When I turned, he handed me a clean apron. Our fingers brushed. His were warm. Rough. And mine? Slightly shaking.
“You really can bake?” he asked, voice soft this time, more curious than challenging.
“I do more than bake,” I said, slipping on the apron and tying it behind my back. I smirked a little, let my confidence slip through. “I create.”
That earned a quiet, amused grunt from him, and my wolf all but preened.
I moved into the kitchen like I belonged there. The layout was a little chaotic. Things weren’t fully set up yet, and the equipment was old, but I could make it work. I always did.
Flour. Sugar. Butter. Yeast. My hands knew the rhythm even if my heart was still racing.
I worked fast but focused, pulling together a rich honey-cardamom bun dough, the kind that came out golden and soft, with just enough warmth to feel like a hug in pastry form.
As I kneaded the dough, I let everything else fade. The doubts. The exhaustion. The secret I’d been dragging behind me like a shadow.
Here, in this space, I was me. The real me, who measured joy in teaspoons and made peace with powdered sugar.
I didn’t realize I had an audience until I was brushing egg wash on the buns and sliding the tray into the oven. When I turned around, wiping my hands on a towel, Beau wasn’t alone.
Four massive bear shifters stood in the doorway, watching silently. All muscle and scars, with curious eyes that didn’t quite match their intimidating exteriors.
One of them had a nose crooked like it’d been broken three times. Another had a tattoo curling up his neck. But the weird thing? I wasn’t afraid.
They didn’t feel… wrong. They felt like Beau. Scarred on the outside, maybe, but steady. Grounded. Gentle in ways most people couldn’t see until they looked close enough.
I swallowed again, meeting Beau’s eyes. “You always gather around like that when someone uses your oven?” I asked.
He grinned. “Only when it smells that good.”
My face flushed hot, but I didn’t look away.
Beau stepped forward, nodding toward the others.
“That’s Rafael. Front-of-house, sarcasm included at no extra charge. Cassian’s our pastry chef. Don’t let the brooding eyes fool you, he’s a whirlwind in the kitchen. Dorian handles the espresso bar. And the kid with flour on his face? That’s Leo. Apprentice. Bright-eyed, full of energy, and somehow always two steps ahead when you least expect it.”
The four nodded, each with the kind of quiet respect that saidclanwithout anyone needing to say the word. I was about to ask if they were a clan, but something in me, some instinct, said it wasn’t the time.
So I held my tongue. A timer dinged. The buns were ready. I pulled them from the oven carefully, the scent of honey and spice blooming in the warm air.
They were golden, the tops glossy, the centers puffed and soft. Beau plucked one off the tray before I could stop him.
“Careful,” I warned, taking a step forward. “They’re still hot. You’ll burn your?—”
He bit into it. Then took another bite. I stared.
The other bears descended like hungry giants, each grabbing a bun with reverent hands, groaning in pleasure as they devoured the still-warm treats.
Huh. Maybe the rumor that bears had a sweet tooth was true.
Beau finished his in three slow, thoughtful bites, licking a bit of honey from his thumb.
“You’re hired,” he said simply, grinning.
I couldn’t help but grin back. Things were finally starting to look up.
Chapter 3
Sean
