Or worse?
My throat tightened. The thought was unbearable. But leaving him now, walking away from this… that felt unbearable too.
I was torn in half, strung between fear and hope, and I didn’t know which part of me would win. Stay with him. Stay with your mate, my wolf pleaded.
“I want to,” I whispered.
The kitchen timer buzzed, startling me slightly. I blinked, checked the dough. It had risen beautifully, soft and warm under my fingers.
I punched it down gently and rolled it out, spreading the filling. Cinnamon. Brown sugar. Butter. A little nutmeg, the way Beau liked.
As I worked, I thought about telling him.
The whole truth.
The rumors about Orin’s connections. The whispers I’d heard back in culinary school. The way Orin would disappear for weeks and come back smelling like smoke and steel.
I hadn’t told Beau everything, not because I didn’t trust him, but because it never felt real until now.
Now, it felt too real, and too dangerous.
I rolled the dough into a log and sliced it into perfect spirals. The scent of cinnamon started to fill the kitchen, sweet and nostalgic.
I arranged the rolls in a pan, covered them, and set them aside for their second rise. Then I just... stood there. Staring at them.
Wishing I could stay like this forever. Safe. Baking. Hiding. But life didn’t work that way. Especially not mine. I turned, looking toward the hallway.
It was still quiet. Beau hadn’t woken.
Chapter 17
Beau
I woke up to absence.That was the first thing I noticed.
The bed was too cold on one side. Too quiet. No soft breathing beside me, no familiar weight curled against my chest.
My arm reached out instinctively, but it found only cool sheets. Where was Sean?
My eyes blinked open. The silence made it worse. It gnawed at my chest with a hollow kind of ache I hadn’t realized I was capable of feeling. My grizzly stirred, restless. Grumbling.
We’d gotten used to waking up with Sean tangled up in us, legs thrown over mine, his head tucked beneath my chin, breathing steady and safe.
My old scars only ached a little this morning. I rotated my shoulder, stretching out the tightness.
My body was slowly adjusting to sleeping in peace again. In comfort. In the presence of someone I trusted.
But that calm vanished now. My instincts kicked in fast. Something was wrong. I sat up, sniffing the air. Cinnamon. Sugar. Warm bread.
I frowned, dragging a shirt over my head and padding quietly into the kitchen. There he was.
Sean stood at the counter, barefoot in one of my flannel shirts that was too big for him, sleeves rolled up past his elbows.
His hands were curled tightly around the edge of the counter as he stared down at a tray of freshly baked cinnamon rolls.
His hair was a sleepy mess, and there were faint shadows under his eyes. Sean hadn’t slept at all. I was sure of it.
“Hey,” I said softly, not wanting to startle him but needing him to know I was there.
