Page 5 of Knot Your Sugar Rush (Starling Grove #2)

Chapter five

Jamie

T he scent of lemon bars still clings to my hoodie.

She signed it with a hand that trembled a little but didn’t flinch.

That courage? Yeah. It’s sticking with me.

So is the way her voice cracked just a bit when she said thank you. Or how she looked when her Gram started humming the wedding march like it was a casual Tuesday.

By the time I pull into the long gravel driveway, the lakeside house comes into view—our house. Not just mine. It’s home base for three alpha idiots who somehow became responsible landlords and semi-functional adults.

The place rises out of the trees like it’s grown there.

Weathered cedar siding, deep porches, and windows that catch the lake light in the late afternoon like they were made for it.

There’s always a smell of pine and wood smoke in the air out here, even in summer, and today there’s something else too—something faint and sugary and stubbornly clinging to me.

The porch light is already on even though there’s still plenty of daylight. Theo’s work boots are by the stairs, and I can hear the gentle hum of his sander through the open garage. Dane’s truck is parked crooked, which means he’s either in a rush or in a mood. Possibly both.

Inside, the house hums with quiet life. The entry smells like cedar and old books, the floorboards creaking in welcome under my boots.

There’s a trail of receipts on the entry table, a half-built birdhouse on the arm of the couch, and an unopened package of smoke alarms on the kitchen counter.

The air carries traces of roasted coffee, lemon oil, and the unmistakable scent of Theo’s pine tar hand balm.

“Jamie!” Theo calls from the back porch. “Did you remember to grab grout for the bakery window?”

“Yup. Also got tile spacers this time, so Dane doesn’t bite my head off.”

“That’s growth,” Theo replies, deadpan.

I round the corner into the kitchen where Dane is hunched over his tablet like it owes him money.

He’s shirtless, sweaty, and eating a banana like it personally betrayed him.

The kitchen itself is a mix of rustic charm and chaos—cast iron skillets hanging from hooks, herbs drying near the window, a stack of clean-but-unput-away dishes next to the sink.

“Hey,” I say.

He grunts in greeting. Then sees the folder.

“You rented it out?”

I nod. “Signed and sealed.”

He blinks. “To whom? I didn’t even know we had a serious applicant.”

“She’s local. Well, returning local.”

Dane narrows his eyes. “What kind of lease terms are we talking?”

I offer the folder.

He flips it open, scans the first page, then the second. Then he stops.

“Jamie.”

“Hmm?”

“This rent rate is absurd. Did you knock a zero off by accident?”

“Nope.”

“You gave her three months rent-free.”

“Sure did.”

He looks up sharply. “Are you in some kind of sugar-based cult now?”

I grin. “Wouldn’t that be sweet.”

“Don’t start.” He snaps the folder shut and points it at me like a sword. “You’ve officially lost it. What’s she selling—hope? Nostalgia? Gummy worms with gold flakes?”

“Candy,” I say. “The real kind. Handmade. And yeah, some hope too.”

Theo walks in, wiping his hands on a rag, and raises an eyebrow. “Did you approve a tenant without Dane reading the fine print?”

Dane throws his hands up. “He gave her a startup grant disguised as a lease agreement. What if she’s never run a business before?”

“She hasn’t,” I admit. “But she’s got heart. She’s got a plan. And I think she’ll surprise you.”

Dane scowls. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will.”

“I’m serious. I’m going to go check it out myself. Tomorrow.”

“Don’t you have that big city meeting?” Dane curses. He’s so worked up by my lease agreement he’d actually forgotten.

“As soon as I’m back,” he corrects himself, still grumbling.

“Can’t wait.” I sip from a glass of water—cold from the fridge, crisp and clean—and lean back against the counter, perfectly casual.

Dane squints at me. “Why are you so smug?”

“Me? Smug? Never.”

Theo sighs and drops into a chair, brushing sawdust from his jeans. The chair groans under him, but he makes it look like an invitation to relax. “You smell way better than usual. Did she make lemon bars?”

“Nope. Her grandmother did.”

“Damn.”

There’s a beat of quiet, broken only by the sound of Dane muttering as he reopens the lease. The overhead fan ticks lazily above us, the late sun turning the edge of the kitchen table to gold.

Dane is still grumbling at the lease, so I hand him and Theo a beer and sit down on the couch, smiling.

They’ll see soon enough.

And judging by the way Cam looked when she signed that lease, like she was finally stepping into something she thought she'd lost... I think they’ll understand.

Eventually.