Chapter 17 Renovation Surprise
Renovation Surprise
~HAZEL~
Monday mornings are when Satan reviews his previous week's work and decides how to make things worse.
The front of MY building looks like someone declared war on architecture and everyone lost. There's plastic sheeting where my window display should be. Power tools scream from inside. Dust motes dance in the streetlight like particles of my disintegrating life.
What the fuck. What the actual fuck.
Did the building get damaged? Did I forget to pay rent? Did Mrs. Henderson finally follow through on her threat to "modernize" Main Street by force?
I fumble for my keys with shaking hands, but the door's already open. Inside, my bakery has become a construction site. Workers in hard hats navigate MY space with casual familiarity. Someone's removed the back wall of my kitchen. There's a hole. A HOLE. Where my WALL used to be.
I'm having a stroke. That's the only explanation. I'm having a stroke, and this is what dying looks like.
"Morning, sunshine!"
Levi's voice cuts through the power tool symphony. He's standing by what used to be my storage closet, measuring tape in hand, looking far too cheerful for someone committing property crimes.
"What—" My voice cracks. "What is—"
"Rowan, she's here!" he calls over his shoulder, then turns back to me with that golden retriever smile that usually makes my knees weak but right now makes me want to commit murder. "Surprise! We're expanding your kitchen!"
We're. WE'RE expanding MY kitchen.
The rage that floods my system is immediate and volcanic. Every muscle tenses, every nerve fires, my vision actually goes red at the edges.
"You're WHAT?"
Luca appears from behind a contractor, clipboard in hand, because of course he has a clipboard. "The permits came through faster than expected. We had to move today or wait another month."
"Permits? What permits? I didn't file for—"
"Morning, Hazel."
Rowan's voice is calm, controlled, already in Captain mode, like he KNEW I'd react like this. He's standing by my oven—my WORKING oven that they better not have touched—wearing jeans and a t-shirt that shows off forearms that have no business looking that good during my mental breakdown.
"Don't you 'morning' me." I storm toward him, fury making me brave and stupid. "How DARE you make decisions about MY business? This is MY bakery, MY space, MY—"
"I know."
"You don't know! You don't get to just—this is exactly what—" I stop, chest heaving, because I almost said it. Almost said this is exactly what Korrin did.
But I don't have to say it. I see the understanding flash in Rowan's amber eyes.
"This is what he did," I whisper, fury mixing with something worse—betrayal. "Taking over. Deciding what I need. Making me feel incompetent and small and—"
"Hazel—"
"No!" I back toward the stairs to my apartment. "No, you don't get to explain. You don't get to justify. You invaded MY space without permission and—"
I miss the first step.
Because why not? The universe has a sense of humor darker than my coffee and more twisted than my love life.
My foot catches air instead of a stair, my body pitches backward, and I have just enough time to think this is how I die, angry and covered in construction dust, before—
Rowan catches me.
Not catches. Intercepts. His hands find my waist, steady me for half a second, then—
"Oh no, you don't."
He scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder like I'm a sack of particularly angry flour.
"PUT ME DOWN!"
"No."
"ROWAN CAMbrIDGE, I SWEAR TO GOD—"
"Swear all you want. We're having this conversation somewhere you can't run away."
"This is kidnapping!" I pound on his back, which accomplishes nothing because it's all muscle, and my hands just bounce off like I'm attacking a particularly attractive brick wall.
"This is an intervention," he corrects, starting up the stairs with zero effort like I weigh nothing. "Stop squirming or I'll drop you."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
I squirm harder out of spite. He just tightens his grip on my thighs, and now I'm thinking about his hands on my thighs, and this is not helping my anger management issues.
"I hate you," I inform his back.
"No, you don't."
"I'm going to call the police."
"Fischer's on duty. He'll laugh at you."
"I'll call Dottie James."
"Now that's just cruel."
He navigates my apartment door with practiced ease, which raises questions about how often he's thought about this, then deposits me on my couch with surprising gentleness.
I immediately try to bolt.
He blocks me with his ridiculous body, arms caging me without touching, cedar smoke and bourbon wrapping around me like an argument I'm destined to lose.
"If we didn't take action today," he says quietly, "your bakery was going to be shut down."
What?
All the fight drains out of me like someone pulled a plug. "What are you talking about?"
He pulls out his phone, shows me an email. Official letterhead from the town board. Health and Safety violations. Immediate compliance is required or forced closure within 72 hours.
