Page 107 of Knot Your Baby

“I’m hardly petite.”

“Freya—” Zane chastises before I even start ranting about my size.

I purr as I turn and kiss his chest. The chest that no longer hides his scars.

“Would you like to see it?” Thorne asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

I pinch my arm hard enough to leave a mark. “Ouch!”

“What was that for?” Miller laughs.

“Making sure I’m not dreaming,” I explain, feeling tears well up. “Is this real? You guys bought me a bakery?”

“Not just any bakery,” Zane says. “Your bakery. And with your pack down as co-owners, nobody will dare to challenge you again. Whether that be insurance companies or dodgy building managers who don’t have the electrics checked out.”

I nod frantically, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

Thirty minutes later, we’re pulling up to a storefront not ten minutes from our home. The windows are covered in brown paper, but I can see a pale pink glow emanating from inside.

“Ready?” Thorne asks, holding my hand as Miller unlocks the door.

The bell jingles as we step inside, and I gasp. The walls are a soft blush pink, with white and gold accents. There’s gleaming stainless-steel appliances, and the counter is marble, as are the benches that line one side wall, and the tabletops.

And in the center of the counter. “My dad’s mixer!” I rush over to the industrial mixer that I’d rescued from the fire at my old place. It sits proudly among brand new equipment—ovens, refrigerators, display cases—thousands of dollars’ worth.

“The insurance money came through,” I say, running my fingers over the mixer. “I can pay you back for all this.”

Thorne steps forward and cups my face. “We don’t want your money, Freya. Just you and Stone permanently in our lives.”

I freeze. “Permanently? Like...legally?”

“When you’re ready, we’ll get the paperwork signed.”

When I’m ready. I try not to jump up and down on the spot. “I’m ready.”

“Thank fuck!” Zane says.

I laugh. “How long will it take?”

“Not long,” Thorne replies.

I grin. “So would we celebrate properly by christening the new countertops?” I say.

Miller shakes his head. “That would definitely violate health codes.”

“Spoilsport,” I say, grabbing my phone. “I’ll call Harlow instead.”

She answers tiredly. “Hello.”

“They asked me to be theirs—legally!” I squeal into the phone. “And they bought me a bakery! We’re calling it La Petite Rose!”

“Oh my god, that is wonderful. When is the opening? My pack will be there, but don’t start talking about my lack of bakery skills, or I’ll unfriend you.”

“We just need a sign, and I think it’s ready to open soon.” I’m so excited I could burst right now. “And I promise to keep it zipped.”

“And I told you your baby’s name would be a problem,” Harlow says smugly. “I told you calling Stone‘Stone’would be a problem.”

My eyes widen as I relay this to my alphas.

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