Page 115 of Knotting With A Stranger

Sure, a tinge of jealousy rises in me, but I also know they are all mine.

Hannah catches my attention from across the shop and makes an exaggerated fanning motion, nodding toward a group of women openly admiring Hunter as he carries a box of books through to the other room. I stifle a laugh and shake my head.

“Looking good, sis,” she says, sidling up to me during a momentary lull. “This place is going to be the talk of Whispering Grove.”

“Thanks to you for helping,” I reply, squeezing her hand.

By noon, we’ve sold out of three signature items and are running low on almost everything else. The Spellbinding Spirals were gone within the first two hours, prompting James to start a second batch that’s now filling the air with its mouthwatering aroma.

During a rare quiet moment, I find myself standing behind the counter near my dad, both of us taking a breather. I take in the scene before me. Customers chat over coffee and pastries at our café tables. A young woman curls up in one of the reading nooks with a half-eaten ghost meringue on the plate beside her. My father moves to serve a group of elderly ladies with stories from his youth, their laughter mingling with the background music.

And my men—my heart be still.

I place a hand on my stomach, still flat beneath my apron but harboring the secret I’ve been keeping for the past two weeks. The pregnancy test tucked in my bedside drawer confirmed what my body had been telling me—our family is about to grow.

Tonight, after we close up shop and celebrate our successful opening, I’ll tell them. I’ve already planned how—three tiny cupcakes, each with a letter: D, A, D. Simple but effective.

I wonder how they’ll react. Hunter will probably be stoic at first, then break into that rare, brilliant smile that transforms his entire face. James might cry—he’s the most openly emotional of the three. And Archer will undoubtedly make some joke about his virility before bombarding me with questions about how I’m feeling.

“Penny for your thoughts,” James interrupts, appearing beside me with a fresh tray of pumpkin scones.

I smile up at him, my heart so full, it feels like it might burst. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

“That’s funny,” he replies, pressing a quick kiss on my temple. “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

Hunter stares at us from across the room, raising an eyebrow in silent question:Everything okay?I nod, and he returns to helping a customer, satisfied.

A moment later, Archer slides behind the counter, snagging a cinnamon cookie from a display. “I’ve got a long waiting list for the book club starting next month.”

“Amazing. And no eating the merchandise,” I tease but can’t help smiling at his enthusiasm.

“Baker’s privilege,” he counters, offering me a bite, which I accept despite my own rule.

The afternoon continues at a steady pace, the initial rush giving way to a constant stream of curious locals and word-of-mouth visitors. By four o’clock, we’re nearly sold out of everything.

As the afternoon sun slants through our windows, casting long shadows across our nearly empty display cases, I can’t help but think that sometimes the worst wrong turns—like crashingyour car in a snowstorm—lead to exactly where you’re supposed to be.

And I wouldn’t change a single step of the journey that brought me here.

28

LILY

The last customer leaves with a wave and a promise to return tomorrow, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully in their wake. I flip the sign from “Open” to “Closed” and lean against the cool glass, utterly exhausted but radiating satisfaction.

“We did it,” I breathe, turning to face my three Alphas, who look just as worn out as I feel.

“We didn’t just do it,” Archer states, collapsing dramatically onto one of the café chairs. “We crushed it, demolished it, absolutely annihilated opening day expectations.”

Hunter, ever practical, is already counting the cash drawer. “Final tally will be impressive,” he confirms. “We sold out completely. Even those experimental matcha ghost cookies James wasn’t sure about.”

“People will buy anything if it’s shaped like a ghost in October.” James shrugs, wiping down the last of the counters. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, revealing strongforearms dusted with flour. Even exhausted, he radiates a quiet competence that still makes my heart flutter.

My father emerges from the back office, hanging up his apron with the careful precision that defines everything he does. “I’d say that was a successful first day,” he announces, his weathered face crinkled with pride. “You kids knocked it out of the park.”

Hannah joins us from the kitchen, her perfect French twist showing not a single hair out of place despite the hectic day. “I counted the final receipts,” she reports. “We made almost double what Flour & Fable used to make on its best day ever.”

“That calls for a celebration,” my father declares. “Dinner on me? That new Italian place downtown?”

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