Page 135 of Knot Baked Out For This
A shower. Early. Cold, maybe, to wash away the evidence of my subconscious betrayal.
I slip out of bed as quietly as I can, the floorboards creaking under my feet like they're conspiring against me.
The air in my apartment smells faintly of last night's takeout—spicy Thai from that little place on Maple Street—and the lingering traces of their combined scents, which only make my flush deepen. Grabbing fresh clothes from my dresser, I tiptoe to the bathroom, easing the door shut before turning on the water.
The steam fills the small space quickly, fogging the mirror as I step under the spray. It's not cold—I'm not that masochistic—but warm enough to soothe the tension in my muscles. I lather up with my vanilla body wash, trying to scrub away the dream's remnants, but my mind wanders back to it anyway. Rowan's fingers, so commanding; Luca's kiss, all controlled fire; Levi'stouch, playful and adoring. It's not the first time I've dreamed of them, but this one felt... real.
Too real….
My heat could be approaching…but maybe the stress is messing with me. Or maybe it's just them, being here every day, filling my space with their protectiveness and that cozy pack energy that's starting to feel far too comforting.
By the time I dry off and dress in my usual cozy baker getup—an oversized cream knit sweater over leggings, my pumpkin apron waiting downstairs, and my round blue-light glasses perched on my nose—I'm feeling more like myself.
The clock says 5:30 AM, early even for me, but the bakery calls. I creep past the living room, where the guys are still asleep: Luca's arm dangling off the pull-out, Rowan's massive form taking up most of the cloud couch, Levi curled like a cat beside him. Ember's sprawled at their feet, her golden fur rising and falling with soft snores, while Muffin, Biscuit, and Whiskey have claimed various high perches, eyeing the dog with wary disdain. The sight tugs at something in my chest—warm, almost painful.
They're here for me, crashing in my tiny space to keep me safe from shadows like Korrin.
I pause just long enough to pull a throw blanket over Levi's shoulders, my fingers brushing his hair. He stirs but doesn't wake, murmuring something unintelligible that sounds suspiciously like "sunshine."
Downstairs in the bakery, the familiar scents of yeast and sugar ground me. Hazel's Hearth & Home is quiet in the pre-dawn, the pumpkin-colored shutters closed against the autumn chill, fairy lights strung along the counters casting a mischievous glow.
I flip on the ovens, the hum filling the air as I start on the day's batches:cinnamon soul cookies first, their spicy dough yielding under my kneading hands.
The rhythm soothes me, pushing the dream to the back of my mind. By 6 AM, Mila and Rosemarie arrive, yawning but enthusiastic, and we dive into the morning prep. Mila's on savory pies today, her black curls bouncing as she chops mushrooms with expert flair.
"Boss, these are gonna be epic—think flaky crust with a thyme kick. Your Alphas will beg for samples."
Rosemarie snorts from the espresso machine, her platinum bun impeccable as always.
"As if they need to beg. They just show up and flash those dimples, and Hazel's a goner."
I roll my eyes, piping frosting onto pumpkin crème brûlée tarts.
"I am not a goner. And they're not here for freebies."
"Sure," Mila teases, winking. "That's why Levi 'accidentally' painted himself green last week. Total coincidence."
Their banter is cozy, light, making the kitchen feel alive. Reverie pops in around 7, her energy already at full throttle despite the hour. She's set up her corner table with laptops and notebooks, planning her holiday vlog series while managing my fledgling social media.
"Hazel, that photo of you in the burgundy dress from Vintage Honey? It's blowing up on Insta. Comments are all 'Omega goals' and heart eyes. You should model more!"
I blush, remembering the private fashion show that followed—Levi directing poses, Rowan trying not to stare, Luca taking "artistic" shots that were mostly just excuses to look. "It was just for fun. Besides, who has time?"
"You do," she insists, typing furiously. "Especially after this rush dies down."
Tuesday mornings at the bakery are supposed to be predictable. Supposed to be.
The morning rush is in full swing now—Mrs. Chen arguing about the proper way to frost cupcakes while buying six dozen, Tommy from the construction crew flirting unsuccessfully with Rosemarie who's making latte art that belongs in a museum, and Mila singing off-key while she preps tomorrow's savory pies.
My phone buzzes on the counter, flour-dusted because everything I own is flour-dusted.
Rowan: Free after morning rush?
Me: Should be. What are you planning?
Rowan: Surprise. Good surprise, promise.
Surprises from my Alphas have ranged from life-changing kitchen renovations to Levi setting things on fire, so this could go either way.
