Page 7 of Knot So Social

In contrast, the dog pads happily across to a round basket and flops down on the well-worn rug inside, as if he hasn’t just caused havoc in both our days. Well, dogs are simple like that.

The omega clears her throat, and I realize I’ve blocked the hall. I sidle to the edge and she brushes past, moving awkwardly.

“My name is Willow,” she announces.

Willow, like the tree. It suits her perfectly, with her willowy figure and long hair hanging straight down her back, holding the same warm glow branches do when sunlight burns through them. My fingers twitch as I imagine running them through her silky strands.

“And you?” One corner of her mouth lifts, reminding me I’ve been standing here staring like a fool.

“Alessandro. Alex, if that’s too hard to say.”

She cocks her head. “Why would Alessandro be too hard to say?”

A shiver runs through me as my name rolls off her tongue. “Ah, it’s not, but . . .” I shrug. “Well, some of my employers find it too difficult.”

“Ah, I see.” She hoists herself up onto a bar stool. “You must work in this neighborhood then.”

I grin. “Correct.”

She flicks long, polished fingers toward the fridge. “There’s iced tea or Coke in the door. Help yourself.”

So open, unconscious of the difference in our status. That shiver returns, stealing lower in my body. My curiosity gets the better of me.

“You’re not afraid of having an alpha in your house? To have me here, looking in your fridge?” What the hell am I saying?

She twitches, a guilty look flashing across her face. As if catching herself, she smooths her expression. “Should I be afraid of you, Alessandro?”

“No, of course not.” I lurch toward the fridge just to break her hypnotic eye contact. “Just . . . people are usually more reserved.”

She laughs, and I about implode with the need to know what’s funny.

“I’m not as social as you think. But Mr Shares likes you.” She points to her dog. “And you brought him all this way using your belt, so I’d say that’s a good enough character reference.”

My cheeks heat, and I’m suddenly grateful for olive skin that handles both sun and embarrassment with ease.

“He’s a good boy,” I mutter.

I open the fridge door to discover it’s just as picture-perfect as the rest of the house. Precut vegetables lie inside neatly stacked glass containers. Beside them sit rows of yogurt tubs, lite wraps, an assortment of dips, and cheese with names I can’t pronounce. When I take a can of tea, the newly empty space in the rack appears unbalanced.

I offer her a drink but Willow declines with a polite wave of her hand. Nodding, I swing the door closed, careful not to let it slam. Moving further along the kitchen brings a new room into view; an office, set up like a studio with lights and cameras on tripods.

All very professional looking.

A unique pair of artworks hang on the wall just outside the open office door. Cracking open my drink, I step closer to inspect and discover the two framed pieces are radar weather maps. Both have dates printed at the bottom, roughly two years apart, and both look to be this part of part of Texas. The vivid blues, greens, yellows, and reds swirling together seem out of place in this elegant home. Which means they’re important, but how could weather charts be important to this lovely omega?

“See something interesting?” Her voice is deceptively calm, but one glance at her rigid body tells me I’ve crossed a line.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, stepping back to her side. The soda can clinks as I set it on the marble breakfast bar. “I was going to show you fencing photos, and here I am daydreaming.”

I drag my spiraling focus together to pull up images of the decorative fence tops I’ve seen, the ones with lattice patterning.

She takes my phone and studies each photo carefully, zooming in on the details with her nicely manicured hands.

“This could work.” Her blue eyes flick up. “Do you think I could install this around the entire backyard?”

A reason to see her again?

“Sì, absolutely,” I murmur before I’ve thought it through. “Well, I mean, fencing isn’t what I usually do, but I’m sure I can manage.”