Page 55 of Knot Your Sunshine (Snugverse Romcom #2)

I hesitate. Do I launch into my apprentice to the town's most notorious baking tyrant spiel? It doesn't exactly scream fun festival fling. "I, uh, I work with sugar. And occasionally, an unreasonable amount of butter," I say, trying for witty and vague.

He chuckles, a rich, warm sound. "Keeping your secrets, I see."

"You started it with your appreciator-of-the-craft mystery," I counter with a smile.

And just like that, the ice isn't just broken, it's melted into a puddle.

I tell him about the quirky side of Lakeview.

The annual 'Guess the Ice-Out Date' on the lake (winner gets bragging rights and a giant chocolate loon from the Sweet Tooth confectionery), Mrs. Henderson’s prize-winning zucchinis that are the stuff of local legend, and the time the mayor tried to introduce alpacas to the town square.

"So, the alpacas didn't take to the mayoral plans?" Dorian asks, his lips curved in amusement after I finish the story of the Great Alpaca Escape of '22.

"Let's just say they preferred the taste of Mrs. Gable's petunias to posing for tourist photos," I say, giggling at the memory. "The town council is still debating the emotional damages claim for the petunias."

His smile widens. "Sounds like a town with character. It’s good to find places that haven't had all their quirks smoothed out."

"Speaking of places," I venture. "Where are you from?"

"Well..." He pauses just long enough to draw me in, and before I realize it, I’m leaning closer.

"My grandfather was from France. I spent a lot of time there growing up, plus New York and London, but I always stayed connected to the French communities wherever I lived.

" His eyes hold mine, and a warmth spreads through my cheeks.

"Wow. So, uh, you must travel a lot?" I blurt, then immediately cringe at how basic that sounds after hearing about his incredible upbringing. But to be fair, his intense gaze isn't helping my brain function.

He leans back slightly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass and looking completely unbothered by my…

underwhelming response. "I do travel a fair bit for work.

This festival, for instance, has been on my radar for a while.

The standards are surprisingly high for a town this size, and that interests me immensely. "

His precise vagueness is most definitely an art form.

Normally, my internal alarm bells would be clanging like a five-alarm fire.

Alphas, secrets, it's a pairing of run away for me. But tonight, with the festival buzz in the air and Mia’s temporary-fun mantra echoing in my head, it feels… less threatening. More like a game.

"Would you by any chance be a Michelin Guide Inspector?

" I tilt my head playfully, already knowing he won't give me a straight answer.

"Well, I think you'll be immensely interested in how we, Lakeviewers, take our passions with pretty high standards ," I pause, then add with a dry edge.

"Especially a certain boss of mine who expects nothing short of perfection. "

Dorian’s smile widens, his expression warm yet revealing nothing. "Ah, the demanding mentor. A classic trope in any field of excellence."

The rest of the evening seems to warp and bend.

One drink turns into four, and I find myself laughing, truly laughing, more than I have in months.

When his arm brushes mine as he tells a story about a chaotic market in Marrakech, a jolt, warm and surprisingly pleasant, zings up my arm.

His eyes meet mine, and for a beat, the noisy bar fades away. I'm sure he felt it too.

"It's getting a little loud in here," Dorian says after a while, his voice a low rumble near my ear. "Want to get some fresh air?"

"Good idea," I agree, suddenly very aware of how close he is. "My eardrums are petitioning for a volume decrease."

The night air outside is cool and crisp, a welcome relief after the stuffy bar.

Main Street is quieter now, bathed in the soft glow of the festival lights strung between lampposts.

Banners proclaiming the '43rd Annual Lakeview Baking Festival' flutter gently in the breeze.

It looks… magical. Almost like a movie set.

"Wow," Dorian says, looking up. "Does Lakeview always dress up like it's auditioning for a holiday special?"

I laugh. "Only for the festival. It's our yearly fifteen minutes of fame."

A cool breeze suddenly whips around the corner, and I automatically wrap my arms around myself, regretting my hasty outfit choice.

"Cold?" he asks, already starting to shrug off his jacket.

"No, no," I say quickly. "I'm fine. It’s only a five-minute walk to my place, anyway."

"Is that an invitation to walk you home?"

Every sensible cell in my brain is screaming to say no. But I remember he's just here for a few days anyway…

"If you want," I reply softly, surprising myself. Then, before I can overthink it, I add, "and we could take the scenic route—give you a bit of a tour. It should turn our five-minute walk into a thrilling seven."

"How could I resist such an invitation?" His smile makes my knees feel suddenly unreliable.

We walk down Main Street, close enough that our elbows occasionally brush, sending electric currents through my body each time. The conversation somehow flows even more easily under the open sky.

"So," Dorian says, his shoulder brushing mine as we navigate around a wobbly festival sign. "Theoretically, would we be able to have a look at Mrs. Henderson's famous zucchini garden, or is it really under twenty-four-hour surveillance during growing season?"

I laugh, throwing him a sidelong glance.

"Venture near her garden? Absolutely not.

She guards her secrets like they're nuclear launch codes.

One year, Mayor Hanson tried to get her to reveal her fertilizer mix for the town beautification project, and she nearly chased him off her porch with a rake.

Declared it was her intellectual property and that it wouldn't work in 'common municipal soil' anyway. "

Dorian throws his head back and laughs, a rich, genuine sound that makes something warm unfurl in my chest. "A woman of conviction and formidable zucchinis. I like her already."

As we turn onto my street, the thought of the evening potentially ending brings a surprising pang of disappointment. For once, I'm not analyzing everything for hidden omega-detecting threats. For once, I'm not living ten steps ahead in my 'protect the secret, achieve the dream' master plan.

We stop under a flickering gas lamp replica, the kind the town council insists adds 'historic charm', just outside my building. The light casts intriguing shadows across Dorian's face, making his eyes dance in shades of silver.

Okay, Elena, deep breaths. This is it. The temporary-fun clause Mia mentioned. He's leaving after the festival. And I’ll be too swamped with the competition to be tempted to see him again. This is a self-contained little bubble of… something. Something just for me .

My inner cautious omega is screaming a muffled warning, but the part of me that’s been starved for a simple, uncomplicated human connection is loud tonight.

"So," I begin, my voice a little breathier than I intend. "My apartment is just up there." I nod toward the door. "It's not exactly a palace." A nervous laugh escapes me. "But the view of the town square is… decent. If you squint."

His smile is slow, genuine, and sends another one of those little flutters through me. "A decent view? Sounds dangerously appealing." He takes a small step closer. "Are you inviting me up, Elena of Lakeview?"

"I mean, only if you want to," I blurt, then quickly add, "I just got this special roast from the new place on Maple Street. It's, um, supposedly amazing. If you like coffee. Which you might not. Some people don't. Like coffee."

Great. I've apparently forgotten how to speak basic English.

His smile widens, reaching his eyes. "I love coffee. And I'd love to come up."

As I fumble with the keys to my building door, a tiny, familiar wave of 'what are you doing ?' washes over me. But as the door swings open into the dim hallway, I push it aside.

For once, this isn't about strategy or survival. It's just… this. He’ll be gone in a few days. What could possibly go wrong?