Page 5 of Knotted By my Pack (North Coast Omegaverse #3)

NOAH

The sun hangs low when Rowan finally calls it a day. Sweat clings to my skin, salt and sawdust mixing in the air as we step off Helene. She gleams under the fading light, freshly patched and ready for the water again.

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.”

People murmur. Some nod. Others exchange looks, cautious but intrigued.

“My proposal is simple. A luxury hotel at the old docks near the harbor, with chain hotels in town to accommodate visitors. The trails that run through the area would connect it all, leading tourists right into the heart of Driftwood Cove. We’re talking cruises, boat rentals, a marina upgrade.

This town could become a destination, drawing in visitors year-round, which means more jobs, more businesses, more money flowing into local pockets. ”

But he doesn’t stop there. Over the next several minutes, he outlines the entire vision—how construction would boost short-term employment, how partnerships with local vendors could give Driftwood Cove’s businesses national visibility.

He talks infrastructure improvements, tourism cycles, and even off-season events to keep the town alive in the colder months. He speaks like a man used to boardrooms and bottom lines, but he’s adapted it for this crowd—less numbers, more future.

And when he finally stops talking, it’s not abrupt. It’s calculated. He pauses, letting the words settle.

“I know change can be hard,” he finishes, scanning the crowd, “but I hope I have your support. I’d be happy to take questions.”

A beat of silence follows before Rowan’s packmate Jake, the mayor and fish vendor, raises his hand. “Where exactly are you building this luxury hotel?”

Julian’s smile doesn’t falter. “Near the harbor.”

That gets more murmurs, some louder this time.

Jake leans back in his chair. “And the trails? Are these the ones near the cliffs?”

“Yes. They will connect to the hotel, making it easier for visitors to experience the beauty of the area.”

Julian gestures like he is painting a picture with his hands. “Think about what that could mean for business. Restaurants, guided tours, fishing charters. People will come here looking for an escape, and they’ll spend their money while they’re at it.”

Lockwood is nodding. Jake doesn’t see eye to eye with his assistant and is actually shaking his head as Julian talks.

I shift in my seat, thinking about the amount of work this could mean for me if Julian uses local materials. A project this big would keep my construction company busy for years.

Still, something about him doesn’t sit right with me.

Then Cora stands, and my focus sharpens.

Julian glances her way, his polite smile still in place.

“You’re tearing down the docks?” she asks, her voice steady.

Julian nods. “The docks would have to be renovated as they are a safety hazard at present.”

Cora crosses her arms. “The docks are history. Our town grew up around those docks.”

A few people hum in agreement. An older man near the front nods.

Cora takes a step forward. “Those docks have been here for ages. That’s where the first trading post stood when this town was nothing but a handful of families trying to survive the winters.

The fishing boats that dock there? They have been passed down through generations.

Tom’s own grandfather repaired nets on those planks.

My best friend took me to watch the sunrise from that pier when we were kids.

It’s not just wood and nails, it’s Driftwood Cove. ”

Cora does have a point. Tom is one of the oldest fishermen in town, and he’s always by the docks doing a bit of fishing by himself. Tearing out the docks would ultimately displace him. But what caught me off guard was the mention of the trip to the pier when we were just kids.

I had no idea it meant so much to her.

Julian clasps his hands in front of him, his smile never slipping. “I hear you. I do. But progress means making tough decisions. The town can still honor its history and grow.”

Cora lifts her chin. “Growth at what cost? You bring in tourists, and then what? Big businesses follow. Chain restaurants. Malls. The small businesses that make this town unique will suffer.”

Julian exhales through his nose, clearly reining himself in. “I understand the concern, but if we do this right, we can find a balance. We will bring in new business while preserving what makes Driftwood Cove special.”

Cora does not look convinced. Neither do half the people in the room.

Julian scans the crowd and adjusts. “I’ll take your concerns into consideration. This is why I wanted feedback before I proceed. Are there any more comments or questions?”

More people raise their hands.

Cora sits, and before I can process what is happening, she reaches for my hand. Jesus.

Her fingers slide against mine, and suddenly, none of this matters—the work, the money, the promise of a major contract. I would rather lose it all than watch her lose what she loves.

The docks were where I took her for her twelfth birthday. I had done every odd job I could find, from cleaning fishing rods to mowing lawns, and saved up every coin just to buy her ice cream from the little stand by the marina.

It had been a warm summer afternoon, and we’d sat on the worn wooden planks, legs dangling over the edge, licking at our cones while the sun dipped low over the water.

She had been my best friend for as long as I could remember, and even then, I had known I would do anything to make her happy.

If she wants to preserve that pier, then I will stand by her. No questions asked.

Fuck. I like Cora way too much.