Page 52 of Knot Baked Out For This
"Still the only baker," I mutter, but my traitorous body is already responding to his presence—honey butter and vanillachai flooding my senses, making my stomach do stupid little flips.
"Still doesn't make it less true," he says, setting the crate down with unnecessary flourish.
Muffin, the traitor, immediately starts purring. She actuallychirps—that special cat sound reserved for favorite humans and tuna—and starts doing her new trick. The onehetaught her.
She spins in a perfect circle, little paws dancing, fluffy tail creating a gray blur.
"Good girl!" Levi produces a treat from his pocket because apparently he just carries cat treats now like some kind of feline drug dealer. "Such a smart girl."
"You've corrupted my cat," I inform him, kneading dough with perhaps more violence than necessary.
"I've educated your cat," he corrects. "There's a difference."
"The difference is semantic."
"The difference is she likes me now."
"She has terrible taste."
"She has excellent taste. Like her mom."
Reverie makes a sound like a dying seal. "Oh my god, the FLIRTING. It's like watching a Hallmark movie but with better jawlines."
"We're not flirting," I protest, definitely not noticing how Levi's flannel stretches across his shoulders when he crouches to pet Muffin.
"He literally just called you pretty and your cat smart. That's Alpha flirting 101."
"That's basic human interaction."
"Honey, nothing about this is basic." Reverie gestures between us with her phone. "The pheromones alone could choke a horse. I feel like I need a shower just sitting here."
She's not wrong.
The bakery air has gone thick with competing scents—my vanilla and cinnamon mixing with his honey butter until it smells like the world's most dangerous dessert. Add in the lingering ghost of coffee and gingerbread from Luca's visit yesterday, the phantom cedar smoke that clings to everything since Rowan fixed my oven, and my shop smells like an Alpha convention center.
"Just let yourself be wanted again," Reverie says suddenly, seriously, reaching over to squeeze my flour-dusted hand. "What's the worst that can happen?"
The worst? Oh, just my heart shattered, my trust betrayed, my body marked and claimed and abandoned when I'm not perfect enough. Just everything I barely survived the first time.
"Not everyone is like your evil ex," she continues, softer now.
I laugh—that practiced, bright sound that fools everyone except the people who matter. "All Alphas have territorial instincts. It's biology. Can't fight biology."
My hands are trembling slightly as I shape the sourdough, but I hide it by being extra aggressive with the forming.See? Totally fine. Completely unaffected. Definitely not falling apart.
"You should go out with them," Reverie suggests, like it's that simple. Like dating isn't a minefield when you're a divorced Omega with trust issues deep enough to swim in.
Go out with them. Right. Because that wouldn't be awkward at all.
"Oh sure," I say, shaping the dough with unnecessary force. "That'll go great. 'Hi, I'm Hazel, I throw beverages at people when nervous, my cat has better social skills than me, and I haven't been on a date in four years. Also, I might have a panic attack if you move too fast or touch me without warning. Super fun time for everyone.'"
"You're being dramatic."
"I'm being realistic. Can you imagine? Sitting across from one of them at dinner, trying to make small talk while the entire town watches through the restaurant windows? Everyone comparing them to Korrin, wondering if I'm making the same mistake twice, taking bets on how long before?—"
"Before what?"
The voice behind me is deep, amused, and absolutely not supposed to be there.
