Chapter 26
The shop door stood ajar.
Sienna’s keys dangled from her fingers as she stared at the gap where wood should’ve met the frame. She always locked up—Emily had drilled that in after the third time burglars struck Middlemarch this winter.
The deadbolt hung uselessly, the brass bright where someone had forced it from the wood.
After a long hesitation, she pushed the door open with a trembling hand.
Inside, she gaped at the overturned displays, sticky puddles spreading across the floorboards, and the empty shelves where their premium spring honey should have gleamed in the morning light.
“No, no, no.” She barely heard herself over the rush of blood in her ears.
For long seconds, she stood paralyzed in the doorway, her mind skittering. Call Saber. Call Emily. Call Niall in Scotland because he’d know what to do. Someone older, wiser, more experienced. Someone who could fix this.
Her fingers were already scrolling through her contacts when she stopped. Liam’s last letter crinkled in her jacket pocket. I want the woman who figured out how to save Sophie, not the one consumed by guilt and constantly apologizing.
Her panic eased. She found the number for Laura Adams, one of Middlemarch’s two policemen, and made the call.
“Laura? It’s Sienna from the honey shop. We’ve had a break-in.” She stepped around the shards of glass. “I need to file a report, but I can’t wait long before I clean up. Today was meant to be a busy day.”
Laura arrived within ten minutes, with Charlie, her fellow cop, close behind. Sienna had heard about the local constables—both human and both mated to shifters. According to Saber, they juggled the unique challenges of Middlemarch’s mixed community without missing a beat.
“Professionals.” Laura surveyed the scene, her expression grim. “They knew exactly what to target.” She gestured at the untouched jars of basic clover honey while the premium shelves stood empty. “Do you have any idea who might target your high-end stock specifically?”
“Could be anyone,” Charlie said, taking photos of the forced lock. “Manuka honey is expensive. It’d be easy enough to on-sell.”
Sienna did a quick inventory while they worked. The thieves had taken every jar of the premium spring wildflower, the entire batch of rare manuka, and the Taieri Gold limited-edition blend, which sold for forty dollars a jar.
“I’ll need a list so I can give you a report for your insurance company,” Laura said, “but Charlie’s right—this was planned. Someone who knows the business.”
Yeah. Three hours until the Saturday market opened, and half her stock was gone.
“We’ll canvas the area, check with other shop owners,” Charlie promised. “But don’t get your hopes up—this feels like professionals passing through.”
Right. So she was on her own. Time to fix this.
Kitto arrived as Laura and Charlie were leaving, art supplies slung over his shoulder for the Saturday market.
He took one look at the chaos and dropped his bag. “What the hell happened?”
“Professional thieves with expensive taste,” Sienna said, grabbing her car keys from behind the counter. “I need you to clean this up and open the shop. Tell anyone who asks that we’ll have stock by noon.”
“But where are you going?”
“To find honey.”
She was already heading for the door, running through every farm contact she’d made over the past month, every favor she might call in.
“Can you handle things here?”
Kitto nodded, his ears perking up under his hat. “Course I can. Go fix this.”
“Make signs,” she called over her shoulder. “Local Artisan Emergency Collection. Make it sound exclusive, not desperate. And Kitto? If anyone asks about the break-in, tell them we’re sorting it.”
“Got it.” He was already rolling up his sleeves. “Sienna? Kick their arses.”
The first farm was twenty minutes out of town, run by old Tom Brennan, who’d doubted some young girl from overseas when she’d first introduced herself. Now she prayed that skepticism hadn’t extended to helping her in a crisis.
Her phone rang as she pulled into his drive. Kitto.
“The shop’s clean, the sign is up, and I’ve already had three people asking about the emergency collection,” he reported. “Whatever you’re planning, they’re buying it.”
“Good. I’ll be back in two hours.”
“Better make it ninety minutes. Mrs. Patterson’s coming in specifically for the manuka honey. She’s bringing her book club.”
Sienna rubbed the back of her neck. Mrs. Patterson was their best customer, and the precious manuka stock was sitting in some thief’s car, not on her shelves. “I’ll find some,” she promised, and hung up before Kitto could ask her how.
Tom Brennan emerged from his barn, wiping his hands on a rag, his weathered face guarded until Sienna explained her situation.
“Professional job, eh?” He scratched his chin. “Heard there's been a spate of them up north. I’ve got some wildflower honey, but it doesn’t have pretty labels.”
“I’ll take whatever you have available.”
Twenty minutes later, her car boot held twelve jars of excellent honey in plain mason jars. The second farm—Sarah Mitchell’s organic operation—yielded eight jars of premium clover and a stroke of luck.
“I’ve got three jars of manuka I was saving for a special order that fell through,” Sarah said. “Forty-five each?”
“Sold.” By eleven-thirty, Sienna had loaded her car with thirty-two jars of honey from four different farms. Not quite her original stock, but enough. Her phone buzzed as she pulled back into town.
Kitto’s text read: Queue forming outside. Whatever your plan is, it’s working.
By noon, Sienna’s hastily arranged display looked better than it had before the theft. Kitto’s hand-lettered signs—Emergency Local Artisan Collection, Limited Spring Harvest, and Exclusive Farm-Direct Selection—made the mismatched jars look intentional rather than last-ditch.
Mrs. Patterson arrived with her book club as promised, eyeing the manuka honey with approval. “Oh, how lovely! You’ve sourced from Sarah Mitchell’s farm. I’ve heard wonderful things about her organic methods.”
“We like to support local producers,” Sienna said, amazed at how easily the words came.
By two o’clock, she’d sold more stock than on any Saturday since opening. The emergency collection had become a selling point, with customers drawn to the story of exclusive farm partnerships and limited batches.
