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“I’d appreciate that, thank you,” he manages to say, though the words seem to cost him.
“That was difficult for you, wasn’t it?” I say, turning to pour him a cup of coffee. “On the house for your troubles.”
“I’ve spent the last three years on an expedition, uncovering the oldest civilization in the southernmost desolate areas of Terra,” he states, bypassing my comment. Instead of answering, he opts to talk about himself.
“Listen, Max,” I begin, lightly patting his chest across the counter—a slight miscalculation. This man is solid, clearly morethan just an academic. “It’s impressive, sure, but you also smell like you’ve been deep in the forest, not just digging up artifacts.”
His eyes flash, a hint of danger lurking there, and I can’t help but find it intriguing. There’s something exhilarating about this back-and-forth, though I suspect I might regret it.
“Oh, that must be it,” I murmur to myself.
“What?” he asks, his interest piqued. “What’s on your mind?”
I can’t resist. “Well, considering the name of this shop, Knotty Things, one might mistake it for a sex shop. If that’s what you’re looking for, it’s just five doors down. They have some interesting gadgets, or so I hear.”
To my surprise, he shifts from looking dangerous to amused, chuckling. “I can assure you, I’m not here for that. My meeting with Elenora was genuine.”
Leaning in, I tease him further. “Feisty is my middle name, Max. So are you ready to order, or are you just here for the scintillating conversation?”
I can’t help but notice that our conversation only sparked once Sawyer and Violet left. Is it wrong to think this stranger reserved his charm just for me? Ah, probably.
He lifts his head, his scent tinged with the earthiness of dirt and grime, masking what I imagine is his natural aroma. I’m not eager to take a deep breath of it, but a part of me is undeniably curious. His face, hidden behind a full beard, conceals the subtle expressions that betray one’s emotions.
“Oh, and by the way, sugarplum, I don’t think they have one that’ll accommodate my” —he leans in close, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper— “girth.”
I force myself not to retreat despite secretly reveling in the pet name. I hum nonchalantly, feigning indifference. “They definitely come in small sizes,” I say, letting my eyes briefly flick downward suggestively, as if I’m assessing him through thecounter. “And micro.” I meet his gaze again, catching what I’m sure is a suppressed grin on his face.
“Micro,” he repeats, almost choking back a laugh. “Do you even know what a knot looks like, sugarplum?”
I can’t resist smirking back. “If you think I don’t have a subscription to Knotty Hub, you’re sorely mistaken,” I whisper teasingly.
His expression shifts to something other than irritation at encountering an unbonded omega behind the counter. I almost think I hear him mutter, “I’d love to see your search history,” but his voice is too low for me to be sure.
Recognizing our conversation’s potentially hazardous turn, I clear my throat. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“Your name,” he asks.
“No, thank you,” I reply, glimpsing a bond mark just visible beneath his collar. He has a pack and possibly an omega. That’s disappointing.
“What?” He looks taken aback, as if I just insulted him.
I point to my name tag, which humorously reads, “No, thank you.” Elenora, ever amused by my quirks, allowed me to keep this playful moniker. The “thank you” is my nod to politeness, since I originally wanted it to simply say “No.”
“What do you recommend?” he finally asks, stepping back, but not without adding, “Sugarplum.”
I suppress a smile. Only one person has ever given me a pet name, and he’s been gone for a year, but I do have a soft spot for them. It also suggests he caught a whiff of my scent underneath the bakery’s aromas.
“The almond croissant is my personal favorite,” I suggest. As Max peruses the pastries, I can’t help but note the shift in his demeanor—from grumpy to seemingly interested—but I might misread the situation because I don’t get many chances to flirt.
“I’ll take one of those and a breakfast biscuit,” he decides. “Since I’ve been out of the loop, can you explain why omegas work outside the castle?”
“Want the CliffsNotes version?” I ask, stepping back to don some plastic gloves to prepare his order.
“Sure,” he replies, a trace of amusement in his voice.
“Well, long story short, the castle was corrupt,” I start, popping his sandwich into the toaster. “Omegas thought they were going there to learn about knots and mating to become the pinnacle of society,” I say with a hint of drama. “Turns out, if you weren’t submissive enough, they’d send you off forreprogramming.”
“What?” he growls, leaning in closer.
