Chapter 27 Lia
Lia
The cinnamon rolls are supposed to be the only thing rising this morning.
I brace my palms against the stainless-steel table in Tansy’s back room and stare down at the glossy ribbon of cherry-rhubarb compote cooling in its pan. It’s the exact shade I want: deep ruby with a hint of pink and thick enough to cling to the back of a spoon.
I wish the back room of The Gilded Lady wasn’t so hot, though.
Out front, the bell above the bakery’s door jingles nonstop. I wipe my forehead with the back of my forearm, trying to keep the sweat on my face off the plastic gloves crinkling around my fingers.
Tansy’s voice carries through the wall, bright and poised as she rings up customers and wraps loaves of bread in parchment paper.
“Yes ma’am, those are fresh this morning,” she says as I slide the trays of cinnamon rolls into the oven, one regular and one cherry-rhubarb. She booms her voice over the growing crowd. “And don’t forget, we’ve got cinnamon rolls out in a few!”
My stomach flips in a way that has nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with pressure. This isn’t just a one-off order any longer. This is a reputation being built. This is consistency in the making, and people are expecting my baking to tickle all the right fancies.
If I can make this work, working with The Gilded Lady may give me enough business to begin putting a little money back toward opening my own place.
With two trays of cinnamon rolls already in the oven, I draw in a deep breath. I have to stay alert to how I’m feeling these days, since my heat could crash into me at any time.
I jump a little bit, making sure my faculties are all in alignment. Nothing tilts or swirls. Nothing feels weak.
Good.
I’m stable today.
So, I make the grand decision to grace Tansy’s bakery with another pan of cherry-rhubarb cinnamon rolls.
After mixing the dough, I roll it out onto a floured surface. My fingers press and stretch into the mixture, coaxing it into a rectangle like I’ve done so many times before.
It’s muscle memory by this point. My seasonal cinnamon rolls are, by far, one of the things that’s ordered from my menu by bakeries the most.
I could do this in my sleep.
I hum as butter goes down onto the rectangle first, to keep the inside nice and moist. I use salted butter to cut through all of the sugar just a smidge, and then the compote gets smoothed on next.
The creamy, glistening fruit I boiled down with sugar spreads like peanut butter on warm toast, and I smile to myself.
It’s going to be another good batch.
I’m sliding those rolls into the secondary oven before a familiar voice wafts through the bakery.
“Morning, ladies!”
My lips twitch before I can stop them.
Tansy doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s in the back, Knox. Don’t you dare distract her.”
“I would never,” he says, wounded and amused all at once.
“You absolutely would, and you know it,” Tansy shoots back. “Go lean against a wall and look pretty unless you’re placing your regular order.”
I bite back a laugh as I start a timer on the oven for those rolls. Even though I’m in the back room, I can picture him. His massive shoulders and that smug grin of his that gets more confident every day I spend in his presence.
He’s probably already craning his neck to see if he can get a glimpse of me working back here.
“I just came to say hello!” he calls out.
“Hello!” I call from the back room.
One of the earlier trays of cherry-rhubarb rolls is done. I rip off the plastic gloves and slip my hands into oven mitts. Out come the rolls, ready for a nice coating of compote on the top.
They look beautiful, too. Tight spirals with flecks of pink peeking through the dough. A syrupy middle, the compote mingling deliciously with the crispy outside.
“Five minutes on those cherry-rhubarbs!” I call out.
Tansy peeks her head in. “Get out here and say hi to this man before he smiles so big it falls off his face.” Her gaze flicks down to the pan. “Also, fantastic. We’ve got people waiting out here for them.”
I thumbed over my shoulder. “Put another pan in for you, just in case.”
Tansy’s eyes widen. “Oh, hell yeah. You’re hired.”
I bark with laughter. “And here I thought you already did that.”
“We got two pans today, guys! Line up and place your orders,” Tansy calls out across the bakery floor.
I hear the sound of footsteps kick up as I check on the two other timers. Those regular cinnamon rolls have about ten more minutes, so I shuffle to the sink.
I wash my hands and get another set of plastic gloves over my fingers, making sure to follow all of Tansy’s protocol to the letter. For all I know, I could swing this into a part-time job alongside my freelancing.
As I’m tossing everything into the mixer for the cream cheese icing, something trickles up my spine. Sweat beads along my brow, and for a moment, everything feels… off.
My preheat’s been flirting at the edges for days now. It always does that when I’m about a week out from this nonsense. My sense of smell is heightened in ways that have set off alarm bells for the last forty-eight hours.
I know I’m close to my heat, but it can’t be today.
Not with Tansy’s trust sitting in these pans.
“Just one more hour,” I whisper to myself.
I hope my body cooperates.
After turning on the mixer, I attach a plastic covering so nothing splatters out. I rip the plastic gloves off, barely getting them into the trash can before I’m hunched over the sink.
I splash cold water into my face, washing away the sweat threatening to slide down my skin. My own hands feel like sandpaper whenever I touch myself.
Crap.
This isn’t good.
“They smell delicious already!” Tansy calls from the front room of the bakery.
