Page 12 of They Love Me Knot (Starsfalls Omegaverse #2)

Kieran

G reen paint splatters onto the floor as my brush flies across the canvas, joining the dried paint already flecking the wooden boards.

A few more strokes, and then water splashes on the floor to join the paint, as I vigorously clean the brush in a jar. I sigh and gently dry it off, setting it with the others. Degrading my paintbrushes isn’t helping me feel better, and I don’t think the paintbrushes are really into it either.

I dry my hands on a stained rag and step back to assess the painting’s progress.

The background is done, tall mountains and fluffy clouds.

It’s the foreground that’s the issue. Wild honeysuckle spreads across a field, looking so realistic I can practically smell it.

I just can’t decide what other plants to add to it.

Everything I consider makes it seem unbalanced, grass would be too low, trees too tall. Nothing is quite right.

I mostly paint nature scenes with a focus on plants, but maybe I should switch to something else for a while. Not rocks, but something organic and captivating. Maybe mushrooms ?

I visualize how I would paint a mushroom, long stem curving up to the rotund head, delicate gills around the base. I rotate the image in my head, analyzing how to shade the mushroom and add texture to make it look alive.

Hmm, still not my thing.

I’ll have to keep looking for something else to satisfy this craving.

My phone lights up, distracting me from my stagnant art.

It’s just as well. I was done painting for the day, and the ruminating isn’t leading to anything productive.

I check it and see a notification that Sterling just got home. I have my alerts set to let me know when anyone comes or goes. I’m home most of the day and tend to lose track of time, and I don’t like to be startled by someone else being here when I don’t expect it.

Before I leave my studio, I check to see who else is here.

Sterling’s notifications are set as a priority, since he usually brings home extra baked goods that I love to eat.

It’s usually the desserts that don’t come out looking perfect, or the recipe experiments he thinks aren’t good enough to sell yet.

More food for me, and his desserts are always good, regardless of the high standards he sets for himself.

We’ve learned not to argue with him. If we try to talk up the recipes he doesn’t think are good enough yet, he just gets that fake smile on his face and says he’s glad we enjoy it.

But you can tell he’s thinking of how to adjust the flour or flowers for next time.

I head straight for the kitchen, and Sterling is just putting something in the fridge when I walk in.

“You can leave out whatever that is, I’ll eat it now,” I say .

Sterling jumps like a cat seeing a cucumber, and I hear plastic crinkling before he turns around, clutching a domed cake box to his chest.

His eyes are wide and wild, darting around the kitchen before settling on me.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that. I almost dropped the cake again —I mean, for the first time today. I just—make some noise when you come into my kitchen,” he says.

I squint at him but raise my hands placatingly. “Alright, my bad. I will take that cake, though. Hand it over before it gets crushed.”

Sterling looks down at the container he’s clutching like a life raft as if he’s never seen it before. With an “oh” he loosens his grip and sets it on the counter, the plastic misshapen and wonky. The cake looks unharmed.

There’s a ton of frosting on it, my favorite. I pop off the lid and grab a fork, watching Sterling out of the corner of my eye. He’s leaning against the counter and staring at the ground, worrying his lip with his teeth.

If his initial overreaction didn’t make it obvious something’s bothering him, Sterling calling this “my kitchen” is another sure sign that he’s stressed.

He only does that when he feels like everything else is out of control.

Then it’s my kitchen this and my oven that, and he spends all day in here, where he’s in charge of everything.

That’s why we have two kitchens. One for Sterling to do whatever he wants, and one for the rest of us to use. As much as I wish otherwise, I can’t eat just his cakes and cookies all the time. I have to mix in a nice salad and steak occasionally too.

Sterling isn’t pulling out mixing bowls and butter though, so I’m not sure what’s going on.

“Are you worried about Ciro?” I finally ask after eating a few bites of the pistachio and rose Chantilly cream cake. His outburst the other day is still on everyone’s mind, and Sterling is the most susceptible to negative fluctuations in the bond.

Sterling twitches and jerks his gaze up before looking away, staring over my shoulder.

“What? No, I’m sure he doesn’t know,” he says.

I pause with the fork halfway to my mouth.

