“Dahlia!” Junie scrambled up from her potion chaos. “Finally. We need your professional opinion.”
“On what?”
“The new bear.” Cassia didn’t move from her sprawl, but her sea-glass gaze tracked Dahlia with interest. “The one who’s been stomping around town in a suit that costs more thanmy rent, making everyone uncomfortable with his ‘efficiency assessments.’”
Dahlia’s stomach did an unwelcome flip. She set down her box of pastries and accepted the wine glass Avine handed her. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“You met him.” Junie dropped back onto the floor, cross-legged, bouncing with barely contained energy. “He came into the bakery. I heard from Mrs. Patterson, who heard from Tom Chen, who heard from the seagull network that he was in there for at least ten minutes.”
“It was five minutes. Maybe less.” Dahlia took a long sip of wine. “He bought a coffee. We barely spoke.”
“And yet.” Narla’s voice was soft. Measured. “Your scent shifted when his name came up.”
Damn candle witches and their too-sensitive noses.
“My scent didn’t shift.”
“Sweeter.” Narla sipped her own wine, utterly unruffled. “Richer. The way people smell when they’re thinking about someone who... interests them.”
Cassia sat up straight, curls bouncing. “Wait. Wait. Are you saying our Dahlia has a thing for the grumpy bear?”
“I don’t have a thing?—”
“The corporate disaster in the expensive suit?” Junie’s grin was wicked. “That’s your type now?”
Heat crept up Dahlia’s cheeks. She could feel it spreading, betraying her despite every attempt to stay neutral. “He’s... attractive. In a ‘hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep this decade’ way. That doesn’t mean anything.”
“She’s blushing.” Cassia’s grin spread. “Dahlia Moon is actually blushing.”
“I don’t blush.” But the heat in her cheeks made her a liar.
Avine eased onto the sofa beside Dahlia, close enough that their shoulders touched. Grounding. Steady. The presencethat Avine provided for everyone in her orbit. “Tell us what happened. The real version, not the ‘we barely spoke’ version.”
NINE
DAHLIA
Dahlia stared into her wine. The truth sat on her tongue, unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
“He came in for coffee. I made it. Our hands touched when I gave him the cup, and...” She trailed off, not sure how to explain the rest. The electricity. The way her whole body had lit up. The way he’d looked at her—startled, almost frightened—before fleeing.
“And?” Junie prompted.
“And nothing. He left. Threw money on the counter and practically ran out the door.” The memory still stung, even though she didn’t want to admit it. “He hasn’t been back.”
“Three days and counting.” Cassia’s voice had softened slightly. “That’s weird, right? If he felt it too?”
“Bears aren’t impulsive.” Narla’s focus was steady. Knowing. “My husband was a bear. When they encounter something that challenges their worldview, they retreat. Process. Plan their approach.” She paused. “Three days is nothing to a bear who’s been running from himself for fifteen years.”
The room fell silent for a moment. Dahlia sometimes forgot that Narla had been married to a bear shifter—that she understood their psychology in ways the rest of them didn’t.
“So he’s what?” Junie’s brow furrowed. “Planning his approach to Dahlia?”
“I doubt he’s planning anything involving me.” Dahlia drained her wine. Avine immediately refilled it. “He’s here to deal with his grandfather’s illness and the sleuth crisis. I’m the woman who makes decent coffee.”
“And legendary pastries.” Cassia snagged a croissant from the box Dahlia had brought. “Don’t forget the pastries.”
“Speaking of sleuth crisis.” Avine’s voice shifted, taking on the practical edge that made her such a good innkeeper. “Theo mentioned the territorial dispute. The boundary claim issue that might affect downtown businesses?”
