Page 42 of Knot Baked Out For This
"Traitor," I mutter.
"She knows quality when she sees it," Levi says, still focused on Muffin. "Don't you, gorgeous? You know I'm not here to hurt anyone."
Lies. All Alphas hurt. It's what they do.
But my traitorous cat is purring now—actually purring—as Levi scratches behind her ears with practiced ease. Like he's done this before. Like he understands cats and their particularly specific brand of insanity.
"How—" I start, then stop because admitting surprise gives him power.
"Ranch cats," he explains, still petting Muffin, who's now rubbing against his hand like a complete sellout. "We've got about fifteen. They keep the mice down, judge everyone who passes through. You learn their language or lose fingers."
From his pocket, he produces a treat—an actual cat treat, like he came prepared for this exact scenario.
"Can I?" he asks, looking up at me.
The morning light catches his eyes, turns them molten gold and forest green, and for a second, I forget why letting him near my life is a terrible idea.
"I—sure."
He holds the treat above Muffin's head, just out of reach.
"Sit pretty, beautiful."
Muffin, my twenty-pound disaster, my feline weapon of mass destruction, sits up on her hind legs like a trained circus performer. Her little paws wave in the air, reaching for the treat with determination that would be adorable if it weren't complete betrayal.
"Good girl," Levi praises, giving her the treat.
She takes it delicately, then does a little spin like she's showing off.
When did my cat become a pick-me girl?
The entire bakery is watching now. The morning rush has ground to a halt because everyone needs to witness my cat falling in love with Levi Maddox. Someone's definitely recording this. It'll be on the Oakridge Community Facebook page within the hour with some title like "Local Alpha Tames Bakery Beast" or equally mortifying.
My scent shifts without permission—maple syrup warming on a stove, cinnamon going rich and deep, that honey note that saysinterestedeven when I'm not. Even when I can't be. Even when being interested in an Alpha again is like signing up for another round of emotional waterboarding.
Fuck. He can smell it. They can all smell it.
I grab a ball of dough from the counter, attacking it with the violence of someone trying to knead their feelings to death. Flour poofs around my hands, creating a small cloud that hopefully masks whatever pheromone disaster I'm broadcasting.
"Your cat's smart," Levi says, standing slowly. Muffin follows him up, purring like a diesel engine. "Gets it from her mom."
"Flattery will get you nowhere."
"But flowers might?" He gestures to the bouquet still sitting on my counter like evidence of a crime.
"The flowers are—" I punch the dough harder. "—completely unnecessary and probably overpriced and definitely trying too hard."
"Picked them myself," he says casually. "From the ranch. This morning. At dawn, actually, because I remembered you mentioning once that you liked wildflowers better than roses."
He…remembered?
The words hit like cold water, shock mixing with something warmer, more dangerous. I mentioned that exactly once, three years ago, at some town festival when everything was different and I still believed in happy endings. He was with his pack, way far away, while I was occupied, putting on the show of being an Omega to my pack, who were only outside for the thrill of being in the public’s eye.
"That was—you couldn't possibly?—"
"You were wearing a blue dress," he continues, voice soft enough that only I can hear despite the crowded bakery. "Had your hair up but pieces kept escaping. You said roses were trying too hard to be perfect, but wildflowers were honest. Beautiful because they didn't pretend to be anything else."
My hands are still in the dough.
