Cal had spent the past two days recovering at Bran’s cabin, under the watchful eye of his aunt Margot and the local shifter healer. Dahlia had visited once—a brief, awkward encounter where they’d both been excruciatingly aware of Margot’s sharp gaze and the sleeping grandfather in the next room. They’d exchanged polite conversation about his healing progress andthe upcoming council hearing, carefully avoiding any mention of the night he’d slept in her bed.
But his eyes had tracked her every movement. And when she’d turned to leave, his hand had caught hers for a moment—a brief, burning point of contact that had sent heat flooding through her entire body.
The bell above the door chimed.
Dahlia looked up, and there he was.
“Hey.” His voice was more strained than usual. His gaze swept the empty bakery before finding hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip.
“Hey, yourself.” She set down the cleaning cloth. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“I’ve been resting for two days.” He crossed to the counter in three long strides. “If Margot tries to force one more cup of bone broth on me, I’m going to stage a rebellion.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Bone broth is good for healing.”
“Bone broth tastes like someone boiled a cemetery.” He leaned against the counter, and suddenly he was very close—close enough that she could smell the soap on his skin, the faint musk of bear beneath it. “I needed to see you.”
The words were simple. Direct. So painfully honest that Dahlia felt them land in her chest.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she managed. “When you showed up covered in blood?—”
“I know.” His hand found hers on the counter, fingers intertwining with casual intimacy. “I keep thinking about that night. About you.”
Marzipan made a sound of feline disgust.Some of us are trying to nap.
Dahlia laughed—a startled, genuine sound that broke the charged tension. “She’s been impossible to live with since you left. I think she missed having someone to judge.”
“I’m honored.” Cal’s thumb traced slow circles on the back of her hand. The touch was innocent enough, but it sent sparks racing up her arm. “I came to ask you a thing.”
“Oh?”
“Have dinner with me.” His gaze found hers, earnest and uncertain in equal measure. “Tonight. Somewhere that isn’t my grandfather’s cabin or a war council at the brewery.”
Dahlia considered him—this man who’d fought three bears to protect her bakery, who’d stumbled to her door because his bear needed to be near her, who looked at her like she was the answer to a question he’d been asking his whole life.
And she thought about the secret she’d been keeping. The ritual she’d never shared with anyone. The part of herself she kept locked away, safe from judgment and expectation.
“I have a better idea.”
THIRTY-SIX
DAHLIA
The bakery at midnight was a different world.
Dahlia moved through the dark kitchen with practiced ease, flipping on the small lamp above the workbench rather than the harsh overhead fluorescents. The space transformed in the low light—shadows softening the industrial edges, the gleam of copper pots taking on an intimate glow.
Cal stood in the doorway, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. He’d changed into a plain black T-shirt and jeans, and he looked almost uncertain—the confident CEO momentarily replaced by a man out of his element.
“Welcome to the midnight bake.” Dahlia tied on her apron—a worn, flour-stained thing that had been her grandmother’s—and pulled her hair back. “This is where I come when I can’t sleep. When the thoughts won’t stop. When I need to create for myself.”
“You’ve never shown anyone this.” It wasn’t a question.
“No.” She pulled ingredients from the pantry—flour, butter, salt, sugar. The familiar motions calmed the restless energy humming under her skin. She gestured at the kitchen, the waiting workspace. “This is mine. Experimental recipes. Wildcombinations that might fail spectacularly. Things I’d never sell because they’re too personal.”
Cal stepped fully into the kitchen. His presence changed the space—filled it in a way she hadn’t expected. “And you’re sharing it with me.”
“I’m sharing it with you.” Dahlia met his gaze, feeling the significance of the moment. “So roll up your sleeves, bear. You’re going to learn to make croissants.”
