“Sadie, you remember Cara Donovan?”
Recognition flickers across her face, then caution. “Cara. Wow. It’s been a long time.”
“Ten years.” I attempt a smile. “Give or take. And congratulations—when are you due?”
Her hand goes to her belly, a soft smile crossing her face. “Late June. Levi’s mother is already driving me crazy about the baby shower, and I’ve still got months to go.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I heard you were back. How are you settling in?”
Three alphas won’t speak to me. The whole town knows about my books. And tonight I get to watch other women bid on the men I love.
“Great,” I say. “Really great.”
Sadie’s expression says she doesn’t believe me, but she’s too kind to push. “We should catch up sometime. When I’m not drowning in fundraiser prep.” She turns to Maeve. “The ribbons?”
“Back room. I’ll grab them.”
Maeve disappears, leaving Sadie hovering awkwardly.
“You can sit,” I offer. “If you have a minute.”
She hesitates, then slides into Maeve’s vacated chair. “So. You’re the one who writes the books.”
My stomach drops. “You’ve heard about that.”
“Everyone’s heard about that.” But she’s smiling gently. “Mrs. Patterson has been very thorough. She thinks the gardener alpha in book three is based on someone specific.”
I want to sink through the floor and keep going until I hit the earth’s core.
“I’m not—they’re not?—”
“It’s okay.” Sadie’s voice is soft. “I write poetry that nobody’s allowed to read. We all process things differently.”
The bell chimes again.
A young woman walks in—dark hair, sharp features, the kind of quietly stubborn expression I remember from babysitting a much smaller version of her.
“Bea Wilson?” I blurt out.
She freezes. Looks at me. Her eyes go wide.
“Oh my god.Cara?”
She’s already crossing the bakery, pulling me into a hug before I can even stand up. A real one, tight and warm, like she’s genuinely happy to see me.
“I can’t believe it’s you!” She pulls back, grinning. “You used to babysit me. When I was like... seven?”
“You bit me once because I wouldn’t let you stay up past bedtime.”
“She bit me too,” Sadie says, laughing. “Remember? You didn’t want to eat your vegetables.”
“I was a feral child,” Bea admits. “It’s a miracle anyone agreed to watch me twice.” Her eyes light up. “Oh! You’re Scarlett Monroe, right? I love your?—”
“No.” I hold up a hand. “Please tell me you haven’t read my books. You’re too young.”
“I’m twenty-two.”
“You wereseven. I used to make you chicken nuggets and put you to bed.”
Bea grins. “And now I read your spicy novels. Circle of life.”
