Daniel dressed quietly, listening for any sound from the guest room as he passed. Nothing. The entire house slumbered peacefully while anxiety gnawed at his insides.
Downstairs, the kitchen waited in familiar shadows. Daniel moved through it by muscle memory, flicking on just the smalllight above the stove rather than the harsh overheads. The routine would ground him. Flour, yeast, butter, salt—these were constants he could trust while everything else felt uncertain.
He measured ingredients with practiced precision, but his mind kept wandering to Holly. Would she wake embarrassed by her breakdown? Would she regret letting him see her so vulnerable? Would she already be planning her departure, now that the storm had passed and reality pressed in?
His bear paced restlessly.She belongs here. With us. With the cubs.
Daniel sighed, working the dough with more force than necessary. The facts remained unchanged—Holly was a woman who had fled her own wedding mere days ago. Whatever had happened, whatever had brought her to their doorstep, she was in the middle of a life crisis. It would be selfish, predatory even, to expect anything from her now.
Even if every instinct he possessed insisted he claim her as his mate.
The oven hummed as it preheated, its warmth gradually filling the kitchen. Daniel lost himself in the rhythm of baking—folding, kneading, shaping. The familiar movements anchored him when nothing else would.
He was so absorbed that he didn’t hear her approach. It wasn’t until a slight movement caught his eye that he realized Holly stood in the doorway, watching him.
“Morning,” she said, her voice still rough with sleep. “I smelled vanilla.”
Daniel’s heart thumped hard against his ribs. “Brioche,” he managed. “For breakfast. Did I wake you?”
Holly shook her head, stepping into the kitchen. “I’m an early riser. Always have been.” She glanced at the counter, taking in the organized chaos of his baking station. “Can I help?”
The simple question, offered so naturally, hit Daniel with unexpected force. She wasn’t avoiding him. She wasn’t running away in embarrassment. Instead, she was closing the distance between them, asking to share his space, his morning ritual.
“Sure,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “If you want to.”
She moved beside him at the counter, close enough that he could smell the faint scent of sleep on her skin, mingled with his shampoo from her shower the night before. The combination did dangerous things to his concentration.
Without instruction, Holly picked up the knife and began cutting cold butter into small cubes for the pastry dough. Her movements were precise, confident—as if she’d done this alongside him a hundred times before.
“Is this small enough?” she asked, gesturing to the butter.
Daniel leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers. “Perfect.”
They fell into a rhythm after that, working in comfortable silence. Holly seemed to anticipate his needs, passing ingredients before he asked, helping shape dough with firm hands. Daniel found himself stealing glances at her—the way her brow furrowed in concentration, how she tucked her hair behind her ear when it fell forward, the small smile that curved her lips when a task was completed to her satisfaction.
His bear hummed with contentment.Look how well she fits into our kitchen. Into our lives.
The kitchen filled with the first morning light as they worked, golden beams slanting through the windows, illuminating flour dust suspended in the air like tiny stars. Daniel showed Hollyhow to brush egg wash over the brioche, and she followed his example with careful attention, her fingers occasionally brushing against his as they reached for the same tool.
Each casual touch sent warmth spreading up his arm, a reminder of how it had felt to hold her the night before. Different circumstances, but the same sense of rightness.
“I never thanked you,” Holly said suddenly, her eyes fixed on the pastry she was glazing. “For last night.”
“I told you, Holly.” Daniel’s hands stilled. “You don’t need to thank me. For anything.”
“I do.” She looked up then, meeting his gaze directly. “Most people would have been uncomfortable with... With me falling apart like that. But you just…” She paused, searching for words. “You just made it okay somehow.”
The vulnerability in her expression made his throat tight. “That’s what friends do,” he said, though the word “friends” felt wholly inadequate for what was growing between them.
Holly’s smile was soft, a little sad around the edges. “Is that what we are? Friends?”
The question hung between them, but before Daniel could formulate a response, the thunder of small feet on the stairs broke the moment.
“Dad! Holly!” Teddy’s voice preceded him into the kitchen, high and excited. “The snow stopped! Can we go sledding today?”
“We’ll see,” Daniel replied on autopilot.
Maisie followed more sedately, her hair still mussed from sleep, eyes widening at the sight of the pastries cooling on the counter. “Are those brioche?”
