Page 22 of Knot Your Sugar Rush (Starling Grove #2)

Chapter twenty-two

Cam

T he sterile scent of antiseptic clings to everything. Hospitals are meant to feel clean and comforting, I think, but to me, they always feel like holding my breath underwater—waiting, bracing, unable to exhale until something, anything, breaks the stillness.

But when I step back into Gram’s room, I can finally breathe.

She’s propped up in bed, pale but upright, with some of the usual color blooming back into her cheeks. Her silver hair is a little flattened from the pillow, but her eyes sparkle with mischief and stubbornness. That’s my Gram.

The guys are already there, beating me to it since I had to swing by the washroom. That coffee was entirely too delicious.

Jamie sits on the windowsill, sunlight slanting across his hair, making it look even more gold than usual as he fiddles with a sugar packet.

Dane’s at his most broody, arms crossed, looming near the far wall like he’s guarding a treasure.

And Theo—Theo is right beside Gram’s bed, casually discussing her chart with a gentle focus that somehow doesn’t surprise me.

Gram sees me and immediately lights up. “There she is! My sweet Camellia. Sit down before I get out of this bed and make you worry.”

I laugh, some of the tension slipping off my shoulders as I take the chair at her side. “You’re supposed to be resting, not issuing orders.”

She waves me off like a gnat. “You expect me to just lie here while the shop opens in a week? Not a chance.”

I study her carefully—her color is better, but her hands tremble just a little when she adjusts her blanket. My heart tugs. “You really scared me, Gram.”

She covers my hand with hers and squeezes. “I know, sweetheart. But I’m alright. Just need to adjust some meds, and then I’ll be back home, bossing you around where I belong.”

“Yes, you can and you will,” I say, echoing her earlier tone.

Her expression softens, and for a moment, her fingers brush my knuckles like she’s memorizing the shape of my hand.

“I’m proud of you, you know. One week from now, I expect to hear all about ribbon-cuttings and lines out the door.

This is your dream, Cam. Yours and Zae’s. Don’t let me being here slow you down.”

“But what if something happens while I’m—”

“Then I’ll call you, and you’ll come running. But that’s not going to happen. I’ll be home before you burn your first batch of toffee.”

Jamie leans forward from the windowsill, his eyes soft. “We’ll keep an eye on her if she tries to escape early.”

“I’m scrappy,” Gram says with a wink.

“You’ve always been,” I murmur.

Theo glances at her IV and then back to her face. “Just don’t try to sweet-talk the nurses. I’ve seen you in action. They won’t stand a chance.”

“Oh hush,” Gram says, swatting at him with the edge of her blanket. “Now you’re just trying to charm me.”

“Only a little.” Theo grins, and it’s that rare, quiet kind of grin that catches you off guard.

She turns back to me. “Cam, love, would you be a dear and make me a proper cup of tea? These sweet hospital aides mean well, but they steeped the last one until it tasted like an old boot.”

“Absolutely.” I stand, trying not to glance back at her vitals. “Any preference?”

Theo steps toward me and reaches into his jacket pocket like a magician pulling out a trick. “Here.”

I blink. “Is that... a teabag?”

“Proper British tea. I carry tea bags for emergencies.”

I blink again. “You carry emergency tea?”

“I refuse to be caught unprepared. It happened once. Never again.”

Dane groans. “Not the Chicago incident again.”

Jamie grins and clutches his chest. “Chicago 2017. A dark day in tea history.”

Dane lifts his chin. “You drank that lukewarm hotel swill and liked it.”

“Out of desperation!” Theo protests.

Gram is nearly doubled over laughing, her eyes dancing. “Now that’s what I like to see. Men with strong opinions about tea. Camellia, sweetheart, you hold onto this one.”

Theo’s ears go pink, and I try not to blush as I accept the teabag like it’s a sacred offering. “Thanks. I’ll go see what I can find for hot water.”

I hesitate at the door, soaking in the soft laughter, the teasing energy swirling around the room. It’s like they’ve always belonged here, like their laughter belongs in this hospital room just as surely as Gram does.

And I realize, as I walk away, that I’m smiling. Smiling despite the hospital walls, despite my worries, despite the ache of uncertainty that’s been gnawing at my ribs since I saw Gram collapse.

But as the hallway quiets around me, doubt creeps in. I left them all in that room—three big, charming, loud alphas and my barely-recovering grandmother. She’ll love them. That’s not the problem.

The problem is that I do, too.

And if I’m not careful, this might stop being temporary. This might start becoming something else entirely.

Dangerous. Real.