Page 206 of Knot Baked Out For This
"You do tonight!"
And somehow, impossibly, I do.
Levi spins me under fairy lights, laughing when I step on his feet—twice—and nearly take out a jack-o'-lantern with my cape. Then Luca cuts in with more grace, leading me through steps I don't know but somehow manage to follow because he's that good at this.
"You planned this," I accuse.
"We planned everything," he admits, lips brushing my ear. "Including the part where you realize you're happy."
"I already realized that!"
"Good. Now stop thinking and just dance."
So I do.
I dance with Luca until Rowan cuts in, and his hands on my waist are possessive and gentle at once, leading me through a slow dance that has nothing to do with the actual music tempo and everything to do with the way we fit together.
"This morning you watched your ex get arrested," he murmurs against my temple. "Tonight you're dancing at a festival celebrating your success. That's growth."
"That's whiplash!"
"That's healing!"
The song ends and another begins, something instrumental and sweet that makes me think of autumn and new beginnings and the way cinnamon smells when it's fresh.
"Fireworks in five minutes!" someone announces, and the crowd starts migrating toward the town square where they'll have the best view.
"Rooftop," Rowan says quietly. "We should watch from your rooftop."
"I have a rooftop?"
"The bakery does. There's a patio. We've been setting it up."
Of course they have.
We slip away from the crowd—me, my three Alphas in their ridiculous security shirts, and four pets in tiny capes because apparently this is my life now—and climb the back stairs to the rooftop patio I didn't know existed.
It's been transformed.
String lights crisscross the space, creating a canopy of gold. There's outdoor furniture that definitely wasn't here yesterday, arranged around a fire pit that's crackling with warmth. And a table set with mugs of something that steams and smells like apples and cinnamon and possibly illegal amounts of alcohol.
"Witch's brew," Levi announces proudly. "With actual rose sparkles! It's glittery AND alcoholic!"
"That sounds like a health hazard!"
"It's festive!"
We settle around the fire pit, pets arranging themselves in a pile of fur and purring and the occasional bark when Ember decides she needs more attention. I'm pressed between Rowan and Luca, Levi sprawled at my feet like a very attractive guard dog in a security shirt.
"Toast!" Reverie appears from nowhere—seriously, how does she keep doing that?—with her own mug of sparkly death. "We need to toast!"
"To what?" I ask, accepting a mug that's warm and smells like autumn and bad decisions.
"To freedom," Rowan says.
"To success," Luca adds.
"To hot buns," Levi contributes, grinning when I smack him.
