Page 22 of Knottily Ever After (Crescent Lake Cozy Omegaverse #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Violet

A bout an hour before Ben returned home from work, Quinn had walked into the kitchen where Vaughn and I were cooking, wielding a tower of white bakery boxes tied in red and white-striped string.

“I come bearing goodies!” he sang as he placed the boxes on the island and began sorting through them, putting a few in the fridge and stacking the rest beside it on the counter.

He excused himself to go shower, and when he returned, Vaughn was preparing the seasoning for the shrimp and readying the pan to saute the spinach.

“Hey, Vi? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

I look up into his chocolate eyes, his expression imploring, and nod in agreement. He leads me to his room, opens the door and enters first, leaving the door open behind us.

His room is a swath of navies, grays, and whites, with a few accents of bright green. Very masculine and also sporty. He has some fancy sneakers on display on the back wall, and one corner of the room has some mobile workout equipment, like free weights and those weighted ankle and wrist wraps.

“I want to apologize.”

My gaze shoots up to meet his, and his genuine frown makes my heart flutter.

“No, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupts, brows drawing into a furrow on a sigh. “I upset you, and that’s the last thing I wanted to do. It was my selfish desire to…” he trails off, eyes growing tight. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “What I think and want doesn’t matter when it comes to your life.”

A jolt courses through my body, drawing me closer to him.

Something inside me doesn’t want him to say that, although I’m unsure why.

As I place my hand on his muscular forearm, he takes in a deep breath and looks down at me.

There’s longing there in those dark eyes; something I’ve only ever caught a glimmer of before, but not from Steve. Never him.

I’ve seen a hint of this visceral want in Vaughn’s eyes, and Ben’s.

And now, I stand before Quinn, and the pull is so strong that I don’t know what to do. Confusion mars my brain, making it short-circuit. But my body is on autopilot, my hand running down his arm to take his hand in mine, grasping his fingers.

“It matters to me,” I whisper. “I don’t know why I was so upset because of your questions, but…”

I overreacted. I was being too sensitive. I was confused.

“I want to know why you were asking.”

I peer into his eyes, well aware that I’m pleading and not giving a damn.

His lips press together, his free hand coming up to grasp my shoulder. “I tend to get myself into trouble when I speak my mind.” His grin is lopsided, his eyes sparkling with mirth. Then his stomach growls something fierce, drawing a loud huff of laughter from me.

“Let’s talk after dinner,” I tell him.

His smile is kind as he squeezes my hand and we return to the kitchen.

The remaining time we spend cooking, Quinn provides comic relief by singing atrociously and doing funny dances, causing me to nearly shoot wine from my nose more than once.

Then, I feel a shift in the air. Not in the kitchen, but…

Ben stands in the hallway, waves of grief washing over him as he watches us, his cinnamon and sandalwood scent tinged with sour notes.

I don’t know why, and don’t need to. I do know that I need to go to him. Comfort him.

So I do.

My arms wrap around his lean, muscular frame, pulling him in tight. That grief washes over me as well, like we’re connected somehow.

It’s not my sorrow I feel, but his.

The tighter I hold him, the more his sandalwood and cinnamon scent envelops me like a soothing balm. But I’m not the one who needs to be soothed, it’s Ben. And all I want is to comfort him, to take away whatever this darkness is that plagues him.

When Vaughn and Quinn join us in our embrace, their scents flare around us, circling us in smoky whiskey mixed with cool ocean breeze as Ben’s tears drop into my hair.

I hold on tighter, wishing my arms were long enough to fully embrace them all at once, a small voice in the back of my head asking why I would want this.

Why is it so easy to be with all of them together?

Is this what fate feels like?

But I don’t believe in that fairy tale stuff...right?

“Vi, you’re killin’ me with this sauce!” Quinn moans, mouth full of penne and Alfredo.

“It is absolutely delicious,” Ben chimes.

“Better than any restaurant I’ve ever been to,” Vaughn says, sounding completely sincere as the others hum in agreement.

My face heats at their compliments. “Thank you.”

Later, I insist on helping clean up because there are just so many dishes, but they all give me the easy job of putting leftovers in air-tight glass containers and putting them in the fridge, while they load the dishwasher and Vaughn takes the trash downstairs to the receptacle outside.

I wipe down the counters before anyone else can beat me to it.

