Page 17 of Knottily Ever After (Crescent Lake Cozy Omegaverse #1)

Chapter Seventeen

Violet

T here’s a steady, low murmur inside Hops & Scotch this afternoon. I’m sitting at the bar at the far end, my laptop power cable running behind the counter where Vaughn graciously plugged it in for me.

I found out that only the larger restaurants just outside of the town have liquor licenses, so if anyone local wants a drink at lunch or dinner, they come here. And Crescent Lake supports their local businesses with a vigor I’ve never seen.

Vaughn said that the big hotel beyond the lake doesn’t even serve alcohol, so Hops & Scotch is the closest location for convention attendees and holiday vacationers.

Because of that, patrons, many of them tourists, have been filing in and out of the brewery more often.

The place is still relatively quiet, and the background conversation is more like white noise.

I’m finding it easier to get words on the page recently. And I know it’s because of them .

These Alphas who have been doting on me in ways no one ever has.

How they hang on my every word, seek out what it is I want and prioritize it over anything else.

They haven’t done anything crazy out of this world, no—well, aside from Vaughn letting me stay at his place for free, which he totally didn’t need to do—but even the small things, like touring the town or letting me watch the things I like to watch on TV or taking me for sweet treats, or even helping me with my morning workout routine when I didn’t want the help and even teaching me a thing or two, which I begrudgingly admit now.

Steve never did any of those things for me. In fact, the more I think about it, the less interest he showed in me and my life, the longer we were together.

Maybe Bec was right and I was blinded by my childhood crush on him.

Steve was the only Alpha I ever thought about, dreamed about, considered being with in any way. And I really thought he felt the same all these years.

How have three total strangers been treating me better than someone I’d been childhood friends with? It made no sense.

When I think about Steve now, I hardly feel a thing aside from anger.

When I think about Vaughn? I remember our prolonged eye contact when he fed me ice cream, or how warm I got between my legs when he told me he’d never let me fall while ice skating.

When I think of Quinn, I remember the first time he helped me stretch on the mats at his gym, how his strong body hovered over me, those large hands grasping my legs, pushing them apart.

And Ben makes me feel safe enough to fall asleep in front of him, despite him being one of the hottest guys I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Who am I kidding? All three of them are absolutely gorgeous, and I’m… well, I’m just me. Not exactly something to write home about, but not the stuff of nightmares.

I think I may be pouting when Vaughn comes over to me with a pint that looks a little pink. He smiles broadly, proudly, as he says, “I just tapped this one today. It’s a new recipe. I think you’ll like it.”

While touring the basement of the brewery, marveling at the shiny equipment and delicious smells, Vaughn had told me how he planned for his beers to be ready at different frequencies based on tourism when he got more patrons.

With the spring and summer conventions, he tapped a new vat sometimes twice a week.

He liked to open new brew recipes when there were a lot of customers to test them on.

I give him a grin and pick the glass of light pink beer up off the coaster, bring it to my lips and sip. The flavors explode in my mouth, smooth, light, and fruity. “Strawberry!” I cry, then slap my hand on my mouth, eyeing the other patrons.

No one seems to care about my outburst, save Vaughn, who laughs, those gray eyes sparkling with delight. “I knew you’d like it!” he says all loud with a slap on the bar.

I press my lips together, stifling a laugh. Dare I believe he’s trying to ease my embarrassment?

I think I do.

The door to the bar swings open, and in walks the young Omega from the ice cream and candy shop. I remember her name tag said “Julie.”

Three men surround her, two of them obviously Alphas—one of them an absolute Viking of a man—the third a shy-looking Beta who grips Julie’s hand and walks one step behind her.

Julie catches my eye and smiles, raising her free hand to me, then to Vaughn in a small wave before they all sit at the table closest to the door.

“I’ll be right back,” Vaughn announces before going to their table. There’s a little small talk, some laughter, but I can’t hear what they’re saying until Vaughn says loudly, “Congratulations!” and the murmur at their table rises in volume.

I turn back to my laptop and get a little more writing done in the brief time it takes Vaughn to prepare their drinks and bring them to their table on a tray, then return to behind the bar. When I look up at him, he’s all kind smiles, and I tilt my head. “Something good going on over there?”

His broad smile widens further. “Julie found her final scent match.” There’s warmth in his eyes like I’ve never seen. “Their pack is complete.”

He lost me somewhere between “scent match” and “pack.”

No packs in the big city, and we don’t have time in the hustle to think about fairy tales like “scent matching.”

I give a polite smile. “That’s wonderful.”

My tone must not be convincing, even though I really tried.

Vaughn’s eyebrow rises as his gaze narrows on me. “What’s up?”

I blink once, twice, eyes wide and head shaking side-to-side. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His eyes narrow further. “Come on. Spill it. You’re not as excited as others would be.”

I huff out a laugh-gone-snort and slap my hand over my mouth.

“Uh-huh,” he says, lips forming a straight line, disappointment on his face that I can’t take.

I let out a huge sigh, and keep my voice low. “I’ve never believed in scent matching.”

Vaughn takes a step back, aghast.

I put my hand up. “Look, I was raised to believe it was more of a religious thing.”

“Religious?” He says it like the word is foreign.

“Yeah.” My mouth curves downward into a frown.

“That stuff just doesn’t happen. I mean, I’m open-minded, don’t get me wrong.

I’ve never seen a person find ‘The One’—or ‘ Ones,’ in this case—based on scent.

It’s a story parents tell their kids so they think that there’s someone out there meant just for them, so they don’t lose hope.

But we all grow up and stop believing. Like with the Tooth Fairy or Easter Bunny. ”

Then, despite the utter horror on Vaughn’s face, I hit him with another hard fact. “The people in L.A. who believe in scent matching are seen as cultish.”

His hand grips at the center of his chest, like I’ve struck him there, though I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it.

His back is bent forward, and mouth opens and closes several times before he straightens his back and takes a deep breath, those steel-colored eyes still round with deep offense as he looks down at me.

If there were a hole nearby I could crawl into, I’d be in it.

A few minutes ago.

Before I opened my mouth.

I didn’t realize scent-matching was that important in this town. I’ve offended the fuck out of Vaughn.

Fantastic.

How are you going to fix this fuck-up, Violet?