Page 188 of Knot Baked Out For This
The Nest They Built
~HAZEL~
"Ilook ridiculous," I announce for the third time, staring at my reflection in the bakery's bathroom mirror.
The burgundy velvet dress from Vintage Honey clings to every curve I've spent years hiding, the neckline just low enough to be dangerous, the skirt swishing around my thighs in a way that makes me feel like I should be dancing in a 1950s movie instead of heading to... wherever Rowan is taking me.
"You look stunning," Mila calls through the door. "Now get out here before I eat all the test cookies!"
"Those are for the Halloween launch!"
"Then hurry up!"
I adjust the dress one more time, smooth down my orange-and-black curls that Reverie spent an hour styling into "effortless waves" that required approximately seventeen products, and take a breath that smells like vanilla extract and anxiety.
It's October 29th. Two days before Halloween. Two days before the biggest baking weekend of my entire career, and Rowan insisted I take tonight off.
Said he had a surprise. Something special.
I assumed dinner—maybe that new Italian place in Riverside, or the steakhouse everyone raves about. Put on the fancy dress, let him pull out my chair, pretend I know which fork to use for salad.
But when I emerge from the bathroom, he's not dressed for a restaurant.
He's in jeans—the good ones that make his ass look illegal—and a dark green henley that brings out the amber in his eyes, holding a lantern like we're about to go camping.
"Why do you have a lantern?"
"You'll see." His eyes do that thing where they go dark and hungry, traveling from my heels to my face slowly enough that I feel it like a touch. "You wore the dress."
"You asked me to dress up!"
"I didn't expect..." He trails off, shaking his head. "Come on. Before I change my mind about leaving this building."
"Leaving?" I follow him through the bakery, past Mila who wolf-whistles, past Rosemarie who gives me a thumbs up, out the back door into the October evening that's crisp and perfect and smells like wood smoke and possibility.
"Where are we going?"
"Backland."
I stop walking.Is he referring to the backyard?
"The abandoned barn space?"
"Not abandoned anymore,’ he says with a playful smirk that has me arching an eyebrow
He takes my hand—his is warm, calloused from years of firefighting, steady in a way that makes my chest tight—and leads me down a path I've walked a thousand times. The path that leads to the empty lot behind the bakery, the space that's been sitting unused since I bought the building. Weeds and old equipment and dreams I never let myself have.
Except tonight, the path is lined with lanterns.
Dozens of them, hanging from shepherd's hooks that definitely weren't there this morning, casting warm golden light that turns the October evening into something magical. The path winds through the overgrown grass toward the old barn, and as we get closer, I realize?—
It's not abandoned anymore.
The barn doors are open, more light spilling out, and music drifts on the evening breeze. Something instrumental and soft, the kind of music that makes you want to slow dance or cry or both.
"Rowan?" My voice comes out smaller than intended. "What did you do?"
"We," he corrects. "What we did. All of us."
