Page 75 of Knot Baked Out For This
Maybe it's exactly what I need.
The October wind rattles my windows, but I don't flinch. Somewhere across town, three Alphas are probably thinking about me, and that thought warms me more than my pile of blankets.
Tomorrow there will be more chaos, more small-town gossip, more complicated feelings to navigate.
But tonight, I'm safe. I'm wanted. I'm not alone.
And that's enough.
More than enough.
CHAPTER 13
Viral Complications
~LUCA~
Numbers don't lie. People do. Feelings do.
But spreadsheets? Spreadsheets are honest.
The ranch office smells like old leather and horse feed, October light filtering through windows that haven't been properly cleaned since the Clinton administration. I've been staring at the same financial projection for twenty minutes, but the numbers keep rearranging themselves into hazel eyes and flour-dusted hands.
Focus, Maddox. The rescued horses don't care about your emotional crisis.
The spreadsheet glares back at me, demanding attention. Feed costs up twelve percent. Vet bills are holding steady. Donation revenue is increasing thanks to the fire department partnership. Everything organized, color-coded, exactly how I need the world to be—predictable, manageable, contained.
Unlike the way my chest tightens every time I catch vanilla and cinnamon on the wind from across town.
Stop. She's not yours to think about.
"LUCA! HOLY SHIT, LUCA!"
The office door explodes open, and my twin brother barrels in like a golden retriever who's discovered cocaine. His phonewaves in the air like a flag of surrender or possibly victory—with Levi, it's hard to tell.
"We agreed on knocking," I say, not looking up from my spreadsheet. "It's a simple concept. Knuckles hit wood. Sound occurs. Permission is granted or denied."
"Fuck knocking, we're viral!"
We're what now?
"Unless we've developed a revolutionary cow disease, I doubt we're?—"
"Not the ranch, asshole. Us! Well, me, and Hazel, but also you by association, and now the whole town's losing their minds and—just look!"
He shoves his phone in my face with enough enthusiasm to nearly break my nose. On the screen, a video plays. Shaky footage from the haunted house last night, focusing on the witch's bakery station.
On Hazel and Levi.
Oh.
The video quality is shit, but the content is clear. Levi feeding Hazel a cookie, her laughing with her head thrown back, their bodies angled toward each other like magnets finding north. The chemistry is so obvious it might as well have subtitles.
"Look at the views," Levi says, bouncing on his heels. "Fifty thousand! In twelve hours! We're TikTok famous!"
"TikTok fame isn't real fame."
"All fame is real fame in the digital age, grandpa."
