Page 2 of Bear and Book

Still, it would’ve been nice to have someone who was just mine.

For the longest time, I thought maybe none of us were meant for that. That we were all just gruff shifters who baked good bread and growled at tax forms and didn’t really do the mate thing.

I’d even joked about it with Rafael once. That we’d be old, gray, still running Bear and Bun together in our sixties with matching aprons and matching back pain.

But then Beau found Sean. Not long after, Rafael got tangled up with Julian and now they were happy. Like, really happy.

Which meant it was only a matter of time before Cassian found his mate. Or Dorian. And I’d be the last one standing.

The single bear at the table while the others talked about scented candles and shared blanket nests and weekend plans with their significant others.

I wasn’t bad at romance, exactly. I just wasn’t good at it either.

I’d had a fling or two, here and there. A night of kisses that didn’t go anywhere, a few weeks with a charming deer shifter who broke up with me via Post-it note. It never clicked. Never lasted.

Maybe I was too much. I was always loud, over eager, and too happy. Maybe my bear still scared people, no matter how many cinnamon rolls I baked.

I wiped my hands on my apron and sighed.

Cassian glanced over. “You good?”

I nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just thinking about how good these rolls are gonna be.”

He squinted at me but didn’t press. Cassian never pressed unless it was important.

I went back to filling the trays, moving fast now, putting extra cinnamon in the middle of each roll. People deserved a little joy in the morning.

That was what I did best. Brought the joy. Covered the cracks. Smiled big enough that maybe no one would look too close at the parts of me I kept locked down tight.

Cassian pulled the first tray from the oven. “You need to stop overstuffing the middle,” he said mildly. “They’re exploding.”

“Explosion of flavor,” I said, proud. “You’re welcome.”

The bell above the front door chimed as Beau walked in, hair windswept, holding a clipboard. He paused, sniffed the air, and groaned.

“You put extra cinnamon again, didn’t you?” Beau demanded.

“Maybe,” I admitted.

Beau raised an eyebrow. “You trying to seduce the whole town?”

I gave him my most innocent look. “Would it work?”

Cassian snorted. “No.”

I laughed and slid the tray into the oven. Beau rattled off the prep list for the afternoon and mentioned something about a storm rolling in later today.

“Wolves are checking in on the northern roads. Power lines might be affected,” Beau said. “Might send some of us out to help if things get bad.”

Helping meant repairs. Clearing branches. Checking on elderly shop owners. Maybe hauling fallen trees or running supplies to folks stuck out in the hills.

The kind of good, solid work that made your muscles ache and your heart feel full. My ears perked up like a pup hearing the word “walk.” I practically bounced on my toes.

“Send me,” I said immediately, flour still on my apron and cinnamon on my sleeves.

Beau gave me a long look, not unkind, just considering. “You sure? You’ve got early morning shifts the rest of the week.”

I shrugged. “I can nap in cinnamon rolls. I volunteer as tribute.”