Chapter 10
TEN
DAHLIA
The conversation drifted after that. Lighter topics.
Junie’s latest potion disasters—apparently the frog situation had escalated to five frogs before she’d figured out the wormwood issue.
Cassia’s mother and her endless matchmaking attempts.
Narla’s newest candle formula, which allegedly could help with grief processing.
But Dahlia couldn’t quite shake Avine’s question. It sat in her mind, uncomfortable and insistent.
What do you want?
“Speaking of the bear.” Junie had circled back around. “Word is he’s been doing ‘efficiency assessments’ all over town. Ruffling feathers. Making people uncomfortable.”
“Corporate types.” Cassia rolled her eyes. “They think everything’s a spreadsheet.”
“He’s trying to fix things.” The words spilled out before Dahlia could stop them. “What else is he supposed to do?”
Four pairs of eyes swung toward her.
“Defending the grumpy bear now?” Junie’s grin was back.
“I’m not defending him. I’m being fair.” Dahlia’s cheeks heated again. Damn it. “He’s in an impossible situation. Coming back after fifteen years, trying to save a community that probably resents him for leaving. That’s not easy.”
“You’ve thought about this a lot.” Narla’s voice was carefully neutral. “For someone who barely spoke to him.”
“I think about everyone.” Dahlia grabbed a croissant she didn’t want as a distraction for her hands. “That’s what I do. I notice things. About people.”
“Mmm.” Narla sipped her wine. “And what did you notice about him?”
The question hung in the air. Dahlia thought about those sharp features.
The way he’d gone absolutely still when their eyes met—not frozen but controlled, like an animal choosing not to move.
The way he’d held the entire room in his peripheral vision while appearing to look only at the display case.
The way he’d looked at her. Startled. Almost frightened. Like she was something unexpected and terrifying.
“He’s exhausted.” Her voice dropped quieter than intended.
The room went still.
“That’s...” Junie’s voice had lost its teasing edge. “That’s a lot to notice in five minutes.”
“You just mapped a man you exchanged maybe ten words with.” Avine’s voice was quiet. “That’s not nothing, Dahlia.”
Dahlia couldn’t look at any of them. Her eyes burned.
When had this become about her? She’d come here to escape her own thoughts, not to have them dissected by the people who knew her best.
She set down the croissant she’d been mangling and stood. “I should go. Early morning tomorrow. The surge has been making my recipes unpredictable—”
“Running away?” Narla’s question was quiet. Knowing.
“Making responsible choices about my time.”
“Dahlia.” Avine stood too. Caught her hands. “We love you. We’re not trying to attack you. We’re trying to help.”
“I know.” The fight drained out of her. “I know you are. It’s not that I don’t want help. I don’t know how to receive it. I don’t know how to need things.”
Avine pulled her into another hug. This time, Dahlia let herself sink into it. Let herself be held.
“Figure it out,” Avine murmured against her hair. “What you want. What you need. And when you do, tell us. Let us be there for you the way you’ve been there for us.”
Dahlia nodded. She didn’t trust her voice.
She gathered her things and left, Junie’s voice following her down the hallway.
“We’re going to fix this, Dahlia! The Magnus situation and the you-not-knowing-how-to-have-feelings situation!”
Despite everything, Dahlia smiled.
The apartment was dark when Dahlia got home.
Marzipan was waiting on the kitchen counter, eyes catching the streetlight that filtered through the windows. The judgment radiating through their bond was pointed.
You smell like emotions.
“Thanks.”
And that suit bear. His scent is still on you from three days ago. Faint, but there. Marzipan’s tail lashed. I don’t trust him.
“You don’t trust anyone.”
Not true. I trust you. When you’re not being an idiot.
Dahlia should probably be offended. Instead, she scratched behind Marzipan’s ears, the way she knew her familiar liked, even though the cat would never admit it.
“The suit bear,” she said quietly, “might be the only person standing between me and losing the bakery.”
Marzipan went still under her hand. Explain.
Dahlia explained. The boundary dispute. Magnus Ironwood’s claims. The possibility that everything her grandmother had built could be taken away by a territorial technicality.
By the time she finished, Marzipan’s fur was bristling. The mountain bear threatens our territory.
“It’s not that simple.”
It’s exactly that simple. He’s trying to take what’s ours. The suit bear had better stop him. Even if I don’t like him.
“You don’t like anyone.”
I like you. The thought came with grudging fondness. Even when you’re being an idiot about bears.
Dahlia smiled despite herself. She gathered Marzipan into her arms, ignoring the token protest, and carried the cat to her bedroom.
She should sleep. The morning would come early, as it did every day. The bakery would need her. The customers would need her. Everyone would need her.
But Avine’s question wouldn’t stop echoing in her head.
Marzipan jumped onto the bed, curling into the spot Dahlia had vacated.
You’re brooding.
“I’m thinking.”
Same thing. Come to bed. Humans need sleep, even the stubborn ones.
Marzipan made a sound of feline disgust. You’re thinking about the bear again.
“Go to sleep.”
He’s trouble.
“I know.”
You like him anyway.
Dahlia didn’t answer. Some truths were too new to say out loud, even to a familiar who already knew everything.