Chapter 3 #2
Not that it would be any of his business if we did, but— “It’s my name.”
“Pretty name.”
I shrug. “I’ve always liked it.”
Grandma Jean suggested the name. She saw the patch of golden blonde hair that I was born with and, a baker through and through, gave me a name from one of the most used items in her pantry.
Since Mom was too picky to come up with a name on her own, and Dad’s laidback enough that he just wanted a healthy pup, Grandma Jean won out and my honest-to-Fate’s name was given as Honey.
Declan offers me a crooked grin. “Pretty girl, too.”
My stomach lurches. Ugh. True, I’m unmated at the moment, but tell that to my inner opossum screeching that this wolf is not my mate and shouldn’t be hitting on me like this unless he wants his Alpha to show him what his intestines look like—
And, yup, that right there is why I can’t let the sheriff know what I know until I’m one hundred percent sure I can handle a predator.
Since I can’t, and rejecting the wolf in front of me might be just as bad as losing control and throwing a day-old roll in his face, I move away from the bread and closer to the register.
“What can I get for you?”
The pleasant tone combined with the earnest yet clear ‘not interested’ smile does its job. He chuckles under his breath, realizing that his smooth moves won’t work on me, then casts his gaze over the display case.
“I don’t know. It all looks so delicious. What do you suggest?”
All of it because I put love, sweat, and sugar into every morsel?
“The scones are pretty good. Oh, I sell a ton of these cheese danishes. The cherry hand pies. I have croissants, almond, chocolate, and plain. Any of that sound good to you?”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll take ten.”
I blink. Lounging on his flour throne, Gus lifts his head, sensing my confusion. He turns his beady gaze on Declan, decides he’s just a customer, and instead of moving to stand next to me like he did when the sheriff was here, he goes right back to sleep.
Lucky.
Declan is waiting for me to stay something.
Right.
“Um. Okay. Ten of which one exactly?”
“All of the ones you mentioned.”
Oh. “That will be sixty baked goods.”
Declan pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. “That’s right. You take card?”
I bob my head, a stunned nod. Sixty items in one go that’s not a catering order is new for me. “Yeah, but—”
He tosses a card onto the counter. “We’re having a pack council meeting tonight. At least fifteen wolves will be there. Now that I think of it, can we add a cake? You do cakes, right?”
“I have a vanilla chiffon cake in the back fridge and a chocolate cake, too—”
He laughs, the sound more like a bark than anything else since there isn’t actually any humor in it. “No chocolate, thanks. Us wolves can eat a lot, but that stuff doesn’t sit well.”
Right. Because chocolate is poisonous to dogs, and wolves are basically just a pup’s ancestor. “So the vanilla chiffon?”
“And the rest of what you suggested.”
Okay.
I plug the order into the register before I forget, then disappear into the back to grab the vanilla chiffon cake from the fridge. I’d planned on putting slices out for tomorrow’s sample, but if Declan wants to buy it along with half my remaining stock, I’m not going to stop him.
Though, as I open the fridge and see the smaller white box on the shelf above the cake, I pause.
Should I…
I don’t know…
Screw it.
I grab the cake box, add the smaller box on top of it, close the fridge door with my hip, and head back out into the bakery.
At the counter, I set the stack down, moving the small box to the side.
After that, I get down to business while Declan makes small talk that I’m barely paying attention to.
I don’t want to lose count as I start loading up boxes and bags with his order, though I’m pretty sure I did.
Ah, well. As long as I gave him a couple of extras instead of cheating him, that’s fine.
Once I’m done, I move the cake to the counter, followed by the pastry boxes, plus three separate bags of croissants. I tally up his order, slightly impressed when he doesn’t even bat an eye when I give him his total, then run his card through my reader.
“It go through?” he asks.
Since the receipt is printing, I nod. “Yes.”
“Pack credit card. Don’t leave home without it.”
He grins. I hand him the card and the credit slip to sign, which he does with a sguiggle and a flourish before he tucks the card back into his wallet.
I gesture at the array of baked goods. “Would you like some help?”
“Nah. I’ve got a car outside. I’ve got it.”
“If you’re sure…”
He winks at me. “I’m a wolf, sweetness. Don’t you worry about me.”
Honey, I want to snap. My name is Honey.
But I don’t. Instead, I reach for the smaller white box.
“What about this? Do you think you can take that, too?”
His eyes light up. “That for me?”
Um. No. “Actually, if you’re going to a pack council meeting tonight… I’m assuming the sheriff will be there?”
“He is the Alpha.”
Don’t I know it?
“Could you give this to him? From me?”
For a moment, Declan’s easygoing grin lingers—but only for a moment before it’s replaced by a genuine look of surprise. “Are you sure about that? Giving food to the Alpha?”
Good question.
To tell the truth, I’ve been puzzled by this particular cupcake all day, and handing it over to the wolf doesn’t change that one bit.
It’s supposed to be a peace offering, the only way I know how to make one these days.
I managed to apologize to my customers yesterday by offering them free eclairs before shooing them out my door, but I was so flustered the entire time Sheriff Lobo was in the bakery, I didn’t offer him a single pastry as an apology for involving him in my boo-boo.
It hit me this morning that I didn’t. Before I knew better, I whipped up a charm-free cupcake with apples and caramel because… I don’t know… he just seemed like that kind of male. If he didn’t want it, he didn’t have to eat it, but I’d be lying if I said that I… I didn’t want him to.
And that, right there, is a big fucking problem.
In shifter culture, food has meaning. If you feed someone unmated that you could potentially be attracted to, it’s not just a meal.
It’s telling them that you are a provider, that they’ll never go hungry or want for anything if you’re around.
If I was a predator, giving the sheriff a cupcake now would be like I was trying to feed him.
I’d be giving him a sign that I was into him as a mate.
Now, I’ve only been in Moonburrow for two months, but I’ve dealt with my fair share of predators.
He’s the Alpha. He’d never want a prey shifter for a mate, and, yeah, that’s what I am.
A prey shifter feeding a predator is kind of just doing their job, showing respect, so I’m not too worried about Sheriff Lobo getting the wrong idea.
I’m the baker, after all. Giving away treats is what I do.
When it comes to the sheriff, it’s all I can do.
I can’t have him. Mixed shifter matings—predator and prey—only work when they trust each other enough to form and finalize a mate bond.
How? Predators either want to protect or pounce while prey just want to submit or flee.
It’ll never work, and I have no clue what Fate is thinking, telling me that I’m meant for the sheriff…
even if the handful of minutes I spent in close proximity with him last night only reaffirmed what I suspected the first time I picked up his scent.
I’m supposed to be his mate, and since that’s not going to happen, the least I can do is apologize with a cupcake.
“Yeah,” I tell Declan. “I’m sure.”