Knox chuckles. “Bitter cherries?”
“You know,” I say as I measure out the sugar again, “cherries are hit or miss. It really depends on the batch. Some don’t need as much sugar, but some batches get a little too much sunlight. Or they’re on the back of a truck a little too long. Finicky things like that can really make or break fruit in the kitchen.”
“Could I try one?”
I giggle as I dip up a cherry with its juice into a little ramekin cup. “Sure, you can let me know if I’ve sweetened them too much. They’re going into a pie.”
I hand him the ramekin and he reaches for it, his fingers brushing against mine. The contact is accidental, but the heat that blooms low in my belly from the feel of his skin against mine is anything but. It’s sharp, and immediate.
I’m suddenly all too aware of his scent. Petrichor and mocha, like having hot chocolate after a cool spring rain. It wraps around me like a vise, and I can already feel the sweat beneath my breasts soaking into the underwire of my bra.
“Mmmm,” Knox hums. He brings the ramekin to his face and licks at the juice on the bottom. My cheeks burn with the image of his head between my thighs, licking at me with that tongue of his. “This is… really good, Sunshine.”
I’m shocked I can school my voice. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says as he sets the ramekin down. “Dangerously good. If you mess up that pie, let me know. I’ll take it with me.”
My head falls back with a bark of laughter. “Not happening, but on the off-chance it does, I’ll let you know.”
“Good.”
Pickles chooses that moment to come sit beside Knox again, leaning his weight into the man’s leg. I look down at my dog, noticing the way he seems to almost relax in Knox’s presence. Like he’s meant to be there.
“Hey, boy,” I say as I reach out and scratch behind Pickles’ ear.
Knox reaches down and pats the side of his face. “Got anything else you need quality-controlled?”
I turn my attention back to all of the baked goods I’m volleying at once. “Not right now, but I know who to call if I do.”
I expect him to leave. To get back to work on something else at the vineyard. I’m sure Walker could find other things for him to do. Instead, he asks me a question, and his question makes me pause.
“You doing okay today?”
I pause for a little longer than I’d like. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just focused.”
“You sure? You take your tea and vitamins this morning?”
That makes me freeze.
Right. He knows.
They all do.
“I did, yes,” I say as I test the firmness of the cookies again. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I’m used to pushing through this part of my heat cycle. I plan my entire schedule around it. Comes with the territory when you’re freelance.”
Knox makes a sound low in his throat. Not quite a growl, not quite a sigh. “If you need rest, you should be able to rest. You don’t have anyone that can step in and help you?”
I risk a glance at him. He’s closer now. Close enough that I can smell him properly. He smells clean. Warm. Threaded with something steady that makes my Omega side want to lean toward him whether I want it to or not.
“My work depends on it,” I say quietly. “If I slow down, things fall apart. And I haven’t gotten to a point where I’m profitable enough to start saving money back for my own bakery. So, I have to keep chugging.”
“Or,” he says gently as he reaches for my wrist, stopping me from moving for a second, “you could let people help. People who want to help you out.”
The space between us feels suddenly charged and heady. Like one wrong move could tip everything out of balance.
“I can help,” he adds, softer. “With anything. Lifting. Cleaning. Taste-testing. Deliveries. Negotiating contracts. Whatever you need.”
A smile tugs at my mouth despite my nerves. His hand is still wrapped around my wrist. Warm, with calluses that feel good against my skin.
