Page 195 of Knot Baked Out For This
Luca pulls out my green dress—the one from the thrift store that started this whole mess—and a blazer that somehow makes it look professional instead of "please take me seriously even though I decorate cookies for a living."
"Wear this. You'll look successful, confident, and like someone who hasn't been up since 3 AM making ghost cookies."
"I have been up since 3 AM making ghost cookies!"
"They don't need to know that."
Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed, caffeinated, and spiraling.
"What if they're shutting me down?" I pace my apartment, which is difficult because three large Alphas take up most of the available space. "What if someone got sick? What if the viral TikTok thing caused too much traffic and now they're revoking my business license?"
"Then we'll fight it," Rowan says simply. He's changed into slacks and a button-down that make him look less "firefighter captain" and more "successful businessman who could buy your whole courtroom."
"With what? My winning personality and excellent credit score?"
"With facts, evidence, and three Alphas who won't let anyone take what you've built." Luca adjusts his tie—charcoal gray, perfectly knotted, making him look like he stepped out of a magazine about successful ranch owners who also dabble in corporate takeovers.
Even Levi's dressed up, in dark jeans and a blazer over a white shirt, hair actually styled instead of the usual "I woke up like this and ran my hands through it seven times" look.
"Why are you all so dressed up?" I ask suspiciously.
"Because we're going with you," Levi says like this should be obvious.
"To court?"
"To support you," Rowan corrects. "Whatever this is, you're not facing it alone."
My chest does that thing again—that tight, warm, about-to-cry thing that's becoming far too common since they entered my life.
"I don't deserve you."
"You absolutely do," Luca says. "Now let's go. We have a hearing to attend and a bakery to defend."
The Oakridge Municipal Courthouse is a building that takes itself far too seriously for a town of 3,000 people. Built in the 1920s, all stone columns and brass fixtures, it sits on the town square like a judge waiting to pass sentence on anyone who dares park illegally.
"This is intimidating," I whisper as we climb the steps.
"That's the point," Rowan mutters. "They want you scared."
"Mission accomplished."
The hearing room is smaller than I expected—more conference room than courtroom, with a long table, rows of chairs, and a judge's bench that looks like it was salvaged from an episode of Law & Order.
And sitting at the table, looking like he owns the place… is Korrin.
I freeze.
Actually freeze, like someone hit pause on my entire existence.
He's wearing a suit—expensive, tailored, the kind that screams money and power and "I can afford lawyers who will destroy you." His hair is styled, face composed, and when he sees me, he smiles.
That smile.
The one that used to make me try harder, be better, shrink smaller.
Now it just makes me want to vomit.
"What is he doing here?" My voice is barely a whisper.
