Chapter 7
Aspen
The sky over Dairyville was the color of crème br?lée, all golden swirl with a burnt sugar edge, and the chilly wind whipped through the naked trees lining the square.
There was comfort in the rhythm I’d fallen into here—the bakery’s silence in the early hours broken up by conversations with Oscar before the first caffeine-deprived regular shuffled through the door.
He popped in and out whenever the mood struck him.
“Do you think I should add eclairs to my menu?”
“An eclair made correctly creates a delightful burst of both flavor and texture on the palate. If you’re up for the challenge, I think you should.” He sounded like he was narrating a show on a cooking channel. I loved his enthusiasm.
“So your young man has come to see you quite often. He has a wolf living inside him you know. It’s my bet he’s chosen you as his mate.” He offered this little bit of information out of the blue.
The cannoli cream I was piping into the pastry exploded out the end. “WHAT? What does that even mean, Oscar?”
“It simply means that wolves mate for life my dear. And I believe the young man is in love with you and his wolf chose you as his mate for life.”
I’d seen Papa almost every day since he’d picked up the tasting cake, and I’d started to look forward to it.
Whether it was his stopping in for coffee or just picking up pastries for the guys, I was happy anytime I got to be near him.
I saw the ease with which he moved, like the world bent around him, and it fascinated me.
He always made time to check in on me; never pushy, never too much, just… there.
What surprised me most was how much he’d cared when I told him about the way my coven used to treat me.
Most people didn’t know what to do with that kind of truth, but Papa didn’t flinch.
He just listened. And when he opened up about nearly losing his entire pack, about how close he came to dying, it hit me like a gut punch.
I hadn’t expected to ache for someone I barely knew. But I did.
And each time I saw him after that, something small shifted.
A joke he cracked that actually made me laugh-snort.
The way he looked at me like I was real, not some broken thing to pity, not some puzzle to solve, just me.
Every day, I caught myself noticing something new.
The rough rasp of his laugh. The warmth in his eyes when he talked about his brothers.
The way he held space without needing to fill it.
I felt foolish, like some schoolgirl with a crush, but I’d never had this before.
I was twenty-five and had never so much as been asked on a date.
Maybe I was just starved for attention. But it didn’t feel like that.
Men came into the bakery every day, handsome ones, even, but none of them made my blood hum the way Big Papa did.
He had this wicked, dry sense of humor that snuck up on me.
And he actually liked the smart-ass side of me, the one my mama always said would get me in trouble one day.
Hell, I thought he was trouble when I first met him.
Big, broody, grumpy as all get out. I never would’ve guessed he’d turn out to be the man I feel safest with.
I was jolted out of my revelry when Maddie showed up, bursting through the bakery door like a confetti cannon. She wore a pair of black leggings with stars down the side, her hair pulled into a perfect ponytail that bounced like it had its own opinions.
She didn’t say hello, just barreled up to the counter and hollered, “You got cinnamon rolls yet, or am I too early?”
I laughed, wiping my hands on my apron. “You are right on time, Maddie. Hot out of the oven. You want frosting on top or on the side?”
She rolled her eyes. “On top, obviously. You gotta let it melt all the way in, otherwise what’s the point?” She leaned over the counter, chin in her hand, and watched me drizzle the icing. “So. You and Big Papa, huh?”
I nearly dropped the icing bag. “What?”
She grinned, teeth showing. “I heard you made him a sample cake the other day. That’s basically a Dairyville engagement.”
I wanted to argue but knew it would only dig me deeper. “He’s nice. And that cake was for everyone else to taste.”
She arched one eyebrow so high it nearly met her hairline. “Sure. Next thing I know, you’re running off to the courthouse together.” She reached across and stole a bit of icing with her finger, popped it in her mouth, and made an obscene little moan. “God, that is so good. You are a wizard.”
“Lordy, don’t say that too loud,” I muttered, cutting the roll and sliding it onto a plate. “People will be accusin’ me of turning ‘em into toads or worse.”
Maddie picked up the roll and took a massive bite, then talked around the pastry. “You wanna go out tonight?”
I blinked. “Out…where?”
She swallowed and gave me a look. “The County Line. The bar. A pack member owns it, so it’s safe. Come on! It’s Saturday night. It’s there or at the clubhouse, and I don’t feel like hanging out with families and little kids.”
