Page 37 of Knot By Design
“I know. That’s actually what I’m headed to next. I’m meeting Jude and Ryker at the site.”
Her expression brightens instantly. “So it’s official? You’re doing the flowers for the big renovation unveiling, too?”
“Yeah.” I try to sound confident, even though my stomach twists. “They want arrangements for the reopening ceremony, plus ongoing contracts for events. It’s a huge deal.”
“You deserve it,” she says firmly. “Your aunt would be proud.”
I smile, throat tight. “Don’t make me cry before a meeting.”
She grins. “Fine, fine. Then let’s talk costumes. What are you wearing for Halloween? Don’t tell me you’re skipping it.”
I groan. “I don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll just put on a witch hat and call it thematic advertising.”
“Boring.”
“You’re pregnant. You don’t get to judge.”
“I can still accessorize,” she teases. “Simon’s going as a lumberjack, and Levi and Beau are fighting over who gets to be the vampire. I’m going as the pumpkin they’re all obsessed with.”
I laugh so hard I nearly drop the scissors. “That’s perfect.”
“It’s practical,” she says, patting her belly. “Now go before you’re late. And hey, if that man shows up at the site, remember you can call me. I’ll come armed with garden shears.”
“Noted.”
Outside, the wind bites sharper, carrying the scent of cedar and snow. I load the last crate into my van and start the drive to Elm Street.
The community hall is a two-story relic with peeling red paint and bowed gutters. I used to attend winter dances here as a teenager, all string lights and awkward laughter.
Now, there’s scaffolding crowding the sides, plastic sheeting flapping in the wind, the echo of hammers ringing through the cold air.
Jude’s truck is already parked out front. I spot him near the entrance, clipboard in hand, hard hat pushed back on his messy brown hair.
Ryker stands beside him, the quiet solidity of him grounding the chaos around them. They both look up when I approach.
“Hey, Knightly!” Jude calls. “Right on time.”
“Miracle of miracles,” I say, brushing snow from my coat. “I brought samples for the color palette.”
Ryker nods in greeting, his smile faint but genuine. “Glad you’re here. The place is a mess, but it’s starting to take shape.”
Inside, the hall smells like sawdust and varnish. Dust motes swirl through sunlight streaming from the high windows.
Wooden beams stretch overhead, half sanded, half raw. My boots crunch over old plaster as I follow them deeper in.
Jude’s talking about layout changes, but my focus drifts. A low, steady hum of energy fills the space—something old stirring beneath the scent of construction. My pulse thrums with it, too in sync to ignore.
Ryker opens the side door leading to the temporary office set up in one of the cleared rooms. “The new architect’s already here,” he says. “We’re going over final measurements.”
I nod, smoothing my scarf and forcing my nerves into submission. “Perfect.”
I step through the doorway—and the world tilts.
Dorian stands at the drafting table, sleeves rolled up, hair a little longer than when I last saw him, eyes fixed on a blueprint. He looks up when he hears the door.
Our gazes lock.
The sound of Jude’s voice fades behind me, replaced by the drum of my heartbeat.
