Page 30 of Knot the Last Chapter

“She said if we ever expected to find a mate, we better know how to feed them without burning the house down.”

“Solid advice.”

“She also said any alpha who leaves dishes for someone else isn’t worth imprinting on,” Corwyn says, pointing a spoon at me like a judge delivering a ruling.

“I like your mother.”

“She’d have liked you, too.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay,” Corwyn says. “Both parents in a freak boating accident. Gotta be careful out there, Lila.”

“That’s hard,” I offer, though I don’t shy away from the grief. “My dad left us three years ago, and I still keep expecting him to walk in and tell a bad joke.”

Corwyn’s eyes soften, and Rhys give a gentle smile. They get it, that space between life and memory, where some lovedones now only exist. The quiet that follows is comfortable and comforting.

I glance at the window. Rain still taps softly against the glass, the sky bruised and dusky beyond the trees.

I set the bowl down and lean back against the counter. “So what’s the story? You three live here full time?”

“I do,” Rhys says, finally looking up from his chopping. “Tyler splits his time between here and town, where he does odd jobs. Corwyn bounces between his apartment and here.”

“I live above my shop,” Corwyn adds. “My dream would be to expand it to one day have a whole house there, but book sales only get me so far.” A teasing smile. “But the interesting customers make it all worthwhile.”

“Ah yes,” I say, smirking. “The shop where you act like a seductive librarian.”

“Not an act,” he says smoothly.

I laugh, and even Rhys cracks a smile.

“Tyler’s not far,” Rhys continues, turning back to the cutting board. “He’s overseeing the last round of structural repairs. This house needed work when we reclaimed it.”

“Reclaimed?”

“Our grandparents left it to the family in the will, but it sat untouched for almost a decade. When our parents passed, we took it over. Took us three years to get it livable again.”

“Well, you did a hell of a job.” I turn slowly, taking it all in again. “It’s beautiful. I feel like I should be writing a gothic romance in a tower or something.”

“There is a tower,” Corwyn says. “We keep the wine up there.”

I blink. “You’re joking.”

He grins. “Am I?”

“You can see the whole lake from the tower,” Rhys says. “It’s where the lightning always strikes first.”

This is a perfect setting for a mystery,I think, imagining the secret passages that might exist behind the walls as the brothers start assembling the rest of the meal—roasted vegetables, skillet chicken with herbs, garlic flatbread. It’s more effort than I’ve seen from any man, alpha or otherwise, and I find myself oddly moved by it. There’s something sacred about feeding people, especially when it’s done with intention.

I lean against the island and sip a glass of lemon water Corwyn poured for me earlier, watching them move.

“I used to write mystery stories about places like this,” I say softly. “Back when I was a kid. Big houses with secret staircases and families full of secrets.”

“You’ve got the house,” Corwyn says.

“And the family,” Rhys adds.

“Now you just need the mystery.”