I hesitated. “I’ve never… I mean, I don’t even know what to wear to a bar. I’ve never drunk like that.”
She waved that away. “You don’t have to drink or you can try it if you want to.
You just need to wear something cute, and if you want, I can get you an appointment at the salon next door so you can get a conditioning treatment on that gorgeous hair and get all waxed.
Then I’ll come by and help you get ready.
Whaddaya say? It’ll be fun, Aspen. Promise. ”
My stomach swooped. It was the first real invitation I’d ever gotten that didn’t have strings attached. “Okay,” I said, trying not to sound as terrified as I felt. “But, um, waxed?”
She waved her hands as if it were nothing. “Yeah. You’ve had your brows waxed?”
I nodded. “My mama waxed mine every couple of months.”
She smiled. “It’s like that. Only it’s not just your brows.” She waggled her own eyebrows. “I’ll be here at six. You just bake your magic and get ready to let loose.”
I almost wished she’d insult me instead. This was worse somehow. Nice made me nervous.
The rest of the morning went by in a rush: a steady stream of regulars, a couple of teenagers on a donut run, one old man who always asked for plain white bread even though we didn’t make it (“No time to fix what’s broken,” he’d say, and I’d just nod like I understood).
I liked the blur of motion, the constant focus on flour and measurements, and the comforting rhythm of the kitchen.
But around noon, something changed. A man walked in, not unusual in itself, but there was something off about him.
He was tall, but not in the way Papa was—his height was stretched, too-thin, like a willow sapling that hadn’t found the sun yet.
He wore a heavy green jacket even though the bakery was warm, and his hair was a nondescript brown that looked like it’d shed the moment you ran a hand through it.
He didn’t speak when he came in. Didn’t even look at the menu or the case. Just walked up to the counter, eyes flicking over the pastries, then up to me. There was no warmth in his gaze, just a weird, assessing hunger. He pointed at a scone—cranberry orange, still warm from the oven.
I bagged it up, forcing a smile. “You want coffee to go with that?”
He nodded, never breaking eye contact, and handed over exact change in coins.
Then he took the scone, walked to the corner table, and sat down.
He didn’t eat, just set the scone on the paper bag and folded his hands, staring at me every time I turned my back.
I tried not to look, but the feeling crawled over my neck like cold sweat.
He stayed there for an hour. Then, as quietly as he’d come in, he got up and left, leaving the scone untouched on the table.
I waited until the door closed, then walked over to clean up, fighting the urge to check the street through the window.
The scone was still there, but the paper bag had a smear of ink on it, a shape like a triangle or maybe a stylized A.
I didn’t think anything of it, just threw it out with the rest of the trash.
The rest of the afternoon was busier, but that unsettled feeling clung to me. Every time the bell over the door rang, I flinched. Every time a stranger came in, I checked for the green jacket.
It wasn’t until close that I saw him again, across the square by the gazebo. He stood perfectly still, arms crossed, eyes fixed on my bakery like he was memorizing the window pattern. I ducked behind the cash register, heart racing, and when I looked again, he was gone.
I told myself it was nothing, just someone new. But I still made sure to lock every bolt on the bakery door before heading upstairs to the apartment.
When I hit my apartment, I saw Oscar sitting on the couch.
“Did you see that strange man in the green jacket who came in right before closing?”
He tilted his little head. “I did, and that was no man. I’m not sure what he was, but he was either spelled or possessed. We’ll need to figure out who he is and who sent him. And you need to be extra careful tonight with your friend.”
“I promise I will.”
It wasn’t until I started running the bath for a quick soak that I remembered Maddie’s invitation. I had three hours to figure out how to look cute and not like a terrified shut-in.
I sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the condensation curling down the mirror, and wondered if this was what normal girls felt before a big night.
Maybe the difference was, normal girls didn’t have to worry about witches or curses or green-jacketed men who left triangles on paper bags.
Maybe they just worried about lipstick and whether the boy they liked would notice them.
I thought about Big Papa, about the way he’d looked at me like he actually saw someone worth looking at. I wondered if he’d be at the bar tonight. I wondered if I wanted him to be.