Page 10 of Knotted By my Pack

Rowan pulls a roll of cash from his pocket, counting out my pay. “Good work.”

I take the bills, tucking them into my wallet. “You heading to the town hall meeting?”

He shrugs, glancing toward the docks. “Grace is making me go.”

That pulls a laugh out of me. “She’s got you whipped.”

Rowan shakes his head, but there’s no argument. He used to be the recluse up in the Thorne Lighthouse, living like a ghost, but that changed when he formed a pack with Grace, Jake, and Ash. Now, he has ties. A reason to show up.

We part ways, and I check my phone. A message from Cora reminds me I need to pick her up before the meeting.

Whisked has emptied out, warm light spilling from the windows. Cora stands near the counter, distracted by her phone, a container of cookies balanced on one arm.

For a second, I just watch her. Petite and fiery, copper-red hair pinned up in that messy way that makes my hands itch to pull it loose. Freckled skin, bright green eyes full of determination.

She’s always covered in flour, her apron dusted with sugar, and even from here, I catch the scent of warm vanilla.

I shouldn’t have feelings for my best friend, but I do.

Cora looks up just as I pull the truck to a stop. Her lips part, eyes brightening, and I have to shift in my seat, adjusting my cock before I get out. This woman has no idea what she does to me. She unravels me with just one look.

She walks out of the bakery with a huge smile on her face. “Hey. How was your day?”

“Busy.” I nod toward the cookies. “Yours?”

“Same,” she says and lifts the container.

I take it, popping the lid and grabbing one of the Danish cookies. The first bite melts on my tongue, buttery and perfect.

“Damn,” I say, chewing. “Best cookies ever.”

Cora’s smile widens, and that look alone ruins me. “Yeah?”

“Always.”

Something flickers across her face, but before I can place it, she dusts flour off her hands.

“Ready?” I ask, voice rougher than I intend.

She nods, and we get into the truck.

By the time we reach the town hall, the meeting is already in full swing. It’s a bi-monthly gathering, the kind where half the town shows up—more for the gossip than the agenda.

The place is packed, rows of wooden chairs filled with familiar faces. Cora and I slip into seats at the back, catching the end of Lockwood’s speech about cleanup projects and community maintenance—roads getting repaved, docks needing repairs, funding for the library. And, of course, the usual small-town politics.

Then his tone shifts. “Now, we have a special proposal to discuss,” he says, adjusting his stance. “This could bring a lot of opportunity to Driftwood Cove, but I will let the man behind the idea explain it himself.”

He gestures toward the front, and a man stands, buttoning his suit jacket as he steps forward.

I lean back in my chair, chewing the inside of my cheek. Let’s see what this guy has to say.

The guy looks out of place in that suit. Too polished, too put-together for a town like this. He runs a hand through his dark hair, the move practiced, like he knows exactly how to make himself look just the right amount of approachable. Then he smiles, all confidence, and steps forward.

“Evening, everyone. My name is Julian Vance, lead developer for Vance Real Estate.” His voice is smooth, the kind that has probably sold a lot of people on bad deals. “My father and I have always had a mission—to bring development to small towns, to create opportunity where there is untapped potential.”

I cross my arms and watch as he scans the room, making eye contact like he is already picturing us shaking hands on a deal.

“I have been here a while,” he continues, “and Driftwood Cove? It’s special. The location, the natural beauty, the people—it’s a place that could thrive with the right investment.”