"That's impossible. I have all my permits—"
"You have the basic ones. But someone tipped the board that you're operating at commercial capacity without commercial-grade ventilation, your electrical isn't up to code for the equipment you're running, and your square footage doesn't meet requirements for food service of your volume."
"But I've been operating for—"
"Six weeks. Just long enough for someone to build a case." His jaw tightens. "Someone like an ex-husband with connections who saw you happy and decided to fix that."
Korrin. Korrin did this.
"How did you—"
"My colleague at the station. His father's the sheriff. Couldn't understand how you'd be so popular without proper permits and work contracts. Did some digging, found the complaint filed anonymously last week. Right after the farmer's market."
The weight of it crashes over me. Korrin is trying to destroy what I'd built. Again. Always.
"But the construction—"
"We filed for emergency permits. In your name." He shows me more papers, all with my signature expertly forged. "Luca's got a talent. We'll redo them properly later, but we needed to move fast."
"You forged—"
"To save your business. Yes."
I stare at him, at this Alpha who committed fraud to protect me, and my anger can't figure out where to go.
"The expansion?"
"You needed it anyway." His voice gentles.
"Hazel, we've watched you work in that cramped space.
I saw you burn yourself on that ancient oven.
Watched you haul fifty-pound flour bags up those narrow stairs because there's no proper storage.
You're working yourself to exhaustion in a space that's fighting you every step. "
"That's my choice—"
"It is. And if you tell us to stop right now, we stop.
We'll restore everything, walk away, and you can figure it out alone.
" He sits back on his heels, giving me space.
"But you deserve better. You deserve a kitchen that matches your talent, equipment that doesn't try to kill you, space to breathe. "
The apartment door opens. Levi and Luca enter like they've been waiting in the hallway, which they probably have.
"Can we join?" Luca asks, uncharacteristically hesitant. "There's something about the underboards and basement expansion we need your approval on."
"Why?" The word comes out broken. "Why do you care so much?"
They exchange glances, some silent Alpha communication, then Levi speaks.
"Because you feed the whole town joy, but you're drowning doing it."
"Because watching you work in that kitchen is like watching Michelangelo paint in a closet," Luca adds.
"Because we want to help build something," Rowan says quietly, "not tear you down."
Build something. Not tear down.
The tears come without warning—angry tears, grateful tears, confused tears that can't pick an emotion and settle on all of them.
"This is too much," I whisper. "The cost—"
"Is handled," Luca says.
"I'll pay you back."
"No," all three say simultaneously.
"Yes," I insist. "I'm not a charity case."
"You're not charity," Rowan says firmly. "You're—"
"I'm what?"
They share another look.
"You're ours," Levi says simply. "Pack takes care of pack."
"We're not a pack."
"Aren't we?" Luca tilts his head. "We protected you from Korrin. We're building your dream. We're here at—" he checks his watch "—four-thirty AM on a Monday to make sure you're okay with construction decisions."
"That's not—"
"And you kissed Luca," Levi adds helpfully. "In front of the whole town. Pretty packish if you ask me."
My face burns. "That was—he kissed me!"
"You kissed back," Luca points out, and there's something warm in his storm-gray eyes.
"Barely!"
"Still counts."
"Does not."
"Does too."
"Are we twelve?"
"You started it."
"I'll finish it—"
"Children," Rowan interrupts, but he's fighting a smile. "Can we focus on the actual construction happening downstairs?"
Right. The construction. The illegal-but-necessary construction that's saving my business from my ex's vendetta.
"Show me the plans," I say, wiping tears with my sleeve.
Luca produces blueprints from nowhere because he's apparently Mary Poppins now. They spread them on my coffee table, three Alphas crowding around me, their combined scents making my apartment smell like a very attractive Christmas tree farm.
"Kitchen expansion here," Rowan points. "Doubles your prep space."
"Industrial ventilation system," Levi adds. "No more sweating through summer."
"Basement storage with proper shelving," Luca continues. "Temperature controlled."
"A walk-in freezer?" I stare at the plans. "That's—"
"Necessary for your volume," Luca says. "You're doing three times the business your current setup can handle."
"New ovens here." Rowan indicates the back wall. "Commercial grade. Double capacity."
"This is thousands of dollars—"
"Seventy-three thousand, actually," Luca says, because of course he knows exactly.