Page 86 of Knot Baked Out For This
Her mouth parts slightly, and I can't help myself.
"I want to be first in line though," I admit. "I'm the jealous type. Seeing you with them... it's good. Right. But it also makes me want to throw them through walls sometimes."
"Rowan—"
"I know. We agreed no competition. And I meant it. But I can't pretend I don't want you to choose me, even if choosing means all of us."
The confession hangs between us like a living thing. She's so red now I'm concerned about blood pressure.
"I'm scared," she whispers. "After Korrin, after everything, starting over feels like standing at the edge of a cliff and being asked to jump."
"You don't have to jump. We can build a bridge."
"That's very metaphorical for this early in the morning."
"I have hidden depths."
She laughs, but it's watery. "I think I'm ready to start. Slowly. Because I'm also trying to love myself again."
"What do you mean?"
She looks out the window where Main Street is starting to wake up. "I feel lost sometimes. But being back here, working in the bakery, seeing everyone striving toward goals and dreams and even hobbies... I want that. I want to remember who I was before I became just his omega."
"You were never just anything."
"I was though. For three years, I was just Korrin's omega. Just the baker's wife. Just surviving." She turns back to me, eyes bright with unshed tears. "I want to love you. All of you. Properly. But that requires loving myself first too."
Love. She said love.
"So if you don't mind taking things slow," she continues. "Maybe some actual dates. Getting to know each other when we're not covered in flour or fighting fires or fixing doors... I'd be up for the challenge."
I reach across the table, can't help myself, thumb finding that stubborn streak of flour on her other cheek.
"We'll go at your pace," I promise. "Slow, fast, whatever you need, we follow. Even if things get overwhelming and you want to pause, you say the word."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"What if I panic? Run? What if I can't?—"
"Then we wait. We adjust. We figure it out." My hand is still on her cheek, and she's leaning into it slightly. "Just don't shut us out. That's all I ask. Talk to us, even when it's hard."
"I promise to try."
"That's all anyone can do."
The moment stretches, warm and soft like her bread dough, full of possibility. Then the oven timer goes off, shrill and demanding, and we both jump.
"Shit, the croissants!" She leaps up, grabs oven mitts, pulls out trays of golden perfection.
I check the time. "Shit, I need to go. Morning briefing."
"Right. Of course. Fire captain duties."
We stand there awkwardly, neither moving toward the door.
"This was nice," she says finally.
