I closed the door, turned to my mate, and murmured, “They won’t bother you again.”
“I suppose that’s another advantage to staying in Timber Ridge,” she murmured. “Not that I see them that often anyway. We live in the same city, but I think it’s been almost two years. I can’t even remember the last time they came to my apartment. Never in my wildest imagination did I expect them to show up here like that.”
I reached for my mate and pulled her against my chest. Her head tucked beneath my chin, and I rubbed my hand up and down her back, feeling her settle against me.
“They won’t surprise you like that again,” I promised quietly. “If you want to see them, it’ll be on your terms.”
Her arms circled my waist, holding on for a long while. When she finally drew back, Rowan looked around the cottage like she was seeing it not as a place she inherited but somewhere she could live.
“I think it’ll be a while before I’m ready to talk to them again. Especially my dad.”
The bond pulsed with her pain. I cupped her cheek, offering her quiet comfort.
She took a small breath. “I found letters that my grandmother wrote to me. Years of them. I want to read all of them before I decide anything about my parents. I feel like I missed so much by not knowing her before she died.”
“There are a lot of people in Timber Ridge who remember Eleanor. They’d be happy to tell you their stories.”
Her eyes brightened at the offer. “I’d love that.”
“The thing I remember most about her,” I murmured, brushing my thumb along her jaw, “is the sourdough bread she baked. She said her starter was decades old.”
Rowan’s eyes went wide. “Really? I love baking bread too. Maybe I got it from her.”
I nodded toward the kitchen. “I saw a jar in the fridge yesterday. Might’ve been her starter, though it’s probably been in there too long.”
Rowan lit up like I’d handed her a treasure. “I bet I can revive it. It’s probably just dormant, not dead. I’ll try feeding it for a few days if it still smells okay.”
Her hopeful look hit me right in the chest. “I didn’t smell anything bad in the fridge. And my nose is exceptionally good.”
She laughed softly, her eyes beaming at me.
“But if that one’s past saving, I know she shared her starter with a few people in town,” I added. “They’d be happy to give you some.”
Rowan bit her lip, excitement flickering through the bond. “Maybe I could open a bakery. I’ve always wanted one.”
“You should.” I loved the idea of my mate doing what she’d dreamed about. “As long as you don’t focus on pies, Timber Ridge will line up around the block for you. That’s what the one already in town specializes in.”
She flushed, and I couldn’t stop myself from brushing my knuckles along her cheek.
“You could even partner with Timber’s Treasures. As long as Larken is good with it.”
“Larken?” she asked curiously.
“Our pastry chef.”
Rowan laughed, a delighted sound that eased everything inside me. “No worries there. I’m obsessed with bread. Not pies or sweets.”
I grinned and slid my thumb along her cheekbone, savoring how she leaned into my touch. “Perfect.”
Standing in her grandmother’s cottage with winter light spilling across her skin, the scent of my mark on her, and her bakery dreams taking root, I felt the future settle firmly into place.
EPILOGUE
ROWAN
The morning of my bakery’s grand opening dawned crisp and bright. Inside Eleanor’s Hearth, the air smelled like warm sourdough—comfort wrapped in every breath I took.
I stood behind the counter, smoothing my apron over the bump beneath it, and let myself enjoy the moment. The bakery was ready to serve my first customers.
