Beau blinked at me. “Samples?”
“Yeah. It’s a small town. People need a reason to trust us. Let them taste what we’re offering. Win them over,” I explained.
His brow furrowed. “I don’t know…”
“I’ll do it,” I offered. “Me and Leo?—”
“I’ll come with you,” Beau said suddenly, almost too fast. “You made these buns. If people ask questions, you should be there.”
My heart did a little flip. “Okay,” I said, trying to sound cooler than I felt.
So we went. Just the two of us. Me carrying the tray, Beau hovering like a protective shadow. I knew some people looked at him and saw danger, but I was starting to see something else entirely.
He had this quiet steadiness. A softness, buried deep, but unmistakable once you felt it. The locals were hesitant at first. Some peeked out of windows and shook their heads.
But I smiled, offered buns, cracked silly jokes, and after a while, people started taking them. Asking questions. Laughing. It wasn’t instant magic, but it was movement.
“We tried our best,” Beau said as we rounded the corner back toward the bakery. “That was a good idea.”
“Don’t count us out yet,” I replied. “It’s still early.”
When we turned onto Main Street, I stopped short. “Uh… Beau?”
He followed my gaze, and there it was. Bear and Bun, crowded. A small line out the door.
We could see Rafael frantically helping customers, Leo dashing around with a tray, and Dorian pulling espresso like a machine.
James walked out of the shop just as we arrived, holding what had to be ten bear claws in his arms. He gave us a sly grin.
“You guys might be onto something,” he said to me, then winked. “These are killer.”
Beau gave a low laugh beside me. “Coming from a wolf, that’s high praise.”
“We need help!” Rafael yelled from inside, waving wildly.
“Let’s go,” Beau said, and I followed him in, the door slamming behind us with the jingle of a bell and the scent of cardamom and sugar in the air.
It was chaos, but good chaos. Laughter, chattering, orders flying fast. My heart thudded as I jumped in beside the others, grabbing tongs, refilling trays.
Somewhere in the mix, Beau brushed past me, and our arms touched. Just a second. I looked up. He was already looking at me.
And yeah, I was ready. Whatever this thing between us was, it was growing. Like yeast left to rise, quietly but inevitably.
Later that night, we’d mop the floors and lock the doors and maybe I’d finally let him in a little more.
The next day passed like most did lately. Warm air from the ovens, the steady hum of customers, and the quiet rhythm we were starting to fall into.
I could tell Beau was still riding the high from yesterday’s sale, even if he was trying to play it cool. He wasn’t the kind of guy who grinned and shouted about success.
No, Beau wore his wins like he wore his floured apron, quiet pride wrapped in humble restraint.
I waited until the end of our shift to tell him my news. He was wiping down the counter, sleeves rolled up and flour dusted across one strong forearm.
His hair was a little messy. Probably from running his hand through it a dozen times, and the sight sent a strange flutter through my chest.
Not the nervous kind. The kind that made you want to reach out and feel more. I cleared my throat, suddenly unsure of my timing.
Before I could speak, Beau glanced up and said, “Hey. I’ve been meaning to say thank you. For yesterday. The flyers, the samples, all of it. We haven’t had a day like that in a while.”
