Page 41 of Knot Baked Out For This
"See? Brain damage."
Mrs. Henderson titters and takes her sourdough with a look that says this'll be all over town by lunch.
The line continues moving, but now everyone's watching us like we're the morning entertainment. Levi leans against my counter, patient as a hunter, those mismatched green-gold eyes tracking my movements with an intensity that belies his easy smile.
"You're disrupting my customers," I inform him, bagging Tommy's bear claws with perhaps more force than necessary.
"I'm enhancing their morning experience," he counters. "Dinner and a show, except it's breakfast and flowers."
"The flowers are unnecessary."
"The flowers are gorgeous. Like you."
Tommy Chen chokes on nothing. Someone in line whispers, "Smooth."
Kill me. Kill me now.
"I have work to do," I say pointedly. "Actual paying customers who want actual baked goods, not whatever this is."
"This is courting," Levi says, like we're living in a Jane Austen novel instead of modern-day Oakridge where people meet on apps and ghost each other after mediocre sex.
"We don't do courting anymore. This is the twenty-first century."
"Then consider it a hostile takeover."
"That's corporate speak for assault."
"Only if you're not into it." His grin widens. "Are you not into it?"
Before I can form a response that doesn't involve throwing hot coffee at another Alpha this week, Muffin saves me.
My cat—twenty pounds of tortoiseshell rage wrapped in fluff—emerges from her perch by the register like a kraken rising from the depths. Her green eyes lock onto Levi with the kind of focus usually reserved for laser sights and executioners.
She hisses.
It's not a normal cat hiss. It's the sound of demons being expelled, of hell gates creaking open, of every bad decision I've ever made manifested as feline fury.
"Muffin, no," I warn, but she's already in full attack mode, back arched, fur standing up like she's been electrocuted.
Levi, to his credit, doesn't flinch. Instead, he does something I don't expect.
He crouches down.
What the fuck is he doing?
"Hey there, beautiful," he says to my cat, voice dropping to something softer, warmer. "You protecting your mom? Good girl."
Muffin stops mid-hiss, confused by the lack of fear. Her head tilts, reassessing this Alpha who doesn't run from her theatrical display of violence.
"I get it," Levi continues, still crouched, making himself smaller. Less threatening. "Strange Alpha in your territory. You've got every right to be suspicious."
He extends his hand slowly, palm up, fingers relaxed. Not reaching for her, just...offering.
Don't do it, Muffin. Don't you dare?—
She sniffs his fingers.
My attack cat, who once sent a delivery driver to the emergency room, who treats strangers like war criminals, who has the personality of a cactus wrapped in barbed wire—sniffs Levi Maddox's fingers like she's considering not murdering him.
