Chapter 4
Beau/ Sean
BEAU
The ovens had finally cooled, but Sean hadn’t slowed down all day.
The guy moved like his hands were chasing the rhythm of a song only he could hear, measured, precise, but passionate.
Watching him shape dough was like watching someone cast a spell. His brow furrowed in concentration, lower lip tucked between his teeth, flour dusting his hair like snow.
And gods help me, it was distracting. He was jumpy, though. Like he expected something to explode every time someone dropped a spoon.
I’d caught him flinching more than once, and every time he caught me noticing, he’d offer up a tight smile like it would erase the moment.
It didn’t. If anything, it just made me want to know what the hell he was running from. But I didn’t ask. Not yet. Instead, we focused on the pastries.
We tried a dozen new things. Sweet rolls, fruit tarts, even a honeyed cinnamon braid that had real potential. But it was the bear claw that finally made us both stop and stare.
Sean added a whisper of orange zest to the filling and a light cardamom glaze. It was bold, unexpected… and perfect. He cut one in half and handed me a piece.
“Go ahead. Tell me it’s too much,” he said, arms crossed, watching.
I took a bite. Flaky, rich, just the right balance between sharp and sweet. I swallowed and looked at him.
“It’s magic,” I said simply.
He smiled then. Really smiled. And my heart did something it hadn’t done in a long time. It fluttered. We added it to the weekend promo.
The day didn’t go the way I’d hoped.
A few customers wandered in, curious more than anything. Bought a loaf, maybe two. But not nearly enough to move the racks of bread we’d prepped.
Sean glanced at the remaining loaves. “What happens to it all?”
“We donate to the shelter,” I said, wiping my hands on a towel.
He stilled, eyes flicking to mine. “That’s good,” he said softly.
The warmth in his voice stayed with me the rest of the day.
I’d also been thinking about asking him out since the moment he stepped into my bakery.
The longer I spent around Sean, the more impossible it became not to notice the little things: the way he bit his bottom lip when he was concentrating.
How he smelled faintly of vanilla and fresh citrus, how his laughter, rare as it was, sounded like something precious.
The guy could bake like a dream, sure. But it was the softness under all his steel that got to me. The parts he tried to hide.
The way his shoulders tensed whenever the doorbell chimed, or how he’d look out the window like he was checking for ghosts.
I recognized that look. I used to wear it every damn day.
So I decided I wouldn’t push. I would give him space, respect. But still, the idea of asking him out settled in the back of my mind and refused to leave.
I told myself I was being stupid. He was probably just here for a while, passing through, like so many others before.
But then I’d catch him smiling to himself, or humming softly when he thought no one was listening throughout the day.
That quiet, aching part of me, the part I’d tried to bury years ago, started to wake up. Still, all day, I chickened out.
Every time I was about to say something, I’d find a reason not to. Customers. Cleanup. Bread timer. You name it.
What would I even say? Wanna get coffee with a scarred-up bear shifter who doesn’t know the first thing about real romance? Because that was the truth of it. I didn’t.
Dating hadn’t exactly been an option where I came from. My old clan wasn’t built for softness or sentiment. One-night stands were expected.
Relationships? They were liabilities.
You couldn’t afford to care when every day was a power struggle. When violence came easier than kindness. When you spent all your energy just trying to survive.
I’d never had the space to want someone. Not like this.
But with Sean, I wanted more than heat. I wanted time. I wanted the slow, quiet things. The looks across the counter, the coffee in the mornings, the warmth of someone staying.
So when we finally closed for the night, and he was wiping down the counter with that focused little frown, I made myself breathe.
Just ask. Worst thing he’ll say is no.
I cleared my throat, hands tucked into my apron pockets like a coward. “Want to grab coffee?”
He froze. Just for a second.
When he looked up, his eyes were wide, caught off guard. Something flickered there. Hope? Fear?
“I can’t,” he said, quiet but sure. “I mean… I’m not in a place where I can date. Not right now.”
It wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t cold. But it landed like a blow all the same.
I held his gaze, tried to keep my voice level. “No pressure.”
“I appreciate the offer,” he said, voice going softer, more hesitant. “I just... I need to focus.”
I could’ve pushed. I wanted to. But I knew what it felt like to be hunted by your own memories. To flinch at shadows. To need time, even if you didn’t know how to ask for it.
So I said the only thing that felt right. “I’ll wait.”
His head snapped up, startled. “What?”
“I’ll wait,” I repeated, my voice rough but calm. “You don’t have to explain. But if you ever decide you’re ready… I’ll still be here. Probably covered in flour. Probably still making terrible pastry.”
He stared at me, lips parted like he was about to say something else, but no words came.
Just a nod. One slow, almost painful dip of his head. Then he turned and walked up the stairs, back to the half-finished space I’d offered him.
My supposed future office that had somehow become a safe place for someone I wasn’t ready to lose. The door shut behind him with a soft click.
I leaned against the counter, heart thudding like I’d just survived a battle. And maybe I had. Because I hadn’t just asked him out. I’d opened a door. Not just for him, but for me too.
I really hoped he’d walk through it someday.
SEAN
The day started like any other. The scent of fresh dough and cinnamon drifted through the air as the ovens roared to life.
I was already elbow-deep in pastry prep when Rafael strolled in, hair slightly tousled, sipping from a chipped travel mug and offering me a lazy two-fingered salute.
Cassian followed right behind him, dramatic as ever, lamenting over a collapsed lemon tart like it had personally offended his ancestors.
