But part of me had dared to hope. Maybe Orin had seen the size of Rafael, the coordination of our team, the strength of Beau and thought, not worth it.
I turned my attention back to the station. Fifteen minutes to go.
Cassian passed me the filling. “Last one.”
I scooped it into the final pastry with trembling fingers. Not from fear this time, just adrenaline. We were so close.
Five minutes. Plates were being garnished. Glazes touched up. A stray smear wiped. I dusted powdered sugar over the two danishes.
When the timer rang, we stepped back. We’d made it.
“Time’s up! Step away from your stations, bakers!”
I exhaled and wiped my forehead with the back of my arm. My shirt clung to my spine. Beau handed me a hand towel without a word, his gaze scanning the crowd behind us, still alert.
I took the towel, let my fingers linger against his for a second, and offered a smile. “Thanks.”
He nodded, but I could tell he was barely here, barely present. His grizzly was on edge.
I turned and looked across the way. Wolf and Whisk’s station glinted like a page from a gourmet magazine. Their pastries looked stunning. Polished. Sophisticated.
My stomach turned.
“They might look nice,” Cassian said beside me, “but ours taste better.”
I chuckled. “Here’s hoping the judges agree.”
And then they were announced.
The first two I recognized. Clara Greene was a popular blogger, and Marius Kent was the food columnist from the state paper. They were safe. Predictable.
But the third name…
My blood ran cold.
“…and finally, Chef Thomas Cane, esteemed culinary instructor and guest judge from Astor Culinary Academy!”
No way. It took guts to walk into Bear and Bun and ask for me, but to worm his way into the competition? That was something else entirely.
I couldn’t breathe. He stepped onto the platform in a sleek suit, hair slicked back, every inch the charming professional. Except I knew better.
I saw the way his gaze searched the crowd. And when his eyes landed on me, his smile widened, slow and deliberate. Like he’d been waiting for this moment.
“Can’t breathe,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the applause.
I didn’t wait. I shoved past the table, ignoring the startled glances from our crew, from Beau. I needed air.
I stumbled off the stage, shouldering through the crowd. Someone asked if I was okay. I ignored them.
My legs carried me toward the edge of the square, past booths and stalls and laughing children. It was too loud. Too bright. I couldn’t hear myself think.
The alley beside the café was blessedly empty, dim and narrow, muffling the festival’s noise behind me. I ducked into it, bracing my hands against my knees, trying to catch my breath.
But the air still felt too tight, too close. My wolf paced restlessly beneath my skin, snarling at invisible threats. I needed space. Air. Trees.
Instinct guided my feet beyond the alley’s end, where a worn footpath trailed off into the woods lining the edge of town.
I followed it, my pulse thudding in my ears, the scent of pine and damp earth slowly replacing funnel cakes and roasted meat.
