Page 37 of Knot So Social

Oh. My pulse falters. “Okay, I’ll measure up then.”

The door swings shut and my heart drops. What exactly was I hoping for? Of course she’d be shy around me, the guy who saw her panic attack. But I just need to show her I’m harmless.

I circle around the house and pass through another gate with a high-profile security lock on it. Looks like she controls everything from inside. Which is smart, for a wealthy omega living alone. Well, I assume she’s on her own. No signs of a pack presence inside the house, definitely no alpha scents.

I get out my tape measure and stretch it along the fencing, writing dimensions in my phone as I go. I’ve only been at it for a few minutes when the back door slides open and a soft yip catches my attention.

Her dog, Mr Shares, bounds across the lawn to greet me. He rears up without putting his paws on my thighs.

“Oh, who’s a good boy?” I croon, ruffling his silky ears.

“He was begging to go out to see you,” Willow calls.

“He’s fine.” I wag my thumb towards the brick wall. “I can follow him over the fence if he tries anything.”

Willow studies me from the back patio where she stays in the shadows, not moving a foot outside. As if she’s afraid of sunlight, like a vampire.

A hot flush runs down my spine. What a stupid overactive imagination I have. But still, I can’t shake the idea, and for some reason it lights me up inside. Pale skin, smoking hot, reclusive, and strange aversion to broken ceramics. She also moves in a slow sort of way, as if purposely reducing her pace. I snicker under my breath and get back to measuring up.

When I look for her again, she’s vanished back inside.

I write down all the measurements, but I linger in the backyard, unsure about whether I should go back to her front door or not. Mr Shares brings me a well-worn knotted rope, so I play tug-of-war with him for a good ten minutes. When the dog takes off with the toy, I chase him right around the yard.

A soft chuckle breaks through my focus. I turn to find Willow in the patio, setting a tray down on the outdoor table.

“Come get something to drink,” she calls when our gazes meet across the yard.

Mr Shares drops his toy with a soft bark and prances back to her side. I follow, suddenly conscious of the fresh film of sweat and dog hair as I step inside her covered area. The space is cool and charming, full of Fishbone and Maiden’s Hair ferns, a handful of orchids, and macrame hangings. Water trickles in the back in a small fountain. Wouldn’t I love to live in here?

“Thanks for playing with him.” Willow scans me up and down. “Sorry about the hair. It’s a fact of life with long-haired breeds.”

I dust my trousers off and scrape my boots well before entering her patio. “Doesn’t worry me, ma’am.”

Her mouth turns up. “Just Willow is fine. Do you like lemonade?”

She waves one graceful hand toward a pitcher on the table.

“I love lemonade, Willow. Especially when it’s cold on a hot summer’s day.”

Her shoulders twitch with a silent laugh. Merda, her name feels perfect on my tongue. I am a gardener, after all.

She picks up a glass full of clinking ice cubes and pours. The bubbles pop, releasing a lemon scent, but as I step closer to take it from her, a whole other scent dimension opens up. Jasmine, thick and rich as if this patio was full of flowering vines. And underneath it, a deep, woodsy scent that makes my heart quiver.

An omega scent.

Not the kind that tells me off hand what her designation is. No, this is the kind that makes an alpha step forward, puff his chest out, and find any way to help her. The call of the wild echoes deep in my soul

The strange part is, she doesn’t seem to be scenting on purpose.

I sip the refreshing drink, watching her over the glass as she greets her dog. She tucks pale blonde hair behind one ear and smiles as she ruffles his ears. An omega this stunning living on her own? What’s her story?

“When do you think you can put it up?”

Now. Immediately. And many times over. “Pardon me?”

“The fence. When can you install the decorative panel.”

Oh, the fence! I clear my throat. “Um, it depends on the warehouse, if they have the stock or if I need to do a special order. If they have the panels, can I come around on Sunday?”