I set my alarm for two in the morning and ate my croissants. They were buttery and flaky with the right amount of sweetness. If Hawthorn made these, the man was talented.
I tried not to think about dark eyes and flour-dusted hands, that scowl and the scent that made my wolf want to roll over and show his belly. This was a temporary job and a place to catch my breath.
I absolutely was not interested in my new boss.
TWO
HAWTHORN
I should have said no.
The thought circled through my head for the hundredth time as I prepped the sourdough starter. The bakery was dark except for the work lights over my station and quiet apart from the hum of the ovens warming up. This was my favorite time of day. I was alone and focused, with nothing but flour, yeast and the rhythm of work I'd done for ten years.
Then the back door opened and he walked in.
Zale, the omega from last night with those bright blue eyes and a smile that had made something in my chest twist uncomfortably. He was bundled in a thick coat and scarf while his cheeks were pink from the cold, and he was exactly on time.
His scent hit me immediately. Honeyed sweetness with something sharp and bright underneath—lime maybe. My wolf roused himself, and was alert and far too interested in my new employee.
"Good morning." His voice was too cheerful for so early in the morning.
I grunted and pointed to the hooks by the door. "Coat goes there. There are aprons in the closet. Wash your hands at thatsink for twenty seconds and get the soap up to your elbows. And put on a hairnet."
"Got it."
He moved with easy efficiency, hanging up his things and finding an apron without needing more direction. When he came back, his sleeves were rolled up and his hands scrubbed clean. He waited to be given the next instruction with no hint of exhaustion most people wore at this hour.
I should not have noticed the lean muscle in his forearms. I definitely should not have been thinking about how those hands would feel on me. Nope. I wasn’t doing this, though my wolf was encouraged by my random, early-morning thoughts.
"Coffee's in the pot." I nodded toward the corner, not trusting myself to look at him directly. "Get yourself some because you'll need it."
"What about you?"
“I already had three cups." I turned back to my dough. "Rule one: I don't do small talk before sunrise. Rule two: if you need a break, take it, but tell me first. Rule three: if you're going to quit, do it now before I waste time training you."
I was met with silence. I glanced back but Zale was pouring coffee, completely unbothered by my gruffness.
"I'm not quitting."
"Yeah, well. We'll see." I pointed to the massive bag of flour in the corner. "Bring that here. It’s a lifting test because it’s heavy.” It shouldn’t be a problem for him because he had shifter strength but I needed to know for certain.
Zale set down his mug and crossed to the fifty-pound bag. He hefted it easily, barely straining, and carried it over to my station. My wolf was way too interested in watching those muscles work.
"Good. You'll be doing a lot of that." I measured out flour and refused to look at him. "Today you're on prep duty. I'll show you once, then you do it. Questions?"
"No."
"Good."
I walked him through the basics of measuring ingredients, preparing baking sheets, and setting up the proofing racks. He absorbed everything quickly and his movements became surer with each repetition. He didn’t complain or make jokes about the hour, and he made no attempt to talk beyond clarifying questions.
It was unexpected and nice. Usually new hires either talked incessantly to fight off sleepiness or dragged themselves around.
But his honeyed aroma wrapped around me, distracting me as I worked. Whenever he moved near me to grab supplies or ask a question, it intensified. My wolf kept wanting me to move closer and find an excuse to touch him. But that wasn’t happening.
An hour in, I had him rolling out croissant dough while I worked on the morning's bread orders. The bakery had fallen into a comfortable rhythm with the soft thwack of dough, the gentle hiss of the ovens, and the occasional clink of equipment.
Zale leaned over his work as he focused and a strand of hair escaped his hairnet. He brushed it back absently with his elbow and my fingers itched to reach over and wipe away flour on his cheek.
