group, all sharp cheekbones and perfectly styled black hair, but there's something soft in his blue eyes when he looks at Sarah that makes my chest ache with recognition.

The way all six of them move together, no jealousy, no territorial pissing contest, just pure synchronized joy.

Sarah's small hand finds Devon's while Jake's muscled arm wraps around Axel’s waist. Axel is the quiet storm of the group, dark hair, darker eyes, built like he could bench press a truck but moves with the grace of a dancer.

Then there's Finn, the gentle giant with auburn hair and kind hazel eyes, sliding behind Sarah with hands which could crush walnuts but touch her like she's made of spun glass.

Finally Caleb steps into the circle, completing their perfect formation.

He's the rebel with his ink-black hair and the kind of smile that probably got him in trouble his whole life.

Six alphas and one omega, moving together like they were born to this, like this is exactly how love is supposed to look.

The song builds, and all six of them throw their hands up in the air, faces flushed with happiness and completely lost in each other and the moment.

The whole reception is on their feet now, cheering and whooping as the pack breaks into synchronized moves that are equal parts silly and stunning.

Even Aunt Dolly, who's about three sheets to the wind and wearing a purple dress that looks like it escaped from the 1980s, is dabbing her eyes with a cocktail napkin.

This is what a mated pack looks like.

My warm bourbon and brown sugar scent turns sharp with cinnamon, the telltale bite of omega longing I can't quite suppress. I discreetly spray more perfume on my wrists, the bottle slippery in my suddenly sweaty palms, hoping to mask the sadness before anyone notices.

I press my lips together and grip my iPad tighter, reminding myself I have a wedding to coordinate. It’s warm from my hands, and I can see my reflection on the black screen, all professional smiles and carefully applied makeup that hopefully hides the longing in my eyes.

"Boss. Phone call." Sharon stuffs the phone in my hand.

Sharon Martinez is my assistant and the only reason I haven't had a complete breakdown this wedding season. She's tiny but fierce, with dark hair always pulled back in a no-nonsense bun and eyes that miss absolutely nothing.

My eyebrows furrow as I debate taking the call.

She knows that until the first dance ends, she's not supposed to interrupt me unless someone's literally dying.

But this is exactly why I hired her at Bourbon Bliss Weddings.

Her dark eyes widen as she takes over my iPad, a wordless communication that whoever is on the other line is someone important enough to risk my wrath.

"Hello, this is Savannah Hale of Bourbon Bliss Weddings speaking." My professional voice kicks in automatically, smooth as aged whiskey.

"Sav, it's me!" Emma's voice bubbles through the phone like champagne, bright and effervescent and immediately making me smile despite myself.

Emma Brooks, my BFF. The girl from back home. The one who made me think twice about leaving when I'd had my heart broken one too many times. Emma with her sleek black bob, infectious laugh, and the kind of optimism that should be illegal.

A memory flashes through my mind about Emma holding me while I cried on her couch, tissues scattered around us like confetti, ice cream melting forgotten on the coffee table while I ugly-sobbed about how Logan, Griff, and Xavier all dumped me, not at the same time, but one-by-one.

"I need some air," I mouth to Sharon, who nods and makes shooing motions with her hands.

I head out of the hall and into a quiet space in the garden, my heels clicking against the stone pathway.

The December air hits my face like a wake-up call, sharp and clean and carrying the promise of snow.

String lights twinkle like stars caught in the bare branches of oak trees, and the scent of pine from the nearby evergreens mingles with the lingering aroma of dinner from inside.

A fountain bubbles softly in the center of the space, somehow still running despite the cold.

I can smell the faint omega anxiety rolling off one of the bridesmaids inside, probably stress-eating cake right now, mixed with the satisfied alpha contentment radiating from the grooms. It's the perfect cocktail of wedding night emotions.

"Sav. Are you ready?"

Something in Emma's tone makes my heart start hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape. I know that voice. That's Emma's "I'm about to change your entire life" voice.

"You're getting married."

"I'm getting married!”

We both say it in unison. Then we both scream.