Knot By Design (Packs of Fox Hollow #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Dorian

The phone is warm against my ear, my mother’s voice cutting through the icy night.

“No, Mom,” I say, teeth clenched to keep from shivering. “I haven’t seen them.”

Her glasses. Always her glasses. She misplaces them more often than her keys, and that’s saying something.

“Maybe you left them in the kitchen,” I tell her. “Text me if you still can’t find them, and when I come home, I’ll help you look.”

She sighs, a little dramatic, then asks what time I’ll be back.

“Not sure. Before morning,” I promise. She’s satisfied with that, though I hear the worry woven into her breath. She hates being alone in that old house with all those creaking floorboards.

We end the call, and I tuck the phone into my coat pocket.

Snow is falling over Fox Hollow. The delicate drifting flakes make the street lamps glow like halos. The town looks like something out of a Christmas card, white dusting the cobbled streets, wreaths hanging from every door, the sound of muffled laughter spilling from frosted windows.

It’s all so beautiful, in a way that makes you want to breathe slowly and take it all in. But my eyes aren’t on the snow.

They’re on her.

Through the fogged glass of the Smokehouse Tavern, I catch sight of her, sitting exactly where I left her. She’s the prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

Auburn curls tied up, a few rebelliously framing her face, her cheeks flushed from the warmth inside. A glass of eggnog rests in her hand.

She’s laughing at something Mick said, the tavern owner leaning on the counter with that familiar grin of his. She looks alive, glowing under the string lights Mick insists on leaving up year-round.

Her green eyes scan the room, searching, and when they find me, standing out here like some idiot, she waves. It’s just a small flick of her fingers, but it punches the air right out of my lungs. My heart skips.

I adjust my coat, brush snow off my shoulders, and push open the tavern door.

Warmth slams into me together with the scent of mulled spice, roasted meat, and the faint tang of ale. The tavern is decked out for the season.

Evergreen garlands loop along the beams. A fire crackles in the hearth, and mistletoe dangles crookedly over the bar. It’s cozy, loud, and alive.

And then I’m back at her side.

“Hey, beautiful,” I murmur, leaning down to press my mouth to hers. I can’t help it. Her lips are soft and sweet, and taste of eggnog and cinnamon. Freaking delicious. I force myself to pull away before desire drags me under.

“Your mom?” she asks, sipping her drink again.

“Uh-huh.”

“What did she lose this time?”

I wipe at the corner of her lips where a drop clings, then lick it off my thumb without thinking. Her eyes flare, heat flickering there, and something primal tightens in my chest.

“Not important,” I say quickly. “What were you and Mick talking about?”

“Flowers,” she says, and her whole face brightens. She leans closer, voice animated. “I told him poinsettias would look amazing in here. And white lilies on the bar—something to soften the wood. He thinks people wouldn’t notice, but I swear they would. Flowers change everything, you know?”

I do know. She’s said it before. And every time she talks like this, like she’s showing me pieces of herself, I fall harder.

Her hands move as she talks, painting invisible blossoms in the air. She smells like roses and eucalyptus, always, a perfume of her own making.

My chest aches watching her lips move, imagining what it would be like to drag that turtleneck over her head and bury my face against her throat, breathing her in until I can’t tell where I end and she begins.

My cock stirs, hard and unyielding against my zipper. Not here. Not now. Fuck.

She smacks my thigh lightly. “You’re not even listening.”

Her touch jolts through me, sharp and hot. My cock twitches again. I drag in a breath, trying to ground myself.

“I’m listening, baby,” I whisper, dragging her chair closer until her knee brushes mine.

My lips hover by her ear, my voice low so only she hears.

“I’m really trying to pay attention to what you’re saying, but you wore this short, pretty skirt tonight.

And my favorite boots. And your hair’s pulled up so I can see just a bit of your neck.

It’s killing me. You’re killing me, Norah. ”

Her giggle bubbles out, but I see the way her eyes flick to my mouth. She’s hungry too. Tempted. Good.

“Oh yeah?” she teases.

I nod, then catch her lips with mine again, hungrier this time. She gasps against me, a sound that only makes my cock harder.

“Fuck,” she breathes when we break apart, cheeks flushed.

“Finish up,” I murmur, voice ragged. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Her eyes light, her whole body sparking with excitement. “I like surprises.” She claps her hands together, a little bounce in her shoulders.

I grin. She doesn’t know yet.

Doesn’t know I’ve planned for one night where we don’t have to sneak around her aunt’s flower shop, or make do with the backseat of my car. One night that’s ours.

