Page 142 of Knot Baked Out For This
"Definitely not."
"Good. Reality is overrated."
She laughs, adding three more books to her pile. I follow her through the truck, carrying her selections, watching her light up with each discovery.
"Oh! They have the new one!" She practically bounces, grabbing a book with what appears to be a wolf in a suit on the cover.
"Is that wolf wearing Armani?"
"He's a CEO."
"A CEO wolf."
"Werewolf. Very different."
"My mistake."
By the time we're done, she has fifteen books and eyes that sparkle brighter than the fairy lights.
"This is too many?—"
"Fifteen books for fifteen years of waiting," I say, handing my credit card to the librarian before Hazel can protest. "Seems fair."
"That's not how math works."
"It's romantic math."
"That's not a thing."
"It is now."
We carry her book haul to the picnic setup, and she gasps again when she sees it properly. The quilts are layered—practical flannel on the bottom, softer cotton on top. The wooden crate has an actual tablecloth, the mason jars aren't just wildflowers but specifically the ones she mentioned loving. There's a basket with wine, cheese, fruit, and what looks suspiciously like pastries from her bakery.
"Did you raid my shop?"
"Mila helped. Said you needed to eat your own cooking for once."
"Traitors, all of you."
We settle on the blanket, October sun warm despite the breeze, and she immediately pulls out one of her books, running her fingers over the cover with reverence.
"I haven't just sat and read in..." She trails off, calculating. "Four years? Maybe five?"
"Criminal."
"Reading wasn't practical. There was always something else—cooking, cleaning, managing the pack's social calendar."
"Korrin's pack," I correct. "Never yours."
"No," she agrees quietly. "Never mine."
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, her knee pressed against mine, the October afternoon wrapping around us like a gentle embrace. The park is mostly empty—a dog walker in the distance, a jogger on the far path, but otherwise it's just us and the books and the picnic that I definitely overthought.
"I have one more thing," I say, because apparently I've become the kind of Alpha who plans multiple surprises.
"Rowan, this is already too much?—"
"Nothing's too much for you."
