Page 3 of Knot By Design
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 withfrost. 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.
When we pull apart, she whispers, “Forever someday?”
“Forever someday,” I vow, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll make sure of it.”
The door opens with a soft chime. Inside, the air smells like pine cleaner and cocoa. A woman behind the counter looks up from her knitting. Her gray hair is tucked under a Santa hat, and she beams when she sees us.
“Well now, aren’t you two a sight,” she says. “Snow’s picking up fast. You’ll be glad to stay in.”
“That’s the plan,” I tell her, fishing my wallet from my coat.
She checks her ledger. “Reservation for Dorian James?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
