Page 20 of Knot the Stray

She nods. She kneels on the rug, unzipping the thick canvas duffel bag. She digs and pulls out a pair of soft gray sweatpants and a crumpled black t-shirt. She stands back up, clutches the clothes to her chest, and walks across the studio. She disappears into the bathroom. The door clicks shut. The lock slides into place a second later.

A glance passes between Edward and Nolan. The three of us stand in the small kitchen space with the checkered linoleum floor.

Edward rubs a hand over his rough jaw. His voice drops to a low rumble. “That was too damn close.”

Nolan takes off his dark frames, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Her survival instincts run the show right now. The scent match triggered a full panic. Proving this town offers a better life than the open highway is our goal.”

I lean against the laminate counter to gather my thoughts. “No crowding her. She calls every single shot from here on out. If we push her boundaries, she packs that van and disappears for good. Ninety days is all we get to prove this pack is worth staying for.”

Edward nods, rolling his shoulders to shed the residual adrenaline. He walks over to the refrigerator and pulls the handle. “I’m making breakfast. The night took a toll on her. She needs a solid meal.”

He pulls out a carton of eggs, a stick of butter, and a loaf of bread. Moving with practiced ease, he turns the stove dials and grabs a frying pan from the drying rack. He cracks the eggs against the rim of a glass bowl. Cooking grounds him. He likes taking care of people. The smell of melting butter fills the small room.

I set the cardboard cup carrier on the laminate table, pulling out the cups of coffee. I pull a wooden chair out from the round table and sit down. I keep my eyes on the bathroom door.

A few minutes pass before the lock clicks open. She washed her face and pulled her dark hair back into a messy bun. She looks a little less tired now.

She stops at the edge of the linoleum. Her dark eyes dart between Edward at the stove and Nolan by the counter. Her shoulders stay tight. She watches our hands, tracking our movements like she expects trouble.

Giving her space is our best option.

Nolan offers her a warm, easy smile. He picks up one of the paper cups and pops the plastic lid off. “Coffee?” He sets the steaming cup on the table near her. “Black, right?”

“Yeah.” Jessie sounds surprised. “Black is fine.”

I kick the empty chair across from me out a few inches.

Jessie crosses the room and takes the empty seat. Her shoulders stay hunched up near her ears, maintaining a tight, defensive posture. Her gaze locks onto the table. The silence stretches out. I brace for a fight. A deep breath expands her chest. Her spine straightens. The frantic edge bleeds out of the room. The confident, capable doctor who runs this clinic comes right back.

Seeing her bounce back like that makes me proud. She’s fierce and stubborn, and I love it. The deal made downstairs bought a tiny window of opportunity, but we have a mountain of trust to build. We just need to prove she never has to run again.

Edward kills the heat on the stove. He opens the top cabinet above the counter and pulls down a stack of mismatched ceramic plates. He grabs a handful of cheap metal forks from the drawer next to the sink. Moving with practiced ease, he portions out the scrambled eggs and the slices of golden toast. He sets a full plate and a fork in front of Jessie first, making sure she gets the best portion. He passes the rest of the dishes and silverware across the table to Nolan and me.

Jessie picks up her fork. She turns the cheap metal over in her hand, inspecting the unfamiliar cutlery. “The landlord left the dishes.” She keeps her dark eyes locked on the steaming eggs. “I travel light. I didn’t see the point in packing a whole kitchen for temporary contracts.”

“Good thing.” Edward tosses the dish towel onto the laminate counter behind him. “Saves us from using paper towels as plates.” He pulls out the fourth wooden chair and sits down.

We surround the round table, but we keep a respectful distance. We want to present a united front without boxing her into a corner. Keeping my hands flat on the table takes genuine effort. My instincts scream to reach across the cheap wood and pull her into my lap. I want to wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her neck.

Her overwhelming scent of vanilla and toasted sugar still hangs in the air, testing every ounce of my control. The memory of her bare skin burns in my brain. I force the possessive urge down. Pushing her right now guarantees she’ll pack her bags and drive away forever. We have to do this the right way.

I look at Jessie. I wait to make sure I have her full attention before we dig into the food. “We need to talk about the deal.”

Jessie’s jaw tightens. She traces the plastic lid of her coffee cup with her thumb, avoiding my gaze for a second. “I agreed to stay for the contract. Three months. That was the offer.”

“That’s the offer, and we honor it.” I keep my voice calm and even. I want Edward and Nolan to hear these terms straight from my mouth. Laying everything out leaves no room for confusion or miscommunication. “I want to set the ground rules right now so we all understand the boundaries. We struck a courtship deal. That means we get a chance to show you what a life in Willowside looks like, but you hold the reins.”

Jessie narrows her eyes, searching my face for a catch. “Lay them out, Jake.”

“Rule number one.” I hold up a finger. “You run the show down in the clinic. We don’t interfere with your schedule, we don’t bother you while you work, and we don’t try to micromanage your business. Your career comes first. You have a shift, we back the hell off.”

Jessie blinks, processing the direct offer. Her rigid posture softens a fraction. She scoops up a large bite of her eggs. She chews in silence, keeping her dark eyes locked on my face. She expects us to demand her time, and setting her career as the top priority throws her off balance.

“Okay.” She nods, finishing the mouthful of food. “What else?”

“Rule number two.” I break off a corner of my toast and pop it into my mouth. “Zero pressure to bond. We take the claiming bites off the table. We don’t push for a permanent mark, and we don’t guilt-trip you about it. We move at your pace for the next ninety days. If you want space, you get space. If you want to sleep in this bed alone, you sleep alone.”

Denying a claiming bite goes against every ingrained instinct. The urge to mark her and announce to the world that she belongs to our pack roars loud in my head. A scent match demands a permanent bond. But the three of us agreed in the diner. Building trust matters way more than a bite. We have to prove we aren’t a threat to her independence.