I shift back behind my signing table in Winslow’s Books, a tower ofSalt and Soul: Cooking for the Packstacked beside me, and through the front window, the queue stretches down the main street. The publisher’s marketing team arrived this morning with cameras.
My stomach is performing gymnastics, palms damp. Yet, I’m here, not running to hide.
“Your Alphas are going to be a hit.” Katie nods toward the side of the shop. “Because I’ve been staring nonstop and I’m not sorry about it.”
Every time I glance at them, a giddy disbelief of a woman who gets to go home with all three of them tonight washes over me.
Brody stands by the folding table, loading cookies onto a silver serving tray, his dark hair pushed back, wearing jeans and a white apron withSalt and Soul — Claire Darlingprinted across the front. Nothing under the apron. His bare shoulders and arms catch the overhead light every time he moves, and when he reaches across the table, the fabric shifts. I catch a flash of his stomach muscles, and my knees wobble.
Jakob’s beside him, tying his own apron strings behind his back, the fabric straining across his chest so hard the seams are visibly stressed. He’s frowning at the tray arrangement as if the cookie spacing is the most important thing to him.
All while Corey is eating a cookie as he loads his tray. One in the mouth, one on the offering. His apron strap has already slid off one shoulder, exposing the full curve of his bare deltoid, and he’s not fixing it.
I sleep with these men every single night, tangled in my sheets, their scents woven into my pillows. And every morning, my first thought is the same: How is this my actual life?
I cross the shop toward them, heels clicking on the hardwood, and Brody spots me first. His blue eyes travel down my lavender dress and back up with a sinful smile.
He holds up a cookie. “Can I entice you with a cookie, personally made by our lovely lady, Claire?”
I laugh as he tests out his lines on me, so I take a bite from his fingers, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “Perfect.”
“Obviously, you’re perfect. We’ve established this.”
“Have we, though?” Corey swallows his stolen cookie and squares his shoulders, flexing beneath the apron. “Real question is, who fills these aprons better? Because I’ve been doing chest presses for a week specifically for today.”
“It’s me,” Jakob declares, not looking up from his tray arrangement. “It’s always been me.”
“Based on what evidence?”
Jakob unfolds his arms. One flex, and every muscle in his shoulders and chest engages at once. The apron strings creak. A seam audibly pops. “Based on that.”
“Oh, come on.” Corey faces him and flexes back, both pecs jumping, the strap sliding farther down his arm. “That was a warm-up, but this is the main event.”
“You have crumbs in your chest hair,” Brody observes.
“Women love that.”
Everyone’s laughing now. And through the window, there’s a cluster of women in the queue who have their faces pressed against the glass, phones raised, recording three shirtless men in aprons flexing at each other over a tray of cookies. One of them mouths,Oh my God.
Katie appears beside me. “You three are going to cause an emergency outside. Those girls are one flex away from calling an ambulance.” She points at each of them. “Contain the muscles. Save the show for Claire tonight.”
“She gets the show every night,” Corey says, catching my eye. “Don’t you, sunshine?”
“Moving on.” My face burns, but I’m smiling regardless and I don’t care.
“Okay, listen up.” Katie claps her hands, her voice shifting into a command. “Doors open very soon. Claire, you’re at the table. Gentlemen, you’re carrying cookies that Claire made from the book, something you need to tell everyone. One per person, placed on the napkin, not thrown, not juggled, not used as a Frisbee.”
The guys are nodding but grinning mischievously.
“This is your moment, Claire. Number one on theUSA TodayBest-Selling Booklist, a queue around two blocks, a pack behindyou, and a book in front of you. Every person in that line is here because of you. You rock!”
Everyone claps, and my cheeks are on fire because this is so much.
She signals, and the door opens. Then the wave hits.
Bodies fill the shop, voices rising, phones appearing, the energy shifting from anticipation to celebration. For one heartbeat, the old panic flares, my chest tightening, as there are too many people, too many eyes, too much?—
Jakob’s hand settles on the back of my chair. His scent reaches me, and I’m breathing easy again. “You are going to do amazing,” he whispers, then straightens and heads into the crowd.
