Chapter 12 Naomi
Chapter twelve
Naomi
Ping.
The sound slices through the dark, yanking me up out of sleep.
My eyes fly open. My phone on the nightstand is lit, a single, miraculous bar of signal flickering in the corner.
2:14 a.m.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
Notifications stack over my lock screen.
Mia, the day before yesterday: Naomi!! Just saw the emergency alert.
Please tell me you’re INSIDE and not on the road.
Sheriff says the mountain is completely closed.
I'm looking into options as soon as they let anyone through, trucks, snowmobiles, anything. Text me when you see this so I know you’re okay, please.
Good, she knows I'm fine.
But then an email banner pops up over it.
Subject: Seattle expansion – MSA review
Hi Naomi, Just a quick check-in ahead of Thursday. Attaching the latest version of the master service agreement for the Seattle flagship. Can you confirm you’ll have time to review and send any redlines before our stakeholder session? Landlord’s team is eager to lock this in. - Jeremy Hsin
Another one slides in right after.
Subject: Re: Seattle expansion – prep materials
Naomi, Following up on Jeremy’s note. Updated term sheet + landlord rider attached for your review. Please confirm receipt and let us know if there’s anything we should flag before Thursday’s meeting. – Stakeholder Relations
Of course the universe only gives me signal long enough to deliver stress.
I swipe into my mail app and start typing:
Quick update, I’m currently in Lakeview and the area has just been hit with a severe blizzard.
County authorities have closed all access roads until further notice.
Under the force majeure provisions in our engagement and the standard delay clauses in the MSA, timelines tied to travel may need to be adjusted.
I’ll review the attached documents as soon as wifi stabilizes and will propose a revised schedule for the in-person session once I have confirmed reopening of the roads.
I hit send.
The little icon spins.
And spins.
Email send failure.
I try again. Failure.
The single bar of signal blinks out. "No Service" replaces it.
The room feels smaller instantly. Like the walls took one step closer to the bed.
I shove the duvet back and swing my legs over the side. My skin feels too hot, the air too thin.
I can’t just lie here and stare at my phone.
I slip out into the hallway, bare feet, heading to the kitchen. The snow outside throws enough pale light through the windows that I don’t need to turn anything on.
I open the pantry door and grab flour, sugar, vanilla extract, baking powder, cranberries and chocolate chips.
Those aren't great survival food on their own… but they're perfect for what I need.
* * *
The whoomph of the gas oven catching is more grounding than it has any right to be.
Bowls. Measuring cups. Whisk. I move on autopilot. The smell creeps up slowly at first, then blooms, warm vanilla, sugar, and the first hint of chocolate. For the first time since I got here, this spot feels like home.
I move on to folding cranberries and chocolate chips into the dough, the spoon dragging through thick batter.
Hmmm, that’s gonna be—
"What are you doing?" Light suddenly floods the room.
I jump, nearly dropping the spoon. Batter drips from it onto the counter.
I spin around to find all three alphas there, squinting in the light.
Liam is leaning on the doorframe, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, hair flattened on one side.
Felix is just behind him, T-shirt rumpled, hair doing some kind of anti-gravity experiment.
Silas is barefoot in sweats and a worn hoodie, arms loosely crossed, gaze fixed on the disaster zone that is the counter.
Flour dust. Open bags. A streak of batter on my wrist.
"I couldn't sleep," I say, my face heating. "We weren't exactly planning to use the baking supplies, so I thought I'd… make something."
I hear how defensive that sounds and wince internally. I’m in their kitchen at two in the morning, covered in flour. Great.
Silas’s eyes move from my face to the bowl in my hands. “You’re… baking.”
“Yes.” My chin goes up a notch. “Scones. Cranberry chocolate chip.”
Behind him, Felix inhales deeply, eyes closing for a second. “Oh, wow,” he says. “Okay, that smells like my grandmother’s kitchen and a bakery had a baby.”
Liam sniffs too, his shoulders dropping a fraction. “I'm… intrigued."
Felix nods, stepping fully into the kitchen. His shoulder brushes mine as he leans over to peer into the bowl. "Honestly? Good. Pretty sure those ingredients have been decorating the pantry for months now."
Silas lets out a long breath through his nose, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Still, you're depleting our decoration,” he says. “At two in the morning.”
The words are dry, but there’s less edge than I expected.
"Helps clear my head," I say, ducking my gaze. "I couldn't sleep, so I figured baking beats staring at the ceiling. And you'll get breakfast out of it."
He watches me for a beat longer, the smell of vanilla and chocolate wrapping around all of us.
“Well,” he says finally, pushing off the doorframe and heading for the cabinets. “If I’m up, and you’re baking, I expect to get fed.” He pulls down a plate and sets it on the counter with a small clink.
