Page 46 of Knot Baked Out For This
I look at the flowers, bright and chaotic and absolutely imperfect in the best way.
Wildflowers are honest. Beautiful because they don't pretend to be anything else.
Maybe Levi's the same…and that's what terrifies me most.
Muffin meows from her perch, and I swear she's laughing at me.
Even my cat's choosing sides now.
The October morning continues outside, all golden light and dying leaves, and for the first time in three years, something in my chest that might be hope starts to unfurl.
Fuck…
This is definitely going to end badly.
CHAPTER 8
Hinges And Hard Truths
~HAZEL~
October dusk in Oakridge is when the world goes soft at the edges, and apparently, when Alphas decide to haunt my doorstep.
The bakery settles into evening silence as I flip the sign to closed, my body aching in that bone-deep way that says I've earned every dollar today. The front door locks with a satisfying click, sealing away the chaos of customers and cinnamon rolls and Levi fucking Maddox with his wildflowers that still sit on my counter like evidence of my weakening resolve.
Should throw them out. Should have thrown them out hours ago.
But they're beautiful in their imperfection, and I'm weak for beautiful, imperfect things.Always have been.
It's how I ended up married to Korrin Delacroix, after all—attracted to the beautiful surface before I realized the imperfections ran soul-deep and had teeth.
I head toward the back exit, already planning my evening:hot bath, cheap wine, maybe cry a little while Muffin judges me from her perch.
The usual Tuesday night special.
The back door—my nemesis, my daily reminder that this building is held together by spite and expired warranties—waits for me like it always does. Broken hinges that catch, stick, threaten to dump me on my ass every time I try to leave. I've been meaning to fix it for months.Years, maybe…before I left and was swept away in hopeless romantic dreams of being the best Omega I could be for a pack.
But there's always something more urgent, more expensive, more important than my safety.
Story of my fucking life.
I shoulder it open, prepared for the usual battle, when I see him.
Luca Maddox crouches by my doorframe like a shadow given form and purpose.
He doesn't look up when I freeze in the doorway.
Doesn't acknowledge my presence with anything more than the slightest tilt of his head. Just continues examining my broken hinges with the focused intensity of a surgeon or a serial killer—with Luca, it's hard to tell the difference.
Tools spread around him in neat lines: screwdrivers, pliers, replacement hinges that definitely weren't there this morning. His hands move with economical precision, no wasted motion, no hesitation. Just competence made flesh.
When did he—how long has he?—
"Almost fell earlier," he says, voice low and graveled, like he gargled whiskey and bad decisions for breakfast. "Saw you catch yourself."
He was watching.
The realization should creep me out. Should send me running back inside to call the sheriff or at least Reverie to come witness my murder.
