Chapter 7 #2
The words hit like cold water, shock mixing with something warmer, more dangerous.
I mentioned that exactly once, three years ago, at some town festival when everything was different and I still believed in happy endings.
He was with his pack, way far away, while I was occupied, putting on the show of being an Omega to my pack, who were only outside for the thrill of being in the public’s eye.
"That was—you couldn't possibly—"
"You were wearing a blue dress," he continues, voice soft enough that only I can hear despite the crowded bakery. "Had your hair up but pieces kept escaping. You said roses were trying too hard to be perfect, but wildflowers were honest. Beautiful because they didn't pretend to be anything else."
My hands are still in the dough.
How does he remember that? Why does he remember that?
"I need to check the ovens," I announce to no one, abandoning the dough and fleeing to the kitchen because standing there with Levi looking at me like that, with my cat purring at his feet like a furry Benedict Arnold, with the entire town watching—it's too much.
The kitchen is marginally safer. No audience here, just me and industrial appliances and the ghost of this morning's baking frenzy.
I lean against the prep counter, breathe in the familiar scents of yeast and vanilla extract, try to remember why letting Levi Maddox bring me flowers is a terrible idea.
Because you've done this before. Because you believed an Alpha's pretty words and soft touches and look how that ended. With bruises and divorce papers and three years of therapy you can't afford.
"Hazel?"
I nearly jump out of my skin. Levi's standing in the kitchen doorway, taking up all the space with his shoulders and his presence and his goddamn honey-butter scent.
"Customers aren't allowed back here," I say automatically.
"Your assistant said it was okay."
"I don't have an—" I stop. Through the doorway, I can see Reverie behind my counter, cheerfully ringing up sales like she works here. "That's not my assistant. That's my friend committing fraud."
"She's very efficient."
"She's very nosy."
He steps into the kitchen properly, and suddenly the industrial-sized space feels like a closet. "I didn't mean to ambush you with the flowers."
"Yes, you did."
"Okay, I did. But not to upset you."
"I'm not upset."
"You're kneading dough like it owes you money."
I look down. The dough is essentially liquid now, overworked into submission. "It had it coming."
He laughs—low and warm, the kind of laugh that makes you want to join in even when you're determined to be angry. "Can I ask you something?"
"Can I stop you?"
"Why are you so determined to hate me?"
The question hangs between us like a loaded weapon.
Because it's safer than the alternative. Because hating you means I won't make the same mistake twice. Because if I don't hate you, I might—
"I don't hate you," I say finally.
"But you don't trust me."
"I don't trust any Alpha."
"Even ones who bring flowers and charm your cat?"
"Especially those. They're clearly up to something."
He moves closer, and I have nowhere to retreat unless I want to climb into the oven, which is starting to seem like a reasonable option.
"What if I told you I'm not up to anything?" he says. "What if I just think you're brilliant and beautiful and make the best cinnamon rolls in the state?"
"I'd say you're definitely up to something."
"You're impossible."
"You're persistent."
"Pot, meet kettle."
We're standing too close now, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his green eye, the way his flannel is worn soft at the elbows, the faint scar on his jaw from what was probably a ranch accident.
Step back. You need to step back.
I don't step back.
"The flowers are beautiful," I admit, the words dragged out of me like a confession. "Unnecessary and showy and probably going to start rumors that'll follow me to my grave, but... beautiful."
His smile could power small cities. "So you'll keep them?"
"I'll tolerate them. Temporarily. Until they die. Which they will, because everything does."
"Cheerful."
"Realistic."
"Hazel—"
Whatever he's about to say gets cut off by a crash from the front.
We both rush out to find Muffin has knocked over the flower vase, water spreading across the counter in a small flood. Reverie's trying to save the register while customers scramble back from the splash zone.
"Your cat's a menace," Levi observes.
"She learned from the best," I reply, grabbing towels.
We clean up together, him gathering scattered flowers while I mop up water and Reverie provides entirely unhelpful commentary about "romantic flower disasters" and "meet-cutes gone wrong."
As we're finishing, Levi reaches for the same towel I'm reaching for. Our hands collide, tangle, and somehow I end up with his fingers wrapped around mine, the towel forgotten between us.
His hands are warm, callused from ranch work, gentle despite their strength. My skin lights up at the contact, every nerve ending suddenly very aware that I'm touching an Alpha, that he's touching me back, that we're holding hands in the middle of my bakery like teenagers.
Let go. Let go right now.
I don't let go.
Neither does he.
"Hazel," he says softly, and my name in his mouth sounds like a promise or a prayer or possibly both.
"This is a terrible idea," I tell him.
"The worst," he agrees.
"You're going to complicate everything."
"Probably."
"I don't date Alphas anymore."
"I'm not asking for a date."
I raise an eyebrow. "Then what are you asking for?"
"A chance," he says simply. "Just... a chance to prove not all of us are him."
Him. Korrin Delacroix. The shadow that follows me everywhere, the reason I flinch at sudden movements, the ghost in every interaction.
"You don't even know what he did," I whisper.
"I know enough," Levi says, and there's something dark in his voice now, something that reminds me he's not just a charming rancher but an Alpha who could probably tear someone apart with his bare hands if properly motivated.
"I know he hurt you. I know you used to laugh more.
I know something broke, and you've been trying to fix it alone ever since. "
"Some things can't be fixed."
"Maybe not. But maybe they can be built new. Better. Stronger."
God, why does he have to be like this? Why can't he just be a typical Alpha asshole so I can hate him properly?
The bell chimes, and a new wave of customers floods in. The moment breaks, reality crashing back. I pull my hand away, step back, rebuild my walls with practiced efficiency.
"I need to work," I say.
"I know." He gathers the salvaged flowers, somehow managing to make the water-damaged bouquet look intentional. "But think about what I said?"
"I'll think about thinking about it."
"Progress," he says with that grin that should be illegal. "See you around, sunshine."
He heads for the door, pausing to scratch Muffin behind the ears. She purrs and follows him to the threshold like she's considering switching households.
"Traitor," I call after her.
She gives me a look that clearly says you're welcome before returning to her perch.
The morning rush continues, but everything feels different now. The flowers sit on my counter in their makeshift vase, bright and defiant. My hand still tingles where he held it. The bakery smells like honey and butter, along with the usual cinnamon and coffee.
"So," Reverie says, appearing at my elbow with the stealth of a ninja, "when's the wedding?"
"I will fire you."
"I don't work here."
Damn…she’s right…she’s just helping when she can.
"Then I'll ban you."
"You'd never. I'm your best customer and friend."
She's not wrong, which is irritating.
"He remembered what I said about wildflowers," I admit quietly. "From three years ago...and I was an Omega in a different pack entirely."
Reverie's expression softens.
"Oh, honey."
"It doesn't mean anything."
"It means everything."
"It can't. I can't—I'm not ready for this. For any of this."
"Maybe you don't have to be ready," she says. "Maybe you just have to be willing to try."
I look at the flowers, bright and chaotic and absolutely imperfect in the best way.
Wildflowers are honest. Beautiful because they don't pretend to be anything else.
Maybe Levi's the same…and that's what terrifies me most.
Muffin meows from her perch, and I swear she's laughing at me.
Even my cat's choosing sides now.
The October morning continues outside, all golden light and dying leaves, and for the first time in three years, something in my chest that might be hope starts to unfurl.
Fuck…
This is definitely going to end badly.