Page 1 of Knotting Autumn

Chapter 1

Autumn and Soy-boy

Trees whipped past me, a blur of gold and burnt orange. My chest was light, and I was almost flying, my feet barely touching the leaf-strewn forest floor. A sense of freedom welled up in every corner of my being.

Birds flitted overhead, their shadows dancing across the ground, guiding me. The wind lifted my hair, the scent of cedar and cloves filling my nose, comforting me. With a surge of energy, I launched myself higher.

My dream crashed down as a solid body landed on the mattress beside me. One muscular arm draped over my waist. Sawyer let out a deep sigh and turned his head away from me, cheek pressed into my spare pillow.

He nuzzled into it, shifting his weight and trying to get comfortable. The arm over my ribcage tightened, fingers flexing over my skin where my loose shirt had ridden up.

“Rough night?” I asked groggily.

With a grunt, he flipped over. His voice was gravelly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up, but your bed is so much more comfortable than mine.”

“It’s fine. You know I don’t mind.”

His pouting lips pulled into a soft, tired smile. I wanted to smooth my fingers over his cheeks and chin, counting the freckles there, a collection of constellations more familiar than my own face.

He wiggled closer, resting his cheek on my shoulder. Reaching over, I brushed a dirty blond curl off his freckled brow, dragging my nails along his scalp as I raked it behind his ear. His eyes shut, and he let out a low groan deep in his throat.

Last night was the full moon. Sawyer always left town each full moon and came back exhilarated, but exhausted and clingy.

For years, he made all sorts of excuses for his monthly disappearances—visiting family, overnight work shifts—but I didn’t ask anymore, and he pretended he wasn’t disappearing like clockwork.

After a decade as best friends, I’d tried on all sorts of theories, ranging from him being a werewolf to working as an international spy. My current favorite: he was practicing witchcraft and spent the full moons dancing naked around a bonfire. I didn’t mind picturing that image, because, although he was my best friend and there had never been anything romantic between us, there was no denying he was ridiculously handsome.

The image of him dancing naked under the stars had my skin heating, and I fought the urge to squirm under his arm. Clearing my throat, I said, “There’s no way I’m getting back to sleep now. So since I’m up now, I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Sawyer let out a grumbly whine, holding me tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t need to sleep in. Who needs sleep?” I couldn’t help teasing him.

Nose wrinkling, Sawyer scrunched his face up for a second before his brilliant green eyes shot open.

“You should go back to sleep, tired baby,” I whispered, biting my lip to suppress my taunting grin.

Pushing to his hands and knees, Sawyer’s left hand braced on the other side of my shoulders as he leaned over me. “I’m the one who busted in here and woke you up. I should be the one making breakfast.”

My heart rate accelerated as I looked up at him. He wore only a pair of gray sweatpants that clung to his hips. The various extra jobs he picked up kept him in great shape, and I fought to keep my eyes from wandering over defined abs, also freckled.

His full lips pulled into a mischievous grin. “Or you could play hooky and we could go hiking. The last of the wildflowers are blooming up by the lake.”

“When did you have time to get up there?” I asked, cocking one eyebrow. My palm settled on his forearm, my fingers resting over corded muscle as he supported himself.

“The other day. So what do you say? Sawyer and Autumn Day of Fun?”

I freaking loved this man. Shaking my head, I suppressed a laugh. “Unfortunately, I need to be a responsible adult and go to work. Bills to pay and all.”

“Nooo…” he whimpered, dropping down on top of me, wrapping both arms around my chest and pressing his face into my neck.

The sudden, warm weight of him sent a zing of electricity down my spine. My breath was stunted, and my skin felt too hot and tight.

Skimming my hands up his arms, I pressed against his shoulders to push him back. He flopped onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes like a swooning Victorian duchess.

“You’re no fun,” he moaned. “You’d rather clean up chicken shit than hang out with your best friend.”

Chuckling, I threw the duvet back and slid my legs off the side of the bed, shoving my feet into my well-worn fluffy fox slippers. Sawyer had a matching wolf pair he wore on our “girls nights” when we ate cookie dough and watched nineties rom-coms.