“Thank you for the great food, Violet.” Ben’s voice is calm and smooth, drawing my attention to his ice-blue eyes, the black ink that licks up his neck to his jaw from under his tee shirt.

“I’m really exhausted,” he continues. “Time to call it a night.” He raises his hand before he turns for the hallway.

“Goodnight,” I call after him, then watch as he disappears into his room.

Quinn places his fingers between my eyebrows, and I turn to his gentle smile. “No need to fret over him,” he tells me, his voice quiet. “He’s going to be okay.”

I want to ask what’s wrong with him, want to know every detail of why he was so sad, but they’re not questions for Quinn. I will find out from Ben, when he’s ready to tell me.

Vaughn returns and washes his hands with a big yawn. “I have a meeting early in the morning.” He doesn’t sound happy about it. “Will you two be okay alone?” There’s teasing in his tone, and Quinn wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me into his side.

“Oh, we’ll be just fine without you,” he says, sing-song.

I laugh at the same time as Vaughn, who tells Quinn, “Behave yourself,” before wishing us goodnight and heading to his bedroom.

“ Sooo,” Quinn’s voice gets a bit lower, a bit rougher, and he turns my body to face him, my back to the counter, his hands on my hips. My breath grows ragged at his hooded gaze, my heart pounding like thunder racing through my veins. “Tell me about your books.”

I blink once, twice, then raise a brow at him in question. “I thought we were going to talk about why you were asking me those questions the other day.”

He shrugs. “Change of plans. We’re having a good night and need to keep that vibe rolling.” His grin is pure sin.

“I write romance,” I say dumbly. Super smooth, Vi. “Um, my last book hit the best-seller list. It was my first time.”

Quinn’s face is alight with excitement as he steps back, his hands clapping together, followed by a wince at the noise. “No way,” he says quietly. “What name do you write under?”

Do I want him to know? I guess it doesn’t really matter. I’m not ashamed of what I write. I’m just… private.

But this is Quinn. Despite his rough edges at times, I do trust him.

“River Edmond,” I tell him, and his phone is out, his thumbs flying before I’ve barely finished speaking.

In no time, he’s humming in interest, head nodding. “Almost twenty books,” he says, sounding impressed.

I laugh, head shaking. “Five years, and book twenty was the break-out star.”

Quinn motions for me to follow him to the couch where we sit, him still looking at his phone. “All of your books are romance?”

“Yep.”

“And they’re, uh…” he contemplates. “What’s it called? ‘Open Door’ romance?”

My laughter is louder now, surprised he even knows the term. “That’s right, although I’m proud to say I write smutty romance. There’s no shame in bringing joy to my readers.”

He’s looking at me with rapt interest. “So, lady porn.”

“I don’t discriminate,” I tell him. “Anyone can read my books.”

“And… where does River Edmond get her inspiration for such… stories.” He’s leaning forward now, phone forgotten, chocolate eyes glistening in the light, lids a little heavy. My heart gives a hard thump in my chest, my breath catching.

“My imagination.” My voice is barely audible.

The smirk that stretches across his face is...devilish. I’ve never seen someone look so wicked and sexy at the same time. “Only your imagination?”

My voice escapes me. Lips parted, I nod dumbly.

“And you’re writing your next book now?”

Another affirmative nod.

“And how’s that going?”

I blink, swallow. “Okay,” I whisper.

That smile, that perfect white smile, grows broader. He puts his phone back into his pocket, his head tilting to one side. “I’m going to help you,” he says casually. “Will you let me?”

My blinks come like spasms now, lashes fluttering out of control.

Help me? Quinn wants to help me with… inspiration?

Do I want that?

What does that even mean?

None of that matters. The answer is more than clear.

“Yes.”

The pleased expression on his face amplifies the wickedness in his eyes.

“Good. Very good, Vi.” He rises to his feet, stretches out his hand to me and I take it, allowing him to pull me up.

“This is what I want you to do. Go to your room, take thirty minutes to relax. Take a warm shower. Change. Whatever will make you comfortable.” His hand glides up my arm slow and gentle, then back down again to my hand.

“After thirty minutes, get in bed. Keep your phone on you.”

I stand, frozen and gaping. “Uh…”

His fingertips come up to the side of my face, run from my cheek to my jaw, then slowly down the left side of my neck until it rests on my clavicle, drawing a shiver from deep inside me.

“Do this for me, sweetheart. I promise, you won’t regret it.”

Well, shit. How am I supposed to say no to that?