“I’d say she didn’t like what she saw here.”
“Fuck,” he muttered again, the weight of his own stupidity pressing down on him.
“Get your ass up and go after her,” his aunt barked, her voice echoing off the kitchen tiles. “If you don’t”—her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits—“I will.”
He stood so fast the chair scraped hard against the floor.
He definitely did not want that.
She was right. He had to find Sylvie. He had to fix this before she misunderstood everything.
***
He didn’t slow down when he reached the bakery.
He shoved the door open with enough force to make the bells jingle violently.
Julian barely had time to blink before Rhavor was inside, his shoulders filling the doorway.
The faun stepped directly into his path.
He pointed a sharp, accusing finger at Rhavor’s chest.
“You better play this right, big man. She’s in the back. And let’s just say she is not sweet right now.”
A crash echoed from the kitchen—metal against tile, sharp and angry.
Rhavor moved.
Sylvie stood at the kneading table, her hands buried deep in a mound of dough.
Flour dusted her cheeks and smudged beneath her eyes like war paint.
Her shoulders tensed the second he crossed the threshold.
She didn’t look up.
“Hi,” he said, trying for composure.
“You can’t be in here,” she replied, her voice a sheet of ice. “Staff only.”
Julian appeared at his elbow, shoving blue shoe covers and a mesh hairnet into his hands.
“Health and safety,” Julian said dryly, giving Rhavor a long, don’t-fuck-this-up look before retreating to the front.
Rhavor muttered a dark curse and pulled the plastic over his boots.
A seven-foot mountain of dragon blood, heart pounding like a hammer against his ribs—and wearing a mesh hairnet.
He had never felt more ridiculous.
“I know you were at my place,” he started, stepping closer.
“Yes,” she cut in, her movements rhythmic and violent. “That was a mistake.”
She kneaded the dough as if it had personally betrayed her.
“A mistake?”