Dorian grunted his hello, already fussing with the espresso machine like it was a moody pet, and Leo buzzed in shortly after, grinning ear to ear like he was born with sunshine in his veins.
We were falling into rhythm, day by day. I could feel it, the comfort of routine, of shared space, of learning to belong.
Still… something about it felt a little off. Not bad, exactly. Just… cautious.
They liked me. I could tell. We laughed together, worked well side by side, shared more than a few ridiculous baking fails. But beneath all that?
There was a tension I couldn’t quite name. Like they were all holding something back around me.
As if I were this fragile, unfamiliar thing, something to observe from a distance, not quite one of them yet. It was kind of silly.
I was the least dangerous person in the room. And they were bear shifters, each of them big enough to fold me in half if they wanted to.
But I wasn’t na?ve enough to think that scars, emotional or physical, didn’t make people wary. Maybe they just needed more time. Maybe I did, too.
That afternoon, the lull between lunch rush and prep for the next day came with a surprise. A screeching, panicked yowl from outside the bakery that practically shook the windows.
“What in the—?” I began.
Cassian was already tossing off his apron before I could finish my sentence, eyes wide as he darted toward the door.
We all followed him out, and there it was. A cat, perched way too high up in the tree across the street, eyes wild and terrified.
“Oh no,” I breathed.
Cassian had the most ridiculous glint in his eye, like he’d been waiting for an excuse to scale something. “I got it.”
Rafael snorted. “You also got a death wish.”
But Cass was already climbing, muttering something poetic about branches being lifelines and feline souls needing rescue. Leo bounced in place, practically vibrating with excitement.
“This is so funny,” Leo said.
Dorian just sipped his espresso, deadpan. “He’s going to fall.”
I stood beside them, heart pounding, watching Cass inch up the tree like he did this every day. The cat hissed, then tried to climb higher, and I winced.
“This is stupid,” I said. “He’s going to get himself killed.”
“Bears don’t die from climbing trees,” Leo pointed out.
But somehow, he didn’t. He cradled the cat like it was made of glass and carefully began the descent.
When he hit the ground, the cat bolted, tail high and offended, and Cass grinned like a man who’d just won a battle.
A sweet, frail old woman in a powder-blue coat soon rushed toward us, tears in her eyes.
“Buttons! Oh, thank you, thank you so much!” She clutched Cass’s hand and kissed his cheek.
Then she patted Rafael on the chest and pinched Leo’s cheek like they were her grandsons.
“You boys are angels,” she said, voice trembling.
The others softened like I’d never seen before. These big, gruff bear shifters, half-feral to anyone who didn’t know them, just melted under the warmth of her gratitude.
Even Dorian offered a ghost of a smile. Something in me… cracked open.
We walked back to the bakery, a little lighter, a little closer. I caught Rafael giving me a look I couldn’t quite decipher. Then he bumped my shoulder with his.
“You didn’t do half bad, rookie.”
“Didn’t even climb a tree,” I muttered.
“Didn’t have to,” he said. “You were there.”
It wasn’t much. But it meant something.
By the end of the shift, the ovens were quiet, the countertops scrubbed clean. The others were filing out with their jackets slung over their shoulders, calling casual goodbyes.
I lingered upstairs by the window, looking out over the sleepy town.
Safe. That’s how it felt. Strange, for a boy like me. I leaned on the windowsill, thinking about Beau. Again. It had been a week since he asked me out for coffee.
A week since I told him no, voice tight and heart slamming against my ribs.
He hadn’t brought it up since, not once. He was still kind. Still warm. Still careful with me. But he hadn’t asked again. And now?
Now I wished I’d said yes.
The truth was, I’d been scared. Still was. But he hadn’t pressured me. He’d just waited. Quietly. Gently. Giving me room to breathe.
How long would he wait?
Maybe I didn’t have the answer to that. Beau was patient, sure, but even patience had its limits. Still, there was one thing I knew for certain.
I wanted him to ask me out again.
The thought lodged itself in my chest, warm and unshakable. But then something else followed, a quieter realization, one that made my pulse skip.
Why shouldn’t I take the initiative for once?
I wasn’t the kind of person who chased things like romance. I didn’t date much. Heck, I barely dated at all. I was always too busy, too focused, too driven.
Ever since my parents died in that car crash, just a few months after I graduated high school, my whole life had been about survival. Paying rent. Eating. Finishing school.
I had clawed my way into a top culinary institute with nothing but student loans and a stubborn streak, determined to make something of myself.
Love? Relationships? I didn’t have the luxury.
So I threw myself into baking. It was passion and precision. Art and science. It made sense when nothing else did. Making money doing what I loved. That had always been the goal.
But for the first time in my life, here in Sugarpaw Springs, that tunnel vision had started to crack. This town… it was quiet. Soft around the edges. It gave me space to breathe.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t scrambling to keep my life from falling apart. I wasn’t fighting just to survive.
I could take a breath. Look around. Maybe even dream about things I hadn’t let myself want before. Things like him.
Ever since I stepped into Bear and Bun, my wolf had known there was something different about Beau.
Not just because of his scent, rich and warm, like clove and cedar, or the quiet strength in his eyes, or the way he always remembered to bring a second coffee without asking.
It wasn’t even how his voice went soft when he spoke to me, like he didn’t want to startle me. No, it was something deeper. Instinctual.
My wolf felt safe with him. Drawn.
And yeah, maybe it scared me senseless. But it would be a genuine waste not to see if there was something real between us. Something worth exploring.