“Bloody brilliant,” Kitto said as they counted the till receipts. “You’ve turned a disaster into our best day ever.”
Sienna stared at the empty shelves—bare because they’d sold out, not because they’d been robbed. “We did,” she said with a wide smile.
Dear Liam,
Someone broke into the shop last night and stole half of our premium stock.Six months ago, I would’ve panicked, called everyone I knew, and probably closed for the day.Instead, I spent the morning driving to every farm within fifty kilometers, negotiating emergency supplies, and somehow turning a theft into our best sales day ever.
I impressed myself today.
For the first time, I really understand what you meant about being partners, not just surviving side by side.
I don’t need rescuing anymore, Liam.
But I’d still like to share the wins with someone.
Love,
Sienna
P.S. Kitto says to tell you his Emergency Collection signs were the real genius behind today’s success. He’s not wrong.
“A letter arrived for you,” Emily said as Sienna walked in from the shop.
“Sienna has a secret admirer.” Kitto snatched the envelope from Emily before she could hand it over. He flipped it over to check the return address. “It’s from Liam. Read it—what does he say?”
“I will if you give it back,” Sienna snapped.
“They argue like us,” one of Emily’s twin girls said.
“They do.” Emily’s eyes sparkled as if she were trying not to laugh. “And they’re old enough to know better. Siblings shouldn’t tease each other. Arguing disturbs the peace. Keep it up, and I’ll assign extra chores.”
“Does that mean I don’t have to do the dishes tonight?” the girl asked hopefully.
“There’s always plenty of chores,” Emily said. “Off you go—homework first.”
“Open the letter,” Kitto said.
Sienna scowled at him. “It’s private.”
“Kitto,” Emily warned, now laughing openly. “Sienna’s allowed her privacy. I’m sure she’ll share if she wants to. And there’s nothing stopping you from writing to Liam.”
“I’m not good at writing,” Kitto muttered.
“Draw him pictures,” Emily said, nudging him toward Saber’s office. “I’ll help you.”
Grateful for the distraction, Sienna tore open the envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper.
Dear Sienna,
I had to read your letter twice before I believed it. Not because I doubted you could handle a crisis—I’ve seen you in action—but because the woman who wrote about impressing herself doesn’t sound like the one who used to carry the weight of her whole family on her shoulders.
You turned a theft into your best sales day. That’s not luck. That’s bloody brilliant business sense. I’m proud of you, but more importantly, you should be proud of your achievements.
Speaking of pride, I showed your letter to Cam (my boss). He laughed and said he needs to hire you for marketing.
Things are good here. The work’s hard but satisfying, and the mountains have a way of clearing your head. I’ve been thinking a lot about the future and about sharing victories, like you said.
Scott tells me there’s a Singles Ball coming up in Middlemarch—late November, I think. I could get the weekend off if I had a good reason to attend.
So, tell me: do you want to test this new, confident version of yourself on the dance floor?
But I have to ask—are you talking about shared victories because you want me, or because I’m familiar and safe?
I hope it’s the first one.
Liam
P.S. Tell Kitto I noted his artistic genius and appreciated it. And yes, I may have included something for him that’s not sheep droppings. Don’t let the twins get to it first.
Dear Liam,
You asked if I’m choosing you because I want you, or because you’re safe.
Emily has introduced me to half a dozen eligible bachelors in Middlemarch. They were all nice and untouched by my disasters. None of them has seen me fall apart or had their lives upended by my terrible choices.
Safe would be easier.
But I don’t want simple. I want the man who stayed, even when I gave him every reason to walk, the man who didn’t think twice about helping to rescue Sophie. The man who saw potential in my brothers when everyone else saw freaks.
I want you.
Not because you’re familiar, but because you’re you.
And yes, I’ll go to the ball with you. Fair warning, though—I’ve never been to a proper dance. Kitto has been trying to teach me to waltz in Emily’s kitchen. The twins think we’re both hopeless.
I can’t wait to see you again.
Love,
Sienna
P.S. Whatever you sent made Kitto turn three shades of red and mutter something about mountain men and their bloody sense of humor. The twins are now demanding that you send them something equally mysterious. You’ve started something.
The marquee glowed against the November twilight, strings of lights woven through the surrounding trees like captured stars. Music drifted across the paddock—softer, more elegant than the raucous rock from Sienna’s memory of Stoneford town dances.
“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” Kitto murmured, adjusting his collar. In his dark suit with his hair styled to hide his ears, he looked every inch the dapper young gentleman. Only Sienna could see the slight bulge where he’d tucked his tail away.
“You look perfect,” she assured him, smoothing her own nerves as much as the red silk of Emily’s dress. The fabric caught the fairy lights as they approached the entrance, and she felt transformed—not into a princess, but into a woman who made her own rules.
Saber and Emily flanked them like proud parents, but when Saber looked at the dress, something deeper flickered across his face. His gaze met Emily’s, and the smile they shared recalled their first dance, the night everything began between them.
“That dress,” Emily whispered, “brings back some wonderful memories.”
“Best decision I ever made, asking the woman in red to dance,” Saber said.
They joined the queue at the entrance, Sienna’s pulse racing. The scent of crushed grass mingled with perfume and aftershave. Somewhere inside that glowing tent, Liam was waiting.
“There!” Kitto pointed ahead in the line. “I can see him.”
Sienna followed his gaze, and the world tilted. Liam stood near the entrance in a dark suit, scanning the crowd. Even from this distance, she saw how he held himself: confident and alert, as if bracing for something important.
Then his gaze found hers—and the crowd, the music, the lights—all of it faded away.
“Liam,” she whispered.