Chapter 3
Sean
“Great, I’ll see you all tomorrow then,” I said, backing toward the door with my heart still fluttering from the high of getting hired.
Beau nodded once. “There’s a decent inn in town. The Rusty Lantern, just off Main. It’s quiet.”
I hesitated, shifting my backpack higher on my shoulder. “I, uh… don’t have a place to stay yet.”
That made him pause. His brow furrowed, and his voice lost some of its usual steadiness. “No place at all?”
I shook my head and tried to smile like it wasn’t a big deal. “The bus station’s got benches.”
Just one twitch of his mouth, almost imperceptible, but it said more than words. That didn’t sit right with him. At all.
He rubbed the back of his neck, then glanced up the staircase tucked near the bakery’s rear hallway.
“Second floor’s unfinished,” he said finally, nodding in that direction. “But there’s a bed. It’s clean. You can stay up there… for now, at least.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“Really.”
He didn’t say it like he was doing me a favor. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I followed him up the narrow wooden steps, the air smelling faintly of flour and sawdust. My heart thudded against my ribs with every creak of the floorboards beneath us.
The door at the top groaned when he pushed it open. The space wasn’t meant to be lived in. Not yet.
Half-painted walls, still wet in some places. A plastic tarp hung loosely over one window, billowing a little with the night breeze.
Boxes of tools sat scattered around the corners. On a folding table near the far wall, I spotted scattered blueprints, notes, and swatches of paint. Plans. Dreams.
This was meant to be something else. Something important.
There was a twin-sized bed, neatly made with fresh linens and a folded blanket, pushed against the wall. It was simple. Temporary. But he was offering it to me. Without question. Without strings.
“You were going to turn this into your office,” I murmured, taking in the makeshift desk and coffee ring-stained blueprints.
Beau leaned a shoulder against the doorway, arms crossed. “Eventually. Haven’t had time.”
Too busy running a bakery, trying to breathe life into an old building, I thought.
I turned back to him. “You don’t have to let me stay.”
He looked at me then, really looked. No judgment. Just quiet honesty in his eyes.
“I want to.” His voice was low, a little rough like gravel and warm like cinnamon. “And you look like you could use a soft bed more than I need a desk right now.”
The words landed in my chest like a stone in still water, rippling something deep inside me. Kindness. Trust. I didn’t know what to do with that anymore.
I swallowed hard and nodded. “Thank you.”
Beau gave me a rare smile. Small. Almost shy. The kind of smile you could miss if you blinked too fast. “Get some rest. You’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
The door clicked softly shut behind him, leaving me alone in the quiet space.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the makeshift room, at the moonlight spilling across the tarp-covered window and the dust motes swirling in the air.
It wasn’t perfect. Not even close, but it was shelter. A chance. A beginning.
I dropped my bag to the floor, toed off my shoes, and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked beneath me, but it didn’t matter.
For the first time in days, maybe weeks, I exhaled fully. I didn’t even bother with a shower. Exhaustion crashed over me like a wave, heavy and sudden.
I barely managed to kick off my jeans before collapsing onto the bed. The mattress creaked under my weight, but I didn’t care.
Within minutes, sleep pulled me under, and dragged me straight back to that horrible moment.
I bolted upright in bed, lungs heaving like I’d just run for miles. My chest was slick with sweat, the thin sheets tangled around my legs like vines trying to hold me down.
For a moment, I didn’t know where I was.
The room around me was unfamiliar. It was dimly lit, worn at the edges, with soft creaks from old floorboards and a faint smell of cinnamon and yeast lingering from the bakery downstairs.
But that wasn’t what I saw. In my mind, I was back there. Back in that cold, gleaming kitchen where everything had gone to hell.
I closed my eyes, hoping to push it away, but the images hit me like a tidal wave. I saw it all again, in brutal clarity.
The elite baking institute had been everything I dreamed of.
The shining countertops, the clatter of mixing bowls, the endless scent of sugar, spice, and something becoming beautiful. I was good at it. More than good. I was rising.
Teachers noticed. Classmates envied. My future had been baking itself into something bright and warm. And then… one night… it shattered.
I’d gone back after hours, just to grab my notes. I’d forgotten them in the rush of cleanup, and with midterms looming, I couldn’t afford to be unprepared.
The building was locked, but I had a key. I’d interned long enough to be trusted with one. I slipped in quietly, not wanting to draw attention.
I remember thinking how strange it was that the hallway lights were off. The security system should’ve been active.
But I told myself it was nothing. Maybe maintenance had come through. Maybe Chef Orin was working late again. The kitchen was dark. Still.
I didn’t turn the lights on. I didn’t need them.
I knew every inch of that space, the gleaming counters, the coolers humming softly, the polished metal shelves stacked with pans and mixing bowls.
I moved on instinct, counting steps. Then I heard it. A low, feral growl. It froze me in place. Not a sound I should’ve heard. Not in that kitchen. Not in any kitchen.
There was a crash, metal slamming against tile, and a horrible wet sound, like something soft being crushed. Then… a choked-off scream. Short. Sudden. Terrifying in its finality.
I crept forward, the breath stuck in my throat. I peeked around the center island, and everything inside me turned to ice. Chef Orin stood over a man sprawled on the floor.
A homeless guy. I recognized him from the corner café, the one who always muttered to himself and tried to trade paper flowers for change.
He was bleeding out, his limbs twisted unnaturally. He’d crawled in, probably just looking for scraps.
