Chapter 6
Sean/ Beau
SEAN
The bakery smelled like vanilla, cinnamon, and proofed yeast, comforting and familiar.
I’d grown used to these early morning shifts, the rhythm of flour-dusted prep counters and low banter with Rafael and Dorian before the doors opened.
It was strange how quickly this place had become my version of normal.
Dorian was humming something upbeat while folding dough, and Rafael was elbow-deep in mixing honey-cardamom batter.
I was portioning out croissant filling when I glanced at the back door, expecting the familiar creak followed by Beau’s heavy footsteps.
Nothing. I checked the time. Still early. But not that early.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Where’s Beau? He usually beats us all here.”
Rafael didn’t look up from the batter. “He’s not coming in till after lunch.”
I paused mid-scoop. “Is he okay?”
That got his attention. Rafael finally glanced over, his brows raised. “Yeah. Why?”
“I don’t know. Just... you said it like it was routine or something. Is he sick?”
“Nah,” Rafael said quickly. “Just his monthly doctor visit.”
Something in the way he said it, too brisk, too practiced, made my ears perk up. I straightened. “Doctor? What for?”
Rafael’s jaw ticked, just barely, before he wiped his hands on a towel and avoided my eyes. “He just needs his back looked at. That’s all.”
I blinked. “His back?”
“Yeah.”
“That why sometimes he stiffens up when he’s lifting trays? I noticed it the other day. He kinda winced when he reached for the top shelf.”
Rafael gave a noncommittal grunt. “It’s nothing serious. Just old injuries flaring up. You know how it is.”
But I didn’t know. Not really. And now I was curious.
“What kind of injuries?” I pressed.
He stiffened. “We should probably get those cinnamon knots in the oven.”
I frowned. “Rafael.”
“Drop it, Sean.” He didn’t sound harsh, but the finality in his tone was unmistakable. “If Beau wants to talk about it, he will. Until then, it’s not my story to tell.”
That shut me up. I didn’t want to push. Not really. But something in my gut twisted. What kind of injuries needed monthly doctor visits?
We worked in silence for a bit after that, the quiet a little heavier than before. The ovens ticked. Dorian kept humming.
And I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Beau sometimes moved, like he was holding tension in his spine, shoulders coiled just a little too tight. What had happened to him?
Around midday, I slipped into the kitchen to grab a new tray of buns to swap out the ones cooling by the front.
The air in the back was warmer, the sound of the street a distant hush through the wall. Then I heard the bell above the bakery door jingle. Followed by a voice I didn’t recognize.
“Hey. You work here?”
Rafael’s answer came a beat later. Calm, but cautious. “Yeah. Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for someone. I heard he might’ve been hanging around this place.”
The unease hit me like a slap of cold water. I froze, one hand still on the tray.
The man’s voice lowered, like he was trying to sound friendly. “Young guy. Slim. Dark hair. Pretty eyes. Quiet type. Seen anyone like that?”
My blood ran cold.
Dorian muttered something I couldn’t catch.
Rafael’s voice dropped lower, steady but sharp-edged. “Can’t say I have. This is a bakery. We get a lot of people in and out.”
The man laughed softly. “Sure. Just figured I’d ask. Never know where someone might run off to.”
I edged toward the door, not enough to be seen but just close enough to peek through the crack.
The man standing at the counter looked like trouble dressed in secondhand denim. He had a scruffy beard, restless hands, and sharp eyes scanning every corner of the room.
He didn’t look like a cop. And he didn’t have that air of someone just looking for a lost friend. He looked like someone hunting.
My breath hitched, and I backed away from the door slowly, silently. My heart pounded against my ribs. He was looking for me.
I didn’t know how he’d found me, how close he was to knowing the truth. But one thing was clear. I wasn’t safe. Not yet.
I glanced at the clock. Beau should be in soon. Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe Rafael had it handled. But my gut screamed otherwise.
I wasn’t sure what scared me more, that someone from my past was catching up to me…
Or that I might have to tell Beau the truth. And risk losing this strange, sweet, flour-dusted life I was finally starting to build.
I buried myself in the kitchen, hands moving on autopilot as I kneaded dough like it had personally offended me. The rhythmic motion helped, a little.
Push, fold, turn. Repeat. I tried to focus on the texture, the scent of the yeast, the comforting weight of routine. But my heart was still racing.
Dorian slid up beside me with a tray of cooling muffins, setting them down with a little more force than necessary.
I glanced up, and he raised an eyebrow at me. No words. Just a look. A silent question. Everything okay? I hesitated too long.
“Right,” Dorian murmured, then turned back to his work like nothing happened.
But I knew better. Everyone here had sharp ears and sharper instincts. I wasn’t going to be able to pretend forever. Still, I tried.
I focused on the honey-cardamom filling for the afternoon buns. Measured, whisked, poured it into the piping bags. I told myself I wasn’t shaking, told myself I was fine.
The kitchen door swung open.
I didn’t look up. Not until Rafael stepped in, wiping his hands on a rag, his face unreadable. He leaned against the counter across from me, watching me in silence for a few beats.
“He’s gone,” Rafael said finally. “Didn’t stick around too long.”
I didn’t stop piping. “Okay.”
“Didn’t give me a name,” Rafael added. “Just said he was looking for someone.”
I kept my eyes on the pastry in front of me. “Weird.”
Rafael tilted his head. “You know him?”
I risked a glance at him. “No.”
He didn’t blink. Just held my gaze with the kind of look that stripped right through your defenses.