I barely get my face dried off before I check the timer. “Five more minutes. Just letting them cool before I drizzle the excess compote over them.”
I don’t like how my voice sounds thinner.
I make it to the mixer just before it beats the cream cheese icing into oblivion. I turn it off, checking the texture and making sure I didn’t overdo it. I grab a spoon and dip it in, allowing myself a taste. I roll it around on my tongue, but then my mouth swells with saliva.
Oh.
Oh, no.
The spoon drops. I rush to the sink, and my stomach heaves. Once. Twice. Three times, before the room sways on its own axis.
I clutch my thighs together as a pulse radiates outward, sizzling down through my legs. I want nothing more than to nuzzle down into my nest and jut my hips into the air. I feel so empty.
That’s not good.
“Something’s wrong,” I hear Knox say.
“She’s fine,” Tansy says. “You’re just—”
I stumble against the sink before a pair of arms are around me.
“Knox. Get back here! Now!”
A hard thud rattles the floor I’m attempting to stand on before a familiar scent envelops me. Rain, and mocha, with a hint of sweat that makes something in my pelvis curl with delight.
“Knox,” I whisper.
“I gotcha,” he murmurs as I’m hoisted into the air. “You’re done for the day.”
I shake my head before it lands on his shoulder. “I gotta… the icing.”
“I’ve got it,” Tansy says. “You just get home and get to feeling better.”
“I’m fine,” I murmur, as if I’m trying to convince myself. “There’s two more… two… um…”
“Girl, I can ice some damn cinnamon rolls,” Tansy says as we start moving. “Knox?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Get her home safe.”
A timer goes off in the distance. “Compote. You… the compote goes—”
Tansy wraps her hand around my pointing finger and looks me square in my eyes. “I’ll handle this. Go home.”
A tear—or maybe a bead of sweat, I don’t know—travels down my cheek. “I’m sorry.”
Tansy shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry. Let me know when you’re feeling better. I was going to talk with you today about brainstorming summer cinnamon roll flavors.”
I don’t hesitate. “I usually do lemon poppyseed.”
“Perfect. We’ll talk more when you’re feeling better.”
The humming of my body becomes an overall throb, like my muscles are protesting all at once. It rolls through me in waves as Knox whisks me through the back door of the bakery.
Tansy goes back to calling out in that cheery voice of hers over the growing crowd, and I get a smidge of a look at the outside of the bakery just before Knox slides me into his truck.
There’s a line out the door.
The edges of my vision blur as Knox gets me buckled in. The click ricochets through my skull, the world pitching sideways as my stomach rebels again.
Did I eat breakfast? I can’t remember if I ate breakfast.
Crap, did I drink my tea this morning?
A whimper slips out as Knox slips behind the wheel of his truck.
“Yeah, I’ll head there now,” Knox says, but I don’t know who he’s talking to. “Yep. Call Walker, let him know what’s going on. I’m going to get her tucked in at your place. You sure that’s all right? Sweet. Yeah, yeah, I’ll make sure. Thanks, bye.”
“Knox,” I groan.
“I gotcha, Sunshine, just hold on.”
His voice sounds like it’s coming at me through water, and there’s no denying it. My heat is close. I’ve got maybe a few more days before I’ll be a whining, slicked-up mess.
The thought brings tears to my eyes.
“I hate my heat,” I whisper softly.
“I know,” Knox murmurs. “I know.”
My limbs feel heavy, but my core feels anything but. Knox’s hand settles on my knee, his large grip squeezing softly. His skin feels so cool against mine, and it makes me moan.
“You’re burning up. We should get you into a cool bath at Eli’s. Is it okay to take you there? He’s got the day off work. President’s Day, and all that.”
Eli’s.
The idea of his place wraps around me like a blanket.
“But Amber,” I whisper out as my head lobs to the side. “Don’t wanna scare her.”
“According to Eli, she’s with her grandparents right now. Won’t be back until tonight.”
I don’t know if I could endure the long ride back to my place. “’Kay.”
We come to a stop and he drops a kiss to the top of my head. “Almost there. We’ll figure this out.”
My eyes flutter as another deep wave rolls through me, only this time, it pushes something wet and slick into my panties.
Fuck. This isn’t good. I’m not wearing my pre-heat panties, so I’ve got nothing to soak it up with. I feel it trickling onto the seat of his truck and I grimace.
“I’m sorry,” I whine.
“None of that,” he says as he squeezes my knee again. “Almost there. Pulling into his driveway now.”
“She okay?” I hear Eli ask.
His voice sounds so far away.
“Get her out of the car,” Knox says as I hear his door shoving open. “I’ll run her a bath. She’s burning up.”
“Is it time?”
“Nooooo,” I whine.
“Shh,” Eli hushes as my door opens. I feel his arms slipping around me. “I gotcha, Alley Cat. Let’s get you cooled down, yeah?”
I press my shivering hand low on my abdomen, hoping I can push the rising temperature away. Something is shifting inside of me, and quickly. I should still have some time, though. My heat isn’t due until next weekend.
This feels different than my other ARS heat swells.
And I’m not sure I’m ready for what that means.