Page 113 of Knotting With A Stranger

“Believe it,” James says firmly, his hands warm on my waist.

“We’ll prove it to you every day,” Archer promises, tucking a curl behind my ear.

“For as long as you’ll have us,” Hunter adds, his usual stoicism melted away to reveal the depth of feeling beneath.

My sister is smiling so big, and I love that she gets to be part of this, to understand that I am falling for these men so hard.

Surrounded by three men who look at me like I’m the answer to a question they’ve been asking their whole lives, I’m struck by the beautiful absurdity of it all. A week ago, I was just a baker with a crashed car and an approaching heat. Now, I’m... what? The center of a pack? The heart of something new and wonderful?

“What’s that smile for?” James asks, his thumb brushing my lower lip.

“I’m just thinking,” I reply, meeting the gaze of each man in turn before glancing at my sister, who watches with tears of happiness in her eyes. “That sometimes the worst wrong turns lead to exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

27

LILY

Months Later

The soft golden glow of string lights illuminates ournewbakery name and sign—Wild Flour & Fables—hanging proudly above the entrance. The name, a fusion of my original bakery and our new literary addition, was Archer’s idea. Hunter hand carved the wooden sign himself, and James designed the logo—a whimsical cupcake with an open book as its base.

Through the gleaming front windows, I spot the line of customers stretching down the block, a colorful queue of eager faces in the crisp October morning. Orange and black bunting frames the windows, and artfully arranged pumpkins flank the entrance. Inside, paper bats hang from the ceiling, dancing slightly in the warm air circulating from the ovens.

“Five minutes to opening,” Hunter announces, checking his watch.

I smooth down my apron—black with orange trim, our seasonal uniform—and take a deep breath that does little to calm my fluttering nerves. Three months of renovation, planning, and preparation have led to this moment—the grand opening of Wild Flour & Fables, just in time for Halloween. It took us longer to transition, to buy a new house, to have all my Alphas move in with us as they sold their houses. Well, except the cabin in the woods. We love that place and use it as our getaway. Besides, we had to do a world trip holiday, then we finally started to expand the bakery.

“We’re going to crush it,” James assures me, sliding a tray of pumpkin-shaped cookies into the display case. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, our orange logo emblazoned across his chest. Every time I look at him—at any of them—in our matching shirts, I feel a ridiculous flutter in my stomach.

Archer emerges from the bookstore section, adjusting the display of vintage gothic novels he’s curated especially for the season. “First editions of Dracula and Frankenstein on prominent display,” he reports with a satisfied grin. “Plus, all the modern Halloween favorites. The reading nook is ready with those ridiculous pumpkin-shaped pillows you insisted on.”

“They’re adorable, and you know it,” I counter, nudging him with my hip as I pass.

He catches me around the waist, pulling me against him for a quick kiss. “They’re gauche, and I adore them because you do.”

“Less kissing, more prep,” Hannah calls, emerging from the kitchen with a tray of her signature caramel apple tarts. She’s taken time away from her own thriving wedding planner business to help with our opening day, a gesture that means more than she knows.

The bakery itself is unrecognizable from its former incarnation. Where once stood a charming but cramped space,we now have an expansive, open-concept establishment. Hunter used part of his inheritance to purchase the building next door, and we knocked down walls to create something truly special.

The front section houses the bakery counter and café tables, warm wood and soft lighting creating an inviting atmosphere. A gorgeous stone archway—Hunter and James built it themselves over two sweat-soaked weekends—leads to Archer’s bookstore, where comfortable reading nooks and carefully curated shelves invite customers to linger.

“Your adoring public awaits,” my father announces, emerging from the back office. With salt-and-pepper hair and laugh lines that deepen when he smiles, he’s embraced his role as our cashier with unexpected enthusiasm. “And may I say, the register system is remarkably intuitive for an old dinosaur like me.”

“That’s because Hunter spent three hours programming it to be dad-proof,” I tease, earning a mock-offended look from my father.

“I’ll have you know I was using computers while you were still in diapers, young lady,” he retorts, but his eyes dance with humor.

One of the most surprising developments of the past few months has been how seamlessly my father has embraced my relationship. When I nervously introduced him to all three men, explaining our situation with halting words and flushed cheeks, he’d simply looked them over carefully and said, “Well, you always did have a big heart, Lily-girl. Guess you needed more than one man to match it.”

Now, he treats them all like the sons he never had, especially Archer, who shares his passion for obscure historical facts and terrible puns.

“Two minutes,” Hunter calls, adjusting a Halloween display of skeleton-shaped cookies. His ice-blue eyes scan the space withcharacteristic thoroughness, looking for any imperfection that might have escaped our notice.

“We’re ready,” James says confidently, coming to stand beside me. “More than ready.”

I lean into his solid warmth, drawing strength from his certainty. “I can’t believe we pulled this off.”

“I can,” Hunter says, joining us. “You’re a force of nature when you set your mind to something.”

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