I laughed, the sound shaky but real, and nudged his side. “Only if you promise to be in my corner.”
He leaned down again, kissing the tip of my nose. “Always.”
And just like that, the fear didn’t seem so loud anymore.
By the time Beau and I got to the bakery, my stomach was still fluttering, but for once, it wasn’t just nerves. It was hope.
I’d spent the walk over rehearsing my baking notes like a total nerd, muttering to myself while Beau grinned beside me and gently teased, “You realize we all already know you’re a genius with butter and sugar, right?”
Still. Teaching a bunch of bear shifters how to perfect laminated dough?
That was... a unique challenge.
I stepped into the kitchen to find the crew already waiting. Rafael was leaning back against the counter, arms crossed but eyes warm.
Dorian was peeling the wrapper off a granola bar like he was bracing for war.
Leo was humming something off-key as he rearranged a tray of utensils, and Cassian had his arms folded, brows arched, looking every bit intimidating.
“Alright,” I said, clapping my hands together a little too loudly. “Let’s learn how not to murder croissants today.”
Rafael chuckled. Cassian just blinked.
Progress? I started off simple. Mise en place, the importance of temperature, dough consistency, resting time.
I handed out laminated guides I’d printed (yes, laminated, don’t judge me) and ignored the way Dorian held his like it was ancient scripture.
Things were going surprisingly well.
The dough was laminated, the fillings were prepped, and no one had set anything on fire. I was just starting to think I might actually survive this class when it happened.
Leo, bless him, was trying to carry a block of butter the size of a brick over to the prep table. He’d been doing so well. He was focused, precise, even a little proud of himself.
Until he didn’t see the edge of the mat.
The butter slipped from his hands with a dramatic squelch and hit the floor with a splat that echoed across the kitchen like a slap.
For a second, everyone just froze. Then chaos. Rafael, turning too quickly with a bowl of egg wash, stepped right on the butter.
His foot shot out from under him like a cartoon character on a banana peel. The bowl flew from his hands. Egg wash rained down like golden confetti.
“Ohcome on!” Rafael shouted mid-slide, right before his hip slammed into the counter and he crumpled to the floor with a groan.
“Bear down!” Dorian hollered, immediately ducking behind the mixer like we were under attack.
Cassian clapped a hand over his mouth but the sound that came out was unmistakably a snort. His shoulders shook, and I knew he’d lost the battle.
I tried to keep it together, I really did. But the sight of Rafael on the floor, covered in egg wash and glaring up like a very soggy, very offended bear, was too much.
I doubled over, laughing so hard I had to clutch the edge of the counter to stay upright.
“Okay. Okay. Reset!” I wheezed between gasps. “Rule number one: do not weaponize the butter!”
Leo’s face was as red as a strawberry Danish.
“My bad!” he called, sheepish. “I swear it slipped!”
“Slipped?” Rafael said, rising slowly and dripping like a very dignified swamp creature. “It ambushed me.”
