Page 27 of Knot Baked Out For This
"Hazel."
Rowan Cambridge fits in my bakery like a wolf in a dollhouse.
Six-foot-six of barely domesticated Alpha fills my doorway, shoulders brushing both sides of the frame. The afternoon light backlights him into something mythic and terrible—all sharp edges and controlled power wrapped in worn denim and a henley that's seen better decades.
He has to duck slightly to enter. The bell tangles in his hair—dark chestnut with that silver streak that wasn't there three years ago.Time I wasn't there for. Time that's none of my business.
"I need to apologize," he says immediately, and the words hit like cold water.
Alphas don't apologize. It's against their religion.
His amber eyes—fractured gold with those dark veins that make them look broken and beautiful—lock onto mine with uncomfortable sincerity. He steps fully inside, and suddenly my bakery shrinks to the size of a matchbox.
"About the Book & Bake night," he continues, voice low and rough like he's been gargling gravel. "The coffee thing was—I didn't mean to startle you."
Startle. Like I'm a fucking deer.
"You didn't—" I start, but my voice cracks. Clear my throat, try again. "It was my fault. I'm the one who threw coffee at you like some kind of deranged barista."
The corner of his mouth twitches—that almost-smile that makes my omega instincts purr even while my logical brain screams warnings.
"Your pastries were incredible, though." He takes another step closer, and I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "Best thing about the whole night. Well, aside from the impromptu shower."
Is he... attempting humor? Rowan Cambridge, the Alpha who once went three months without smiling?
"Glad my emotional breakdown came with baked goods," I mutter, fingers attacking my apron strings with renewed violence. "Really sells the whole 'stable business owner' image I'm going for."
He actually laughs—just a low rumble in his chest, but it changes his whole face. Makes him look younger, less like he's carrying the world's entire supply of guilt on those ridiculous shoulders.
Don't notice his shoulders. Don't notice how his henley stretches across his chest. Don't notice anything.
"About as stable as that oven, from the sound of it," he says, and I realize he's been here long enough to hear my ancient appliance's death rattles from the kitchen.
"It's fine," I lie automatically. "Just temperamental. Like everything else in this place."
"Including the owner?"
Did he just?—
"Excuse me?" I bristle, but there's something warm in his eyes that takes the sting out of it.
"Just saying, I remember you throwing a rolling pin at someone once."
He remembers.
"That was different," I snap, hating how my cheeks heat. "KorrinDelacroixtried to Alpha-order me to add nuts to his girlfriend's pastry when she was allergic. He deserved it."
"He did," Rowan agrees easily. Too easily. His gaze drops to where I'm strangling my apron strings. "You're going to need those fingers if you plan to keep baking."
I force my hands to still. "They're fine."
"Like the oven's fine?"
"Are you always this irritating, or is today special?"
"Usually worse," he admits, then tilts his head toward the kitchen. "Let me look at it."
"What?"