I glance down at her wrist, at the silver bracelet glinting under the tavern lights. The one I gave her last month. It cost me almost everything I had at the time, but she hasn’t taken it off since.

My chest tightens with pride. One day, when I’ve made it—when the world knows my name—I’ll buy her more. Earrings. Necklaces. Anything to prove how much she means to me.

I lift her hand, press a kiss to the bracelet. “You’ll love this one, I promise.”

Her smile is radiant and pure, enough to gut me.

I can’t stop imagining it—her spread across white sheets, auburn curls spilling, freckles like stars scattered over pale skin. The chance to undress her slowly. To take my time as I trace every inch of her with my mouth. To keep her warm while snow falls outside.

They say twenty-two is too young to find the love of your life. But they don’t know Norah. They don’t know what it feels like to love someone so much you’d move mountains for them. She’s it. She’s my forever.

That’s all I can think about as I pay the bill and watch her get her coat.

Snow drifts across the windshield, thick and slow, catching in the headlights as we pull away from the tavern. Norah hums under her breath while turning on the radio.

The soft croon of Leon Bridges fills the cab, rich and low, matching the rhythm of the tires crunching over the frozen road. Her fingers tap against her thigh in time with the beat.

She’s glowing, her cheeks pink from the tavern heat and the whiskey in her drink. I glance at her profile, the way her hair curls around her ear, the tiny gold hoop she wears there. Every little detail feels burned into me.

“Where does your aunt think you are tonight?” I ask, shifting gears as we head toward the edge of town.

Norah gives a little grin, the kind that makes her dimple show. “Told her I was helping you measure out sites for a snow shelter. Charity project or something for your schoolwork.”

I huff out a laugh. “A snow shelter?”

“She doesn’t question anything if it sounds helpful,” she says, turning toward me. “She thinks you’re some kind of saint.”

“That’s one of us,” I mutter.

She laughs softly, brushing her fingers against mine on the console. “You’re not so bad, Dorian. You pretend you’re all gruff, but you helped Mrs. Callahan shovel her driveway last week.”

I shrug, keeping my eyes on the road. “She gave me cookies.”

“She’s ninety,” Norah says, rolling her eyes. “You didn’t even take them.”

I smirk. “Didn’t want to ruin my appetite.”

She shakes her head, smiling as the music fades into another track, “From the Ground Up.” It’s the one she always plays when she’s working late in the shop, her hands dusted in pollen and soil. Hearing it now makes something inside me loosen.

The road curves, taking us up toward Fernbridge Trails. The snow deepens here, the forest pressing close, pines heavy with frost. Fernbridge sits just past the bridge, its sign flickering in red and gold: “Fernbridge Cabins”

Norah spots it first. I see her straighten, her lips parting. “You remembered,” she whispers.

I nod, pulling into the lot. “Of course I did.”

Her scent blooms, warm and unmistakable, curling through the cab. The faint sweetness of her skin changes—her heat rising, coaxing every nerve in me awake. My hands tighten on the wheel.

When I glance at her, she’s watching me, eyes bright and a little shy. “This is where…”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “Where I helped you through your first heat.”

We’d been so young, still figuring out our friendship. She was scared, burning up with fever, her scent spiraling wild through the air. I’d been too inexperienced to know what to do, too protective to walk away.

That night changed everything. I’d held her while she cried, whispered that she wasn’t alone, and made her come. When the fever broke, something between us had shifted. After that, we weren’t just friends. We were bound.

The memory hits me like a punch, sharp and vivid.

I turn off the ignition. “I don’t know how long this place will last,” I tell her.

Norah’s hand goes to her chest. “What? Why? This place is perfect.”

“It’s old, babe.”

She stares out at the glowing windows, her breath fogging the glass. “Doesn’t matter. It’s still perfect.”

“I’ve been thinking,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt, “maybe one day I’ll build something better. Big projects, real buildings—ones that last. Skyscrapers, maybe. I’ll have a legacy.”

Her gaze swings back to me. “Or you could build something simple,” she says. “Like a greenhouse.”

I chuckle. “You and your plants.”

“Me and my plants,” she repeats, smiling. “Don’t mock the dream.”

“I’d never.”

Her teasing fades into quiet warmth as we get out of the truck. Snow flurries dance around her hair, catching in the curls. I can’t stop looking at her.

“Come here,” I murmur.

She steps closer, her breath mingling with mine. Snow lands on her lashes. I brush it away and kiss her, tasting the promise that lives between us.