Page 28 of Knotted By my Pack

She surprises me by plating two and sliding one toward me. Then, she just breaks off a piece of hers and pops it in her mouth.

I do the same. Still warm. Soft on the inside, golden around the edges. Perfect.

“You’re good at this,” I say between bites.

Her eyes flick up to mine. “Thanks.”

We finish the muffins in silence, and when we’re done, she doesn’t rush to get up. Neither do I. It’s not much. But it’s something.

We’ve been sitting in the quiet hum of her kitchen for about ten minutes when she wipes her hands on a towel and sighs. “I should get started on the cinnamon rolls,” she says. “Mrs. Harrow likes them fresh.”

I nod, standing slowly. “I should head out anyway.”

She walks me to the front, thanking me again for the car. Her voice is soft, grateful. I don’t think before I do it—just lean in and press my lips to her cheek. Her breath catches. Her body stills.

She doesn’t move. Her eyes snap to mine, pupils blown wide, and there’s a charged pause between us.

Every nerve in me is lit. Her skin is warm where I kissed her, and I know she’s thinking the same damn thing I am. That we’re standing far too close for this to mean nothing.

“Where’s your phone?” I ask, voice rough.

She swallows. “At the counter.”

I walk over, tap in my number—something I should have done a long time ago—and hand it back. “I’ll be waiting for that invite.”

She’s still watching me like I just flipped her entire world on its side. “Okay,” she says, so quietly it barely registers.

I walk out of the bakery with the taste of her still lingering on my lips, and I’m halfway across the street when everything shifts.

There’s a sign on the building next to hers. Black with bold lettering. My steps slow.

VANCE REAL ESTATE.

All the warmth she filled me with is gone, drained out of me like someone pulled the plug. My jaw sets, muscles locking up as rage climbs through me, hot and blinding.

I don’t even notice the truck until it parks right under that sign. And from the driver’s side, like some fucking demon conjured from hell, Julian steps out, looking like he owns the goddamn town.

I stalk toward him, fists already clenched.

He sees me. “Elias?” he says, surprised.

“Don’t say my name,” I snap, stopping inches from him. “What the fuck are you still doing here?”

Julian shuts the truck door slowly, calmly. That infuriating smirk plays at the edge of his mouth. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“You showing up here absolutely concerns me,” I spit. “You and your brother think you can just waltz in after everything? You think people forgot?”

He laughs, a low, amused sound that slices through what’s left of my self-control. “I’m not here for that. And you, of all people, shouldn’t be playing the victim.”

I take a step forward so we’re chest to chest. “Don’t talk about things you weren’t man enough to stop. You just stood there, Julian.”

His expression shifts, still smug, but colder now. “That wasn’t my fight.”

“You are his brother. It was your fight the moment he touched her.”

A flash of something crosses his face. Guilt? No, not guilt. It’s pride. Or maybe ego. “This is about Damien. Still stuck on that, huh?”

I push him. “Watch your mouth.”