Page 46 of Knotted By my Pack

“Not yet. But you’re close,” she answers. “I’m going to up your dose temporarily and switch you to the extended-release version. It should stabilize things. But you need rest, andideally, avoid high-stress environments. That includes intense emotional stimulation.”

Like Elias’s mouth on my neck. Like Julian’s teeth grazing my collarbone. Like Noah’s hands, rough and familiar, catching my hips when I danced with him.

I nod quickly. “Okay. Yeah. Thank you.”

We wrap up, and I gather my bag, feeling just slightly less chaotic than when I walked in. The door clicks shut behind me, and I glance down the hall—then pause when I spot Grace sitting in the waiting area.

Her hair is braided back, and she’s dressed in a white sweater that makes her look soft and ethereal, like she belongs in a storybook. She owns Haven’s Nook, the cozy flower shop on the other side of the town center.

Everyone adores her, and rightly so.

“Cora,” she says, her smile lighting up her face. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better,” I admit, returning the smile. “Just a quick visit.”

“Same. Just a routine check-up. I was actually thinking of you this morning,” she says as she pulls out her phone. “Did you like the flowers Elias brought for you?”

My breath stutters. I blink. “Yes. Thank you.”

Grace nods. “He picked them himself before sunrise. Showed up at the Nook asking for twine and brown paper. Said they were for someone who needed something bright.”

My chest tightens. “They were very, very pretty,” I say softly.

Grace tilts her head, pleased. “I’m glad. Maybe I’ll stop by Whisked sometime this week and try those muffins Elias kept praising. Said they were sin in a paper wrapper.”

I laugh under my breath. “You’re always welcome. I’d love that.”

“Grace?” Dr. Avery calls from the hall.

Grace squeezes my hand before standing. “Take care of yourself, Cora.”

“You too.”

I step outside, the afternoon air warm and a little too bright. The sky is that pale shade of spring blue that makes everything look too soft, too real.

I should head back to the bakery. My work day technically isn’t over. But my body’s heavy, nerves strung too tight, and I know if I go back now, I’ll either snap at someone or worse—collapse into Elias’s arms and beg for more.

Instead, I pull out my phone and order a cab. When it arrives, I slide into the back seat, resting my cheek against the cool window glass.

My thoughts drift to Noah before I even realize it. I miss him.

I write:I miss you. This week sucks.

The message sits for a second before I hit send. The reply comes within minutes. A series of photos.

His hands stained with paint and sawdust. Cabinets half-finished, wood grain shining under the light of his workshop.

He’s smiling in one of them, a little crooked, a little tired. My chest twists. He’s only been gone two days, and I’m falling apart without him.

When the cab pulls up to my house, I thank the driver and let myself inside, the scent of vanilla and flour still clinging to my sweater.

My home is quiet. I leave the lights off, kicking off my shoes and changing into something comfortable.

Then, I make tea—the way Noah taught me. Two teaspoons of loose leaf in my favorite cracked mug, steeped exactly three minutes.

I sit at the kitchen table, palms wrapped around the warmth, letting the silence settle over me like a second skin.

I drink half, then slide into bed, setting the mug on my nightstand. The sheets smell like linen and cinnamon. Familiar and lonely all at once.