Orin wasn’t fully shifted. Not yet. His hands, now paws, were furred and tipped with claws. His mouth stretched too wide, teeth too long, eyes glowing faintly in the gloom.
Blood slicked the front of his apron. He looked up and saw me, and smiled.
“Didn’t know you’d be pulling an all-nighter, Sean,” he said calmly, like he hadn’t just murdered someone on the floor.
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. I backed up slowly, pulse roaring in my ears.
My wolf stirred in my chest, but I forced it down. Shifting would only make noise. Get me noticed. Get me killed.
Then I ran. Through the side exit. Down the alley. Into the night, into the cold, into the unknown. I didn’t stop running. Not until I was too far to hear the city traffic. Not until my legs gave out.
Not until I realized that he knew my face.
Now, curled up in a strange bed in a town that barely existed on maps, I could still hear the sound of that man’s scream. I could still feel Orin’s eyes on me.
The dream, or memory, I didn’t know what to call it anymore, had peeled my fear raw again. I wiped my face and stared out the window at the quiet darkness.
Sugarpaw Springs was small. Isolated. No one here knew me. I’d been extremely careful and vigilant, and maybe that was the reason I was still alive.
But deep down, I knew better. Monsters didn’t care about distance or silence. They didn’t need a map to find you.
Breathe, Sean, I reminded myself. You’re thousands of miles away now. Orin can’t get to you here.
The thought barely steadied me, but I forced myself upright anyway. The bed creaked as I sat up, scrubbing my hands over my face.
I was still buzzing from the nightmare, sweat clinging to the back of my neck, but I wasn’t going to let it ruin my first day.
I spotted a small bathroom tucked in the corner of the unfinished space and padded toward it. The floor was cold under my feet, but I didn’t care.
The moment I turned the faucet, the pipes groaned like they hadn’t been used in a century.
It took a while for the water to warm, but eventually, a stream of hot, comforting water flowed down my back.
I lingered longer than necessary, letting the heat wash the fear away. Letting it become a new kind of ritual, one that said I was still here. I was still safe.
Eventually, I dried off and dressed, pulling on jeans and a soft T-shirt. My hair was still damp, curling at the ends as I headed downstairs.
The scent of coffee hit me first. Then I heard it. Someone humming off-key below.
Beau.
My chest fluttered like I’d swallowed a live bird. I shook it off. First day of work, Sean. Not first date. I slapped my cheek lightly and exhaled before descending the stairs.
Beau stood behind the counter, hair a little tousled like he’d just run his fingers through it, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the corded muscles there flexing as he poured two coffees.
He looked over his shoulder when he heard me, and dang. That small smile of his should be illegal before 8 a.m.
“Morning,” he said, voice a deep rumble that made my skin warm. “Sleep well?”
“I did,” I lied automatically. But then I remembered that shifters could smell lies. My eyes darted to his face.
Beau didn’t call me out on it. He just raised an eyebrow knowingly, then nodded to the counter where two coffees and a brown paper bag sat. “Got us some breakfast.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, though a flutter of something warm moved through me.
When was the last time someone brought me coffee? Let alone breakfast?
“I wanted to,” he said simply. “Besides, I need your professional opinion.”
He slid the bag toward me. I opened it and pulled out a flaky croissant, the scent of dark chocolate and warm butter wrapping around me like a blanket.
I took a bite, and nearly moaned.
It was soft in the center, crisp on the outside, rich with dark chocolate that melted on my tongue but wasn’t overly sweet.
The kind of pastry that told you someone put a good deal of thought to it when they made it.
“Oh wow,” I murmured around the mouthful, swallowing with a smile. “This is amazing.”
“Told you.” Beau folded his arms over his chest, watching me with an amused gleam in his eyes. “It’s from Wolf and Whisk.”
“Wolf and Whisk?” I asked, licking chocolate from the corner of my mouth.
I didn’t miss the way his gaze tracked the motion.
Beau’s expression tightened slightly, though the edge was more irritation than real anger.
“Our competition. Pack of wolves run it, two streets over. The alpha’s name is Callum. He’s… a pain,” Beau grumbled.
I took another bite, this one slower, just to keep Beau’s eyes on me. “A delicious pain, apparently.”
That earned a huff of laughter. “Yeah, well, they’ve been here longer. Locals already know them. We’re still the new guys. People aren’t exactly lining up for our pastries yet.”
I chewed thoughtfully, ideas already forming. “I could probably replicate something like this after a few tries,” I told him.
Beau shook his head. “No need to copy. I want something new. Your cardamom honey bun from yesterday? That’s already going on the menu. But I want something that’s ours. Something that makes people talk. We’re doing a 2-for-1 promo this weekend. Gotta hook ‘em fast.”
“I can do that,” I said, a quiet thrill lighting up inside me. “It’d be my pleasure.”
His gaze lingered on me a moment too long, warm, considering, maybe even curious.
And mine? Well. I took another slow sip of coffee, letting the heat warm my hands and chest. But it wasn’t the drink that made me feel flushed.
It was him. Beau. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just the aftermath of a terrifying night and the comfort of unexpected kindness.
But maybe… maybe it was something starting to spark. Put it out of your mind, I warned myself. This wasn’t the time.
I didn’t plan on staying here long. Just long enough to lay low, earn some cash, and figure out my next move. Beau was kind, sure. Generous, even.
But he couldn’t be mine.
Not when I was still running.