Page 33 of Knot Baked Out For This
They can all smell it. They can smell ME.
"I—" My voice cracks. I stumble backward, hip catching the counter hard enough to bruise. "It's the cinnamon rolls! New batch. Testing a recipe. Pumpkin spice with a, um, a vanilla cream swirl, very potent, very?—"
"Hazel." Rowan's voice has dropped an octave, gone gravel and smoke.
"It's the recipe!" I insist, grabbing a towel to fan at the air like that could disperse three years of repressed omega hormones having a nervous breakdown. "Sometimes the spices, they just—the ratios get intense and?—"
"That's not cinnamon rolls," Levi says slowly, and his eyes are doing something complicated, fighting between concern and biological imperative.
"It absolutely is," I lie with the desperation of someone whose body has just betrayed them in 4K. "Reverie, tell them about the cinnamon rolls."
Reverie, the traitor, just smirks. "Oh honey, that's definitely not pastries."
I'm going to murder her. Slowly. With a rolling pin.
The air in the bakery has gone thick, pressurized. Three Alpha scents competing and combining, creating something that makes my knees want to buckle and my omega instincts want topresent. The rational part of my brain is screaming evacuate, but my body has other ideas, still humming from that barely-there touch.
"I need to—" I gesture vaguely toward the back. "Inventory. Yes. Urgent inventory situation."
I bolt for the storeroom, catching my hip on another counter because apparently my spatial awareness has fled along with my dignity. Behind me, I hear Reverie say cheerfully, "So, who wants to tell me about this charity event?"
The storeroom is blessedly cool, dark, filled with familiar scents of flour and vanilla extract and industrial chocolate. I press my back against the door and try to remember how to breathe without it sounding like a mating call.
What the fuck was that?
My arm still tingles where Rowan touched me. Just a brush of fingers, nothing remotely intimate, and my body went into full biological override. Three years of careful control, of suppressing every omega instinct, undone by an accidental touch.
This is why I stayed away. This is why I should KEEP staying away.
Through the door, I can hear voices—Reverie's bright chatter, Levi's easy responses, Rowan's lower rumble. They're talking about the charity event, about logistics and baked goods and time tables. Normal things. Like I didn't just scent-bomb them with three years of repressed attraction.
My fingers find the spot on my arm where Rowan touched. The skin feels branded, marked, even though I know that's impossible. Alphas can't mark through casual touch.
But it felt like marking. It felt like claiming. It felt like?—
"Hazel?" Rowan's voice through the door, careful and controlled. "We're heading out. The oven should hold until you can get it properly serviced."
Properly serviced. Jesus, even his appliance repair innuendos are affecting me.
"Great!" I call back, voice only slightly manic. "Super great! Thanks for the... milk! And the oven fixing! Very neighborly!"
There's a pause. Then Levi: "We'll see you around, sunshine."
The bell chimes. Once, twice, three times as they leave.
I wait a full minute before emerging, finding Reverie perched on my counter like a cat who got into the cream, the butter, and possibly the entire dairy section.
"So," she says, examining her nails with theatrical casualness. "Want to talk about how you nearly went into heat from Deputy Fire Chief McDreamy barely touching your arm?"
"I want to talk about where to hide your body," I counter, but my voice lacks conviction.
She laughs, bright and knowing. "Honey, the way those three were looking at you? You're going to need bigger problems than a broken oven."
Through the window, I can see them by the firehouse. Rowan's head is bent toward Luca, clearly explaining something. Levi's gesturing animatedly, probably making it worse. And Luca?—
Luca's looking back at the bakery.
At me.