The knot between my shoulders loosens a little.
Liam moves to the stove, filling the kettle and setting it on a burner. “Chamomile?” he asks the room at large.
“Yeah,” Felix says. “And maybe coffee after the sugar high.”
He comes to lean against the counter beside me, close enough that our elbows nudge when I reach for the baking sheet. “You need a tester?” he asks, eyes bright.
“I'd love to,” I say. “Just five more minutes.”
He groans theatrically but steps aside so I can scoop the dough. As I drop rough mounds onto the tray, Liam watches my movements closely.
“You’re very precise,” he says quietly.
"Lots of practice," I say, sliding the tray into the oven. "Stress-baking will do that. You get precise or you waste ingredients."
Felix counts it off on his fingers. “Ballet, law, baking,” he says. "You are definitely full of surprises, Ms. Quinn."
I snort. “And you stock your pantry like you're expecting a baking competition."
Felix nudges my hip with his. "We got all inspired after last year's baking festival," he admits. "Just never made it past stocking the pantry.."
Liam gives a tiny shrug. “But now that we have the right teacher…” he adds with a wink.
Heat rises to my face and I glance away quickly. Not sure how to respond to that, so I busy myself setting the timer and wiping batter off the counter before it hardens.
* * *
The timer dings.
I open the oven and a wave of heat rolls out, carrying with it a blast of vanilla, butter, and melting chocolate. Felix’s eyes almost roll back, Liam and even Silas step closer with a slight drool.
I pull the tray out and set it on the stove. The scones are golden around the edges, cranberries bleeding just a little color, chocolate chips shiny and soft.
“Okay,” I say, grabbing a towel. “Better to let them cool for at least—”
“Hot hot hot—ow.” Felix already has one halfway off the tray with his bare fingers. He jerks his hand back, shaking it. “Ow.”
But then, he wraps it around a towel and snags it, blowing on it frantically. “Oh my god,” he says, eyes closing as he inhales.
A startled laugh escapes me. Guess waiting's a no-go.
Silas steps in, picking up a napkin from the counter and pressing it into his chest. “Use that before you drip chocolate everywhere,” he says, then reaches past him to take a scone of his own, using another napkin.
He blows on it once, twice… seven times, then takes a careful bite.
He makes a sound that's almost a moan, then visibly reins himself in, clearing his throat. "Ahem, they're… decent."
From him, that’s a hell of a compliment.
I glance at Liam, who's just finished blowing on his. He takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and his expression softens. "Texture's perfect," he breathes. "Crisp edge, soft middle. These are really good."
I finally grab one for myself with a napkin. The bottom has a clean, firm bake, and the top gives a little when I press it. I break off a piece so the steam can escape, blow on it for a few seconds, then take a bite. The cranberry pops tart against the melted chocolate.
Hmm. Not bad at all, indeed.
We fall into eating, all four of us perched around the island in various stages of pajamas. The storm hisses at the windows, but in here it’s just the soft churn of the oven fan and the delicious smell of pastries.
Felix licks a bit of chocolate off his thumb. “My little sister would love these,” he says suddenly, tone softer. “She sends me these care packages from her uni sometimes. Cookies, brownies…”
“Do they survive the mail?” I ask.
“Well, they usually don’t… but it's the thought that counts,” Felix says, grinning as he nudges my arm with his elbow. “What about you though, any siblings mailing you sweets?”
“Nope, I'm an only child.” I wrap my hands around the mug Liam set in front of me. “And my parents were never really the care-package type.”
Felix’s smile falters a little; his knee bumps mine under the island, like a quiet that sucks.
“So you started baking to treat yourself?” Liam asks, watching me over the rim of his mug.
“Pretty much," I shrug. "But now it’s more like my version of meditation. You follow the steps, respect the ingredients, and you get something good at the end. Croissants don’t argue with you, don’t ‘misread’ a clause, and definitely don’t try to sneak in changes on page forty-seven of a contract.”
Felix’s mouth curves. “For what it’s worth, I do feel very lucky I got to enjoy the fruits of your…” he lifts his hands to make air quotes, “meditation. That was seriously good.”
It’s ridiculous how warm that makes my chest feel.
“We should probably keep some for breakfast, though,” I say, smiling. I reach for the nearest plate. “And I should clean up. I hate waking up to a mountain of dishes.”
“Nope.” Felix intercepts the plate, his fingers brushing mine. “You bake, we clean.”
Liam is already at the sink, turning on the water. Silas rinses his own mug, then sets it in the basin.
"Just so we're clear," Silas starts, "you're not getting away with midnight raids on the pantry regularly."
Despite his best attempt at a deadpan delivery, I can hear a hint of a smile in his voice.