Page 114 of Knotting With A Stranger

Archer completes our circle, his arm sliding around my waist. “Our very own hurricane in baker’s clothing.”

My chest tightens with emotion as I look at them—my three Alphas, dressed in matching black t-shirts and orange aprons, ready to help launch my dream into reality. Hunter, solid and steady, the backbone of our operation. James, passionate and precise, whose baking rivals even my own. Archer, charming and creative, whose book café has already generated buzz in literary circles across three counties.

How did I get so lucky?

“Five minutes,” Hannah announces, adjusting a display of miniature pumpkin pies. “Places, everyone!”

I dart into the back for one final check, making sure the first batch of cinnamon rolls is ready to bring out once the initial rush begins. The kitchen gleams with new equipment.

Steel racks hold trays of Halloween-themed treats—ghost-shaped meringues, bat-winged cupcakes, pumpkin spice everything, and our signature itemSpellbinding Spirals,cinnamon rolls with orange-tinted icing and edible black spiders made of chocolate.

As I grab a tray, I hear a soft whimpering from outside the back door. Frowning, I set down the pastries and move toward the sound, unlocking the heavy door and peering outside, expecting to find the family of raccoons who have been coming often for food. I always feed them, even if the guys tell me notto encourage them. Then Hunter goes and builds them a little hutch in the alleyway if they need protection.

Cindy stands in our back alley, hugging herself tightly despite the mild October morning. Her mousey blonde hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, her normally bright almond eyes wide with what looks unmistakably like fear.

“Cindy?” I step outside, concerned. “Everything okay?”

She glances over her shoulder nervously. “I just need to come inside, please. Quickly.”

I usher her in, shutting and locking the door behind us. “What’s going on?”

“Just someone I’ve been trying to avoid. I think he’s in town.” She hugs herself tighter, shoulders hunched. “I swear I saw him on Main Street earlier.”

“Let me call Garrett,” I offer, reaching for my phone. “He might know?—”

“No, please.” She places a hand on my arm, stopping me. “He already does so much for me, and as my boss at the brewery, I hate to drag him into my troubles. I just need to lie low, that’s all.”

Something in her expression reminds me powerfully of Ruby, my best friend who runs the bar across the road, during the months she was trying to escape her asshole uncle. The same hunted look, the same false bravado covering genuine fear.

“Well, you’re welcome here or to stay upstairs at my old place,” I tell her firmly. “Whatever you need if you’re in trouble, okay?”

Relief loosens the tight lines around her eyes. “Maybe just here for a bit, and I’ll slip out soon.”

“You’re safe here, I promise.” I guide her to a stool in the corner of the kitchen. “Stay for as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” she says softly. “You’re always so kind.”

I bring her a plate of cookies—chocolate chip, still warm from the oven—and a glass of milk. “I’ve got to get out there. We’re about to open the shop. But make yourself comfortable, okay?”

With one last concerned glance, I grab my tray and head back to the front, nearly colliding with James as I enter the shop.

“There you are,” he says, catching me by the shoulders. He presses a quick kiss on my forehead. “Hunter’s about to open the doors.”

“Sorry, Cindy from the brewery is in the back. She seems upset about something.”

James’s brow furrows with concern. “Is she okay?”

“I think so, just hiding from someone. I told her she could stay as long as she needs.”

He nods, understanding without needing further explanation. “Good. She can stay as long as she needs. Now come on, your adoring public awaits.”

Just then, Hunter unlocks the front door. He stands tall and imposing in his black t-shirt, the muscles in his arms clearly defined as he welcomes the first customers with a smile warmer than most people ever get to see.

The Halloween playlist Archer curated begins playing through hidden speakers — a mixture of spooky classics and ambient music that creates the perfect festive atmosphere. The scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and pumpkin spice fills the air, mingling with the comforting smell of old books from the adjoining room.

People pour in like a river, excited voices rising to fill the space. I catch snippets of conversation — “So beautiful!” “Look at those cupcakes!” “Did you see his muscles?” — as I move behind the counter to help with the initial rush, giggling to myself.

What I also notice is the effect my Alphas have on our predominantly female customer base. Women pretend to studythe menu while stealing glances at Hunter’s impressive body. They linger over James’ pastry recommendations, entranced by his storm-gray eyes and gentle smile. They ask Archer increasingly specific questions about obscure authors, clearly delighting in his enthusiastic responses and charming grin.

---