Page 76 of Knot Going Down

“Huh,” she says. “You thinkEmilymight go into heat on this cruise?” There’s a small smirk to Ava’s lips that makes me want to kiss her.

One station over, Emily torches the top of her custard like she’s trying to summon something from hell. “Why is this the most satisfying thing I’ve ever done? I want one of these for my apartment.”

We were supposed to be making our own desserts individually, but Ava appointed herself in charge of our DisasterBuddies trio and made Emily’s and mine for us while I tried not to salivate watching her work the spatula.

“If you wanted to talk about it. Or prepare. Or tag someone in to help. Not that you need help. But you certainly will. I do not think?—”

Ava tilts her head and cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “Lucas.”

“Yes?”

“You’re lucky you’re holding a ramekin and not your own spleen.”

I hold up the little ceramic bowl in mock surrender. “I am merely trying to be supportive.”

“I’m fine,” she says, a little too fast. “I already told you the plan. A locked door and fresh air.”

I nod like that doesn’t sound like total denial. “Yes. Of course. Totally fine.”

She lifts the saucepan off the heat. “I mean it.”

I almost believe her. Almost. But I saw her face last night after the pills went overboard. The utter panic. She’s good at cooking, great at pretending things are fine, and rather terrible at letting people help.

Emily flicks her torch off and on and cackles. “You guys, I think I just invented dessert arson!”

My usually apprehensive beta evidently blossoms when pyrotechnics are involved.

“Benzinho,” I say, quieter now, returning my focus to lubing up my ramekin, “have you considered that being out on the balcony will waft your scent to the whole ship? The scent of an omega in heat.” I let that sit for a minute. Ava’s lips twist in a rough scowl. She beats the custard a little harder.

“If you change your mind,” I continue, “and want to talk about it, I am here. Not even in a sex way—unless you want that.Mostly… I could hold your hand. Or sit outside the door. Get you electrolytes. But I think?—”

“Oh my God,” she huffs, setting the saucepan back down with an amount of force the custard doesn’t deserve. “Did Declan put you up to this?”

“No. But hedidtry to talk to you, and you nearly bit his head off.”

“He was being condescending.”

“Was he?” I tilt my head. “Because I think he was trying not to panic while also being supportive. Which, for Declan, looks a lot like condescending because that is likely his default setting as an officer of the law.”

She finally looks at me. Cool. Sharp. “Let me guess. You agree with him.”

“Yes,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Because I’ve been through it, Ava. Iknowwhat is coming. You will need a knot. And boundaries should be discussed beforehand.”

Her jaw tightens. The only sign she’s listening is the way her fingers curl slightly at her sides, like she’s resisting the urge to clench them into fists.

“I know it is scary,” I add. “And you are trying to stay in control. But your body does not care if you are ready. When it hits, ithits. And trying to tough it out solo is not brave. It is dangerous.”

She doesn’t respond right away, and I’m sure my ramekin is so overly greased now that it could take a knot. But I prefer to keep my hands busy.

Next to us, Emily accidentally lights a paper towel on fire and yelps. Our instructor nearly trips over a rolling pin trying to put it out. It’s the least stressful thing happening right now.

Ava reaches for my highly lubricated ramekin and pours the warm custard into the dish. I think custard is supposed to go in the fridge first? Or do we put it in the fridge after it’s in theramekin? I wasn’t paying that much attention, and I’m not about to ask Ava if what she's doing is right. I stay quiet, letting her process, letting her fight with herself in silence. She’s doing the math. Weighing pride against practicality.

“I hate this,” she says finally, barely above a whisper.

“I know.”

She exhales, and something in her posture slumps. Just a little. But enough. Like defeat. And it tugs on my heart. “Ifit happens, I’ll probably need help.”