He pulled the truck onto Main Street, scanning the storefronts for decent caffeine. A bar called Moonrise Mixology. Some oddities shop. And there—a yellow Victorian cottage with window boxes full of flowers and a sign that read Honey & Hex Bakery.
His bear lifted its head.
Cal went still behind the wheel. Looking at this butter-yellow bakery with its cheerful window displays, his bear was... interested. Alert in a way it hadn’t been in longer than he could remember.
Coffee. He told himself that was why he was parking. That was why he was getting out of the truck, straightening his suit jacket, walking toward the entrance like a man on a mission.
It had nothing to do with the way his bear had suddenly perked up. Nothing to do with the light spilling through those windows, promising something he couldn’t define.
He pushed open the door. A bell chimed overhead.
And the scent washed over him.
FIVE
CAL
Cal’s bear surged forward with a force that nearly staggered him.
What the?—
The shop was empty. Display cases lined the walls, filled with pastries that seemed to glow with inner light. Cozy. Welcoming. The place that should have set his corporate instincts on edge—too soft, too comfortable, too much.
Instead, his bear wanted to curl up in the corner and never leave.
A door opened behind the counter.
She emerged, and Cal forgot how to breathe.
Soft. That was the first word that came to mind. Soft curves, gentle movements, brown hair with glints of gold escaping a braid that had clearly seen better hours. A smudge of flour marked one cheekbone. Her dress was vintage—floral, practical, the thing his grandmother might have worn. An apron wrapped around her waist, dusted white from a morning’s work.
But her eyes. Damn, her eyes. Hazel with flecks of green, and they swept over him—assessing—and Cal had the uncomfortable sensation of being seen straight through his expensive suit to the wrecked mess underneath.
His bear went absolutely still.
Not aggressive. Not possessive. Just... quiet. The constant mental noise that had been his companion for years—the to-do lists, the strategic planning, the endless drive to achieve—went silent.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, Cal’s shoulders unknotted.
“Welcome to Honey & Hex.” Her voice matched the shop itself. She moved behind the counter, putting the barrier between them, and Cal’s animal wanted to protest. Wanted to close the distance. Wanted to press his nose to her throat and breathe her in until that honey-and-flowers scent was all he knew.
What the hell is wrong with you?
“Coffee.” The word scraped out more strained than intended. “Black.”
She turned to the coffee station, and Cal watched her move with a hunger that had nothing to do with the empty growl of his stomach. The efficient grace of her hands. The curve of her neck. The way she hummed something under her breath, half-remembered and slightly off-key.
His bear was practically purring.
Stop it.He didn’t have time for whatever this was. He had a dying grandfather to see, a sleuth to assess, a crisis to manage. He’d be back in Seattle within six months—sooner if he could manage it. This town, this bakery, this woman with flour on her cheek and warmth in her smile—none of it was part of his plan.
She turned back with the coffee. Set it on the counter between them. “Anything else?”
He reached for the cup.
Their fingers brushed.
Cal’s world tilted sideways.
