Harper caught my energy and amplified it. “We could cross-promote—like, I’ll teach them to dance, and you’ll teach them to paint. They could do both in a weekend package.” She looked at Mom, eyebrows up. “We’d be entrepreneurs, just like you always wanted.”
Mom stared at me, a look of actual pride softening the lines at the corners of her eyes. “You see, darling? You only had to let people in. I’mso proud of you both.” She reached for my hand, squeezing it gently, and I didn’t even pull away.
For a minute, it was easy to imagine that we were a real family, that the last five years hadn’t been a parade of disappointment and self-sabotage. Even Oscar looked approving, standing on his hind legs to set a miniature cupcake on my plate.
I felt lighter. Giddy. The urge to cry was still there, but it was from something other than misery.
That’s when the bell over the bakery door jingled.
I didn’t have to look up to know who it was. The air changed—the room got charged, like someone had slipped an electric eel into the espresso machine. My wolf snapped to attention, claws out, heart stuttering in my chest.
I kept my head down, staring at the little pink cupcake on my plate, but I could track every move by sound. The slow, boot-heavy footfalls. The scraping of a chair as it was pulled out. The low thump of something (probably a fist) hitting the tabletop.
Wrecker spoke first, voice cheerful and loud. “Hey, ladies! Hope we’re not interrupting.” He slid into the table behind us, clearly on his best behavior. Big Papa followed, settling next to him, his sheer size dwarfing the entire corner of the room.
But it was Gunner who caught my attention, even though he didn’t say a word.
He just stood there, cowboy hat pulled down low, gaze scanning the table. He wore a button-down that probably cost as much as my entire outfit, sleeves rolled to show off forearms that looked like they could snap fence posts for fun. He didn’t make eye contact—at least, not until I looked up.
Then he did.
For half a second, everything else went fuzzy. The room, the bakery, my own heartbeat—all muffled by the sudden, vivid clarity of his stare. It wasthe same as at County Line—predatory, amused, and so fucking certain of itself. He tipped his hat, subtle, and sat with his back to the wall, arms folded.
Oscar, unfazed, brought over a tray of cinnamon rolls. “For the gentlemen,” he said, bowtie crisp, voice even crisper. “Would you care for coffee?”
“Black. Strong,” Gunner said, not looking at me again. “Thanks, Oscar.”
Mom clapped her hands, delighted at the company. “Isn’t this fun, girls? I never tire of a full table. Brie, why don’t you tell the boys about the new art studio?”
I wanted to melt into the floor. Instead, I managed a thin smile and looked at Wrecker, who was already halfway through a cinnamon roll. “It’s not official yet,” I said. “Just a maybe.”
Wrecker grinned, mouth full. “You should do it. Dairyville needs something to liven it up. Maybe you’ll get the tourists to come back.”
Big Papa nodded, his voice gentle and deep. “A little color does wonders. You’d be surprised.”
Gunner stayed quiet, but I could feel his eyes every time I moved. My wolf did a nervous circle, whining at the attention.
I tried to focus on Harper, but every hair on my body was standing up. “I’ll just see you at the car,” I said, scooping up my purse. “I’ve gotta check on that thing.”
Harper looked at me, concerned. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just need to… you know.”
Mom frowned, but she didn’t protest. Maybe she’d finally learned it was better not to corner a wild animal.
I slid out from the table and made a beeline for the door, heart hammering so hard I could barely hear anything else.
As I pulled the door open, I glanced back once—just enough to see Wrecker punch Gunner hard in the arm, cinnamon roll flying out of his hand as he laughed.
Gunner’s gaze caught mine, just for a split second, and his mouth twitched in something that might have been a smile.
I slammed the door a little too hard, the bell jangling like an alarm, and stepped into the blinding daylight.
Safe for now.
I kept walking, fast enough that my shoes made angry clacks against the sidewalk. I didn’t even realize where I was going until I was halfway across the Dairyville town square, the bakery already two blocks behind me and fading into just another background hum of the morning.
The square was supposed to be peaceful. Trees, benches, a tiny fountain shaped like a cow (because of course it was), and a bandstand that hadn’t seen a band since the Eisenhower administration. Most days, you’d see an old guy reading a newspaper, or kids running in circles with popsicles. Today, it was almost empty—a couple of women pushing strollers, one guy talking to himself near the library steps. It should have made me feel safe, but all it did was underline how exposed I was.
