Page 23 of Knot Baked Out For This
He winks. "Just saying, someone should've warned her how jumpy you get in public."
Rowan's jaw tightens with fond resignation. This is routine for them—Levi torpedoing tension with all the finesse of a sledgehammer.
"Hazel was helping," Rowan says, but the way he looks at me saysplease don't runandI know what you're thinkingandI'm sorryall at once.
Before I can dissociate properly, Levi turns his full attention on me.
Jesus Christ.
Six-one of calculated country charm. Butter-blond hair in studied disarray, falling over a forehead that's seen just enough sun to look wholesome. Mismatched green-gold eyes—genetic lottery winner—that crinkle at the corners when he smiles, which is constant.
Plaid shirt with rolled sleeves showing off forearms that have definitely been in a few bar fights. A pumpkin bandana around his wrist because he commits to the bit. Scuffed boots that have seen real work or at least want you to think so.
Bachelor Alpha, Autumn Edition. Probably has a calendar deal.
But up close, the honey-butter scent has edges—clove underneath, getting stronger the longer he stands there. My body responds without permission, breathing him in, cataloguing, categorizing,remembering what Alphas can do when they smile like that.
"Didn't know you worked events, Hazel. These your famous cinnamon rolls?" He picks one up, inspects it like it might contain secrets. Another unnecessary wink. "You've got a fan club at the ranch, just so you know."
I know. That's the problem.
I try for cool. What comes out: "Can't stop, won't stop. Carbs are my love language."
Levi laughs—loud, practiced, designed to make you feel special. "See? Meant to be." He claps Rowan's shoulder. "She's the reason we survived last winter. Pretty sure I'd be six pounds lighter if Holloway Bakery didn't deliver."
Rowan grunts acknowledgment, but his eyes never leave me. Like if he blinks, I'll vanish.Like he knows I want to.
Meanwhile, his twin lurks at the periphery like a beautiful storm system.
Luca Maddox is shadow incarnate. Same height as Levi, broader through the chest, built for violence and keeping secrets. His hair—espresso dark, nearly black under the fake orange lights—has a copper streak that catches light like a warning. Tied back tonight, emphasizing cheekbones that belong in black-and-white photos about dangerous men.
Storm-gray eyes, almost colorless from certain angles. Right now, they're calculating distances—between Rowan and me, between me and the exits, between what's happening and what could happen.
Black Henley that costs more than my monthly grocery budget, worn jeans with strategic mud splatter. Leather band on his wrist that's definitely hidden weapons, work gloves in his back pocket that have seen more than work.
He doesn't come closer.He doesn't need to.
Because his scent is doing all the work—gingerbread and espresso, smoke and bourbon, and underneath it all, bittersweet chocolate dark enough to hurt. It crowds out oxygen, makes thinking impossible. For one stupid second, I swear he's breathing at me on purpose, watching my pupils dilate.
His smirk lasts half a second, there and gone.
"You always assault customers with beverages, or is this the friends and family rate?"
No smile. Just razor-sharp delivery that cuts straight through my remaining defenses.
Christ, that's effective.
Levi laughs again, slapping Rowan. "Better keep her away from anything sharp."
I realize I'm trapped—three Alphas in formation, blocked in by pie displays and occult romance novels.
My body's response is... not helpful. Pulse skipping, mouth dry, scent spiking with pumpkin cream and vanilla, but underneath, that honeyed note that screamsinteresteddespite every logical thought. Caramel crackle and smoldering cinnamon, the kind of pheromone signature that saysyeswhen your brain saysrun.
I am literally the main course at my own disaster.
This was supposed to be business. Not three Alphas looking at me like I'm dessert and they've been fasting.
Panic mode: ACTIVATED.
