Page 18 of Knot Your Sugar Rush (Starling Grove #2)

Chapter eighteen

Cam

B y the time supper dishes are stacked neatly beside the sink and the last spoon clinks into the drying rack, I realize how late it’s gotten.

The house is quiet now, warm in that sleepy, full-bellied way, like it’s exhaling after the long day we’ve had.

The three alphas are still here, lingering like they don’t want to leave—and truthfully, I don’t want them to.

Gram’s always been here. This house has never felt empty before. But now, every room without her in it feels a little too big.

Theo leans in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes watching me carefully like he knows exactly what I’m feeling. Jamie’s busy wiping down the counter for the third time, and Dane’s thumbing through a cabinet like he might magically find something else to fix.

“You don’t have to stay,” I say, even though I don’t mean it. “I’ll be fine.”

Jamie turns, a slight frown pulling at his mouth. “We know you can be fine, Cam. That’s not the point.”

“We just don’t want you to be alone,” Dane adds, softer than I expect.

Theo shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We’ll take the living room.”

I blink. “There’s only one couch. And one armchair. And, like, two blankets.”

“We’ve shared worse,” Jamie says with a grin. “Remember that cabin trip?”

Theo groans. “Don’t remind me. Jamie thought snow pants counted as a sleeping bag.”

“I was young. And optimistic.”

“You were twenty-four.”

I laugh, the sound bubbling up before I can stop it. It feels good. Necessary.

“Alright,” I say, brushing my hands on my jeans. “I’ll grab more pillows. You three better not snore in unison.”

“No promises,” Dane murmurs.

Soon, I’ve got the living room half-converted into a den of alpha chaos. There’s a tangle of blankets and throw pillows, an Afghan from the back of the couch, and a couple of spare quilts from Gram’s closet. They seem content to sprawl and rearrange it all like it’s some kind of puzzle challenge.

Theo spreads out across the floor and claims a cushion pile with a single grunt of approval. Jamie starts recounting the worst sleep arrangements they've ever endured on jobs, and Dane critiques his storytelling technique with mock seriousness.

I sit on the edge of the armrest, watching them, my heart lighter than it’s been in days.

The clock ticks past ten. My eyelids start to droop, and I don't want to be the first one to break the moment, but if I don’t go now, I’m going to fall asleep here and drown in alpha scent.

“Alright, bed for me,” I announce, standing and stretching. “You three try not to rearrange the entire living room while I’m gone.”

Jamie pops up. “Wait—let me walk you to your room.”

I lift an eyebrow. “It’s ten feet away.”

“Still.” He shrugs, eyes glinting. “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

There’s a beat of charged silence, the kind that hums under the skin. My breath catches. I nod, wordless.

The hallway feels smaller with him beside me, his scent warm and steady, like cedarwood and cinnamon. My shoulder brushes his arm once, twice. Neither of us pulls away.

When we reach the door, I pause with my hand on the knob. Jamie’s gaze is intense in the low light, a flicker of something unspoken passing between us.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice softer than I intended. “For tonight. For all of this.”

His mouth quirks, and he takes a step closer. My pulse trips.

“I meant it, Cam,” he says quietly. “Anytime.”

The heat in his gaze settles low in my belly. For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to kiss me—if I want him to. But then he nods, as if breaking his own spell, and steps back.

“Sleep well,” he murmurs.

I slip inside the room and close the door gently behind me, leaning against it for a breath, hand pressed to my fluttering chest. The room is cool and dark, and the scent of lavender from the linen spray Gram always uses still clings to the sheets.

I sit on the bed for a while, just listening to the low murmur of voices downstairs.

Then a loud thunk.

“Ow. Damn it. Why is this doorframe so low?” The voice rumbling from below.

“Because it was built for humans, not lumbering tree giants,” Theo replies.

“You’re just mad because I got the last cinnamon roll.”

“He’s not mad,” Dane says. “He’s bitter. It’s different.”

Their banter fades into softer voices, and eventually into silence.

I pull the blanket over myself, safe in the familiar nest of Gram’s linens, the echo of their teasing still warming my chest. For the first time in a while, I don’t feel quite so alone.

And when sleep takes me, I go willingly.