Page 123 of Knot So Social

Jeremy knocks on the door lintel. His hand snakes around with a packet of pain killers, which he drops on the bathroom counter. So respectful.

By the time I’ve scrubbed my skin raw with magnolia-scented shower gel and popped two pills, my head clears enough to function. Just when I’m wondering what to do, I find a set of clothes on the bed. The size and scent tell me they’re Jeremy’s.

Willow sleeps deeply, her soft breaths whispering across the pillow. I pause, watching. This gorgeous omega, nursing me for God knows how long. Who would have believed it possible? Even though the situation that led me here was a nightmare, to have Willow worry and care for me feels like I’ve somehow won the lottery.

We’ve moved one step closer to each other, and that makes my heart race.

I fix the bedcovers around her and tiptoe out to let her rest.

Mr Shares waits for me outside the bedroom door, his tail slapping the floor as his tongue lolls out. He waves one paw, not quite touching my leg. Of course I have to stop and give the big baby cuddles and scratches before I can get past.

I find Jeremy in the kitchen cooking eggs. He seems at home here, limping around and using the benchtops to support himself as he collects dishware and helps himself to things in the pantry. The frying scent makes my stomach rumble.

He throws me a wry smile. “Take a seat. I’ll have something for you in a jiffy.” He pops bread in the chrome toaster. “Anything you don’t eat?”

I shake my head.

“That makes cooking simple then.” Jeremy flips one egg and then glances over his shoulder. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Over easy.”

He nods. “Got it. I’m more of a 'cook them ‘til they're rock hard' kinda guy.”

Plenty of innuendos there, but I leave them well alone. I still don’t know anything about this alpha who’s so at home in Willow’s private space.

He serves out delicately fried eggs on buttered toast in less than a minute. Going to the fridge, he gets out a drink and checks the label.

“Chocolate coconut water? Huh! Didn’t know such a thing existed.” He gets two glasses out and pours. “But Willow does have pretty refined tastes.” He slides one across the counter to me, a twinkle in his hazel eyes saying he’s meaning something more than drinks.

He plops down beside me with his own plate, the yolks split and fried right through. “What do you say for 'enjoy the meal' in Italian?”

“Buon appetito.”

He butchers the accent attempting to recite the words, making me chuckle. Sitting beside him like this, all the questions I want to ask flock through my brain. What is he to Willow? Why did she ask him to help with her heat instead of me?

Jeremy beats me to it.

“So, Willow said you’re helping with the fence out the back?” He juts his chin toward the patio door where the blueish dawn lingers on shadowy outdoor furniture.

“Yeah. Mr Shares, the dog, jumped her back fence. I brought him home and offered her to help raise it.”

Jeremy swivels to look out in the garden. “Isn’t that a six-foot fence?”

“Seven,” I correct.

Jeremy shakes his head and whistles. “What a fluffy little troublemaker.”

I point to the crutches propped up on the end of the kitchen bench. “What happened.”

He gets an odd look on his face, like he’s holding in a laugh. “I tripped over Mr Shares.”

I stare at him for a second. “Merda! Here?”

“Yep.” He laughs. “Well, to be more accurate, he bowled Willow over and I dived to catch her.”

Saints above, how dangerous. “Thank you. For catching her.”

“Of course.”