“Look, Sean,” he said, voice low and calm. “I like you. We all do. You’re good with customers. You’ve got great ideas. You work hard. But Beau and I… we’ve been through a lot to build this place. To make something peaceful.”
I nodded, throat tight. “I don’t want to bring trouble here.”
Rafael didn’t move. “Then don’t.”
“I won’t,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “I swear, I don’t want any of this to follow me.”
“So you are running from something.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
Rafael exhaled, like he wasn’t surprised. “I’m not asking for the details. Just be straight with us when it matters. This town… it’s not like other places. People here, we look out for each other. And we remember.”
“I’m trying,” I said softly. “I didn’t expect to care so much about a bakery. Or this town. Or—” I bit off the last part. I wasn’t ready to admit it. Not out loud.
But Rafael’s eyes softened, just a little. He nodded. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
He didn’t press further. Just turned back toward the kitchen doors.
I watched him go, my chest tight with guilt and uncertainty. Had I just made a bigger mess by lying? Would he tell Beau?
And if he did… would that be the end of this fragile little thing I was building here?
I wasn’t ready to lose any of it.
Not the bakery, not the late-night dough-making, not the weirdly affectionate chaos of these bear shifters who’d started to feel like something dangerously close to family. And definitely not Beau.
BEAU
The clinic was a quiet, nondescript building tucked between an abandoned gas station and a laundromat two towns over.
No signs, no logos. Just a worn wooden door and a single porch light that always buzzed like a mosquito. The kind of place people only found if they were looking for it.
I parked around the back like always. Less visible. Fewer questions.
The inside still smelled like lavender and antiseptic. Calm and clean in a way that set my nerves on edge. I hated coming here. But I hated the alternative more.
“Beau,” a familiar voice called from the back room.
Dr. Lira emerged, short and sturdy in her knitted cardigan and jeans, her curly salt-and-pepper hair pulled back with a pencil.
She wasn’t just any healer. She’d once been part of my old pack, back when things were still bearable. Quiet, practical, and unflinchingly kind. The only one I trusted to lay hands on me now.
“Doc,” I said with a nod.
She gave me a once-over, her eyes narrowing. “You’re limping.”
“Just a twinge,” I said.
“Mhm,” she muttered, not buying it. “Shirt off. Let me see what kind of mess you’ve made of yourself this time.”
I sat on the table and peeled my shirt off with a quiet hiss, the familiar burn rippling down my back as I moved.
She didn’t flinch. Just stepped behind me and started her examination with practiced hands.
Her fingers were cool, gentle but firm, probing the jagged knots of scar tissue that never quite healed right. I tried not to tense, but it was instinct.
Lira knew. She didn’t say anything, just kept working.
“You’ve got more inflammation than last time,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Did you do the stretches I showed you?”
I hesitated. “Sometimes. When I remember.”
Lira sighed, loud and exasperated. “Beau. I know you’ve got a bakery to run, but ignoring your body isn’t going to make you stronger. You’re one bad twist away from locking up entirely.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered.
“You’re not fine,” she said, wrapping a fresh compression bandage around my waist. “Levi’s claws practically shredded your back, Beau. That’s not something your body just shrugs off, no matter how big your bear is.”
I grunted. She was right, and we both knew it.
She paused for a moment, her voice softening. “I think Levi knows I’ve been treating you.”
I stiffened. “What?”
“I don’t know how. Just a feeling. I was near him last week. He looked at me too long. Something in his eyes. You know how he is. Sharp as ever.”
My chest went tight. “Dang it it. Maybe I shouldn’t come here anymore.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lira snapped. “If you stop, no one will be keeping an eye on that injury. You think you're doing fine, but I can feel the strain. Your body’s compensating in dangerous ways.”
I rubbed a hand down my face. “It’s not you I’m worried about. If Levi knows, then the clan—”
“The clan won’t touch me,” she said flatly. “I don’t work for the clan anymore. And I don’t scare easy, Beau.”
I looked away, jaw tight. The ghosts I carried weren’t just mine. They had a way of reaching for the people I cared about too.
I drove back to Sugarpaw Springs in silence, the hum of the engine doing nothing to drown out the churn in my chest. Lira’s words stuck with me.
The past never stayed buried. No matter how hard I tried.
By the time I pulled into the alley behind Bear and Bun, the tension in my shoulders had bled into my limbs. Still, I felt that familiar spark of anticipation.
I wanted to see Sean.
But as I stepped inside, Rafael was behind the counter, dusting flour off his apron. He glanced up, caught my eye, and walked over with a look that set my instincts flaring.
“Where’s Sean?” I asked.
“On his break,” Rafael said, voice carefully even. “You got a second?”
“Sure,” I said.
We exited the bakery. The back alley was cool and quiet, the scent of cinnamon and yeast still clinging to the air. Rafael leaned against the wall, arms folded.
“Someone came by this morning,” he said. “Didn’t order anything. Just asked if we’d seen someone matching Sean’s description.”
My heart thumped once, hard. “What kind of someone?”
“Out-of-towner. Looked like a PI. Clean cut, sharp eyes, one of those guys who says a lot without saying much.”
I frowned. “You think Sean saw him?”
“I think Sean froze when I mentioned it.”
That silence pressed heavy between us.
“I like the kid,” Rafael added, voice low. “He’s working hard. Seems like he wants to stay. But we’ve fought too hard to make this place safe. Can’t afford surprises.”
“I’ll talk to him,” I said, jaw tight.
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Rafael asked gently. “You’ve got a soft spot for him. That’s not a bad thing, but it’s something to be careful about.”
“I know,” I said.