“I meant, are you worried about Ciro because he freaked out after the bonding ceremony this weekend. What are you talking about?” I ask.

Sterling looks around nervously, like he’s checking to see if anyone is lurking nearby. Despite being alone, he comes over and leans in close.

“It’s nothing,” he whispers.

“What’s nothing? And why are we whispering?” I whisper back.

Sterling has a tendency to spiral, so this could be something that’s not a big issue, but since it involves Ciro, it could go either way.

“I don’t want to say why,” Sterling eventually says, “but if you can keep this just between us, I would like some advice.”

“I can keep a secret if you want, but you know the pack won’t judge you,” I say.

“It’s just, I don’t want to tell everyone yet. But I will. At some point. Probably,” he looks away and mumbles the last word.

I frown but settle my face into a neutral expression before he turns back.

I can’t feel much through the bond, just that he’s jittery, worried about something. That’s clear enough from looking at him anyway .

I’m not sure when Sterling closed off his side of the bond. When I’m painting, I tune out everything else, and that includes the pack bonds.

I nod encouragingly when it seems like he might not continue. Sterling looks around shiftily once more, and then takes a half-step closer so that we’re basically toe to toe, before saying, “Do you know where I can get a private investigator?”

“A private—what? A private investigator ? Why do you need one? What happened?” I ask incredulously.

Has someone been messing with his store? Sterling’s desserts are incredibly popular in town, like insanely so. It wouldn’t surprise me if someone has taken their obsession with his food too far.

I can’t think of any other reason he would need a private investigator. Sterling is too kind to have gotten into trouble in his personal life. Hell, he barely even has a personal life outside of our pack. He’s up early to work at Flourist and usually bakes even more in the evenings at home.

“Never mind, I don’t need one. I can do this myself,” Sterling says, edging along the counter to get out from under me.

I realize I’m looming over him, trapping him against the countertop, and step back so it doesn’t seem like I’m threatening him.

I was only threatening whoever is trying to tamper with his store.

However, I make sure to stay between Sterling and the exit. I don’t want him leaving until I figure out what this is all about.

“Whatever trouble you’re in, we’ll fix it. There’s some new alpha in town who investigates all kinds of things. Major companies and countries all around the world use him. Tell me what’s going on, and we’ll hire him,” I say.

Sterling shuffles nervously before asking, “He’s really that good?”

“He’s supposed to be one of the best investigators you can get. But if he can’t find what you want, we’ll get someone else. Don’t worry, Sterling. I’ll find his number so we can contact him.”

I pull out my phone to text Alice. I know he helped with some work they had done at the bookstore, so I’m sure she can get me his number.

“What should I say this investigation is about?” I say, trying again to figure out what’s going on.

“I’m trying to find someone in town. They, um, forgot their food at the shop, and I wanted to replace it for them,” Sterling says.

I wait, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“This is really about finding a customer who accidentally left their food behind?” I say, letting out a relieved laugh.

I thought Sterling was in trouble with the mafia or something with the way he was acting.

Not that there’s a mob in Starsfalls. At least, not that I’ve heard of.

Sterling’s face flushes. “They never came back to get their food. I don’t want them to think badly of my bakery, like it’s my fault they didn’t get what they came for after I scared them away,” he says, sounding upset.

I put a hand on his shoulder to make sure he’s paying attention.

“Sterling, I’m sure this person won’t think you’re a bad shop owner.

They’ll probably come back tomorrow and be embarrassed they forgot their things.

Just replace what they ordered with something fresh, and throw in an extra cookie or two if you really feel that bad for them. ”

He briefly perks up but then slumps against the counter again. “They didn’t come back today though. You really think they’ll come back tomorrow?”

I know he loves his food and his customers, but I’ve never seen him act like this. There’s more demand for his desserts than he can fill on a weekly basis, and he’s not this upset about it.

I’m not sure why one customer not getting a cookie is such a big deal.

“They were probably just busy and haven’t had a chance yet. If not tomorrow, then they’ll come back for your desserts soon,” I say.

“What if they never come back? Maybe we should hire the investigator to look for them now before the trail goes cold, or whatever it is those crime shows that Feliks always watches say. Isn’t the first forty-eight hours the most important?” he says.

“That’s for a missing person, Sterling.”