Page 199 of Knot Baked Out For This
"I have seventeen dozen ghost cookies to finish!"
"We finished them," Rosemarie says proudly. "Mila's a stress baker too. We've been churning them out since you left."
"The whole town's been mobilizing," Miss Bea adds, climbing the courthouse steps with more energy than a woman in her seventies should possess. "We knew something was wrong when that man showed up. Oakridge protects its own."
Oakridge protects its own.
I'm going to cry again, in public, on courthouse steps, on Halloween morning, while wearing a thrift store dress and probably still have flour in my hair.
"Come on," Rowan says gently, helping me to my feet. "Let's get you home."
"The bakery?—"
"Is being handled," Luca assures me. "Your staff's got it covered. Right now, you need to process what just happened."
What just happened?
Korrin arrested. Evidence of attempted murder. Insurance fraud. Three months of stalking documented and photographed and time-stamped like some kind of procedural drama.
"You knew," I say suddenly, turning to face my pack. "You all knew. The security cameras, the documentation, Nash showing up—you've been planning this."
"We've been protecting you," Rowan corrects. "There's a difference."
"Since when?"
"Since the first rose delivery," Luca admits. "We knew it was him. Knew he'd escalate. So we documented everything, built a case, and waited for him to make a mistake big enough to bury him."
"The emergency hearing was his mistake," Nash adds, joining us on the steps. "He thought he could use the court system to intimidate you. Instead, he walked right into our trap."
Our trap.
My pack built a legal trap for my abusive ex-husband and I had no idea.
"I should be mad that you kept this from me," I say slowly.
"Are you?" Levi asks, looking genuinely worried.
"No." I laugh, slightly hysterical. "I'm relieved. Grateful. Completely overwhelmed. But not mad."
"Good," Rowan says. "Because we're not sorry."
The crowd is growing, people spilling out of shops and offices, and someone—probably Reverie—has spread the word because suddenly everyone's heading toward the bakery.
"JUSTICE & PIE!" someone yells, and it becomes a chant.
"This is insane," I mutter.
"This is community," Miss Bea corrects, linking her arm through mine like we're old friends instead of someone who once complained about my cookie prices. "Now come on. Ibrought my special cider recipe, and I'm not letting it go to waste."
The bakery has been transformed.
Again.
Do my friends ever sleep?
The Halloween decorations are still up, but now there are streamers—orange and black, naturally—and a banner that reads "CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR FREEDOM," that's both touching and vaguely threatening.
Tables have been pushed together, covered in food that definitely wasn't there this morning—casseroles, salads, desserts that aren't from my bakery, which is both insulting and touching.
