Page 69 of Knot Your Sugar Rush (Starling Grove #2)

Chapter sixty-nine

Cam

T he decision made, the room shifts into a quiet, purposeful hum.

Theo is already clearing space on the table, spreading the map out and tracing a new route with quick, precise strokes.

“If we start mid-day, we can make it to the ridge by sundown,” he says.

“That gives us a good vantage point to scout before dark.”

Dane nods, scanning the shelves. “We’ve got enough gear to pack now. We’ll eat on the trail. Cam, just focus on staying warm and hydrated.”

Jamie glances over from where he’s checking the med kit. “She’s not carrying a thing,” he adds, his tone final, like it’s already settled.

I open my mouth to protest, but Dane is sliding a thermos into one of the packs before I can even form the words. “Non-negotiable.”

“We head as soon as the rain stops,” Theo says.

The rest of the morning moves in a rhythm that feels almost comforting—Theo cross-referencing terrain notes, Dane moving between gear piles with quiet efficiency, Jamie methodically checking food and water like nothing could slip past him.

They move together like parts of a single machine, steady and sure, and for once it’s a relief to just sit and watch.

When I try to help portion trail snacks, Jamie gives me a look so dry I nearly laugh out loud. “Sit,” he says, tipping his chin toward the couch. “If you want to help, you can be moral support.”

So I sit, wrapped in my blanket, letting myself sink into the unfamiliar but welcome sensation of being taken care of. I’ve never been good at that before—letting anyone hold the weight for me.

By late morning, three neatly packed bags rest by the door, straps tightened and balanced. Theo gives them a last once-over, then folds the map into his jacket pocket. “Rain’s stopped,” he says simply.

We eat a quick lunch—warm bread, cheese, and fruit—and the easy teasing that bubbles up around the table makes something deep inside me unclench.

Dane and Theo argue over who has the heavier pack until Jamie points out, completely serious, that he’ll end up carrying both if they don’t behave.

I laugh, and it spills out of me lighter than I expect, like air after being held too long.

When the dishes are rinsed and stacked, Dane swings his pack onto his shoulders. “Let’s go find that flower.”

Theo catches my gaze, his expression steady and sure. “We’ll get it, Cam. This time, we’ll bring it back.”

And just like that, we step into the crisp midday air. The scent of pine sharpens in my nose, and the road ahead feels less like an obstacle and more like a promise.

The midday sun spills gold through the treetops as we leave the porch and step onto the narrow path. The air is cool but gentle, pine resin and damp earth clinging to every breath. Behind me, the brothers’ packs creak and shift with the quiet clink of buckles, a steady rhythm that grounds me.

Jamie keeps pace at my side, leaning on his walking stick but moving as though nothing slows him down.

Dane leads the way with calm precision, pausing to test the ground before he lets us follow.

Theo brings up the rear, eyes flicking between the folded map in his hand and the forest around us, always alert, always watching.

For a while, the only sounds are the crunch of our boots on packed dirt and the occasional call of a jay somewhere high above. The forest wraps around me—sunlight dancing through leaves, the scent of moss and herbs, a breeze lifting strands of my hair. My senses drink it all in.

We move together like this is something we’ve always done, wordless but in sync. Dane slows when the slope steepens so Jamie and I don’t strain; Theo leans just far enough forward to glance at me, his gaze reassuring before returning to the path. And I feel… folded into them, like I belong here.

After a mile or so, Jamie breaks the quiet. “Not bad for a lunchtime stroll,” he teases, though there’s effort tucked beneath his tone.

“You’re just trying to distract from the fact that Theo’s already plotting a detour,” Dane calls back without slowing.

Theo snorts, rolling the map and tucking it into his jacket. “Not a detour. An alternate approach.” His gaze flicks to me then, softer. “One I think gives us a better chance of finding it.”

He doesn’t need to explain. The flower has become the heartbeat beneath all our steps, the quiet drive pulling us forward.

We fall into silence again, but it’s a warm, companionable one. Even with the ache growing in my legs and the restless flicker of heat curling low in my belly, I feel safe. These men—these alphas—move around me like a shield, like a promise.

By the time we reach a small clearing bathed in sun, the tension that’s held tight in my shoulders all morning has finally eased.

We stop to sip water and share dried fruit, the warmth of the light sinking into my skin.

Theo crouches to check the straps on my pack, his fingers brushing my side just long enough to catch my breath, while Dane scans the treeline from the edge of the clearing.

We don’t linger. The ridge waits ahead, and beyond it—if Theo is right—the next step toward the flower.