Chapter 7
HANNAH
The petting zoo event was perfect.
Which is great. Fantastic. Exactly what I needed to prove I can handle events without the Confetti & Meatballs name attached.
So then why do I feel like I’m about to throw up?
I’m gripping the steering wheel of my Honda like it might escape if I let go, navigating Main Street at seven in the morning while my brain replays the same conversation on a loop.
Did you ever think you’d find your scent match at a petting zoo?
Noel’s voice. Those intense blue eyes. The way he said it like it was already decided, like my biology had made the choice before my brain could catch up.
Three gorgeous, dangerous, competent Alphas who smell like everything I’ve been craving without knowing it. And my life is a goddamn dumpster fire.
I just left Scot’s uncle Giuseppe’s house, desperate to talk to him. His car wasn’t there. Lights off. No answer when I knocked. Phone goes straight to voicemail.
Scot got to him. I know he did. Probably spun some story about me being unstable, unprofessional, a liability to the business. And Giuseppe, whom I’ve been trying to impress for six months, is ghosting me like I’m a telemarketer selling timeshares.
My phone rings through the car’s Bluetooth, and Dad’s name flashes on the screen. I answer. “Hey, Dad.”
“Morning, sweetheart. Just calling to remind you about tomorrow night.”
My mind goes blank. “Hmm. Remind me again.”
“Your mother’s family’s Christmas dinner.” His voice is gentle, patient, like he’s talking to a child. “We discussed this last month, remember?”
Oh, shit. Oh, no. The annual gathering at my aunt’s Victorian nightmare where Mom’s family pretends they care about us for exactly three hours before going back to ignoring our existence for another year.
“Dad, I really don’t think I can make it. Work’s been crazy, and there’s so much I need to figure out with—”
“This is something we do for your mom. You know this.”
The guilt trip. The one I can never argue with because he’s right.
A memory surfaces, sharp and painful. I’m standing on a stool in our kitchen, watching Mom frost sugar cookies shaped like stars.
She’s humming “Silent Night,” dark hair pulled back in the same ponytail I always wear, flour dusting her red apron.
“Why do we go to Great-Aunt Martha’s if she’s always mean to us?” I’d asked, watching her create perfect frosting swirls.
Mom had smiled. “Because family is important, baby. Even when they make it hard. Sometimes showing up is the most loving thing we can do.”
That was our last Christmas with her.
I was fourteen when cancer took her. Six months from diagnosis to gone, and she spent those final weeks teaching Lily and me everything she knew about the bakery. All those little tricks that made Flour & Fable special, passed down like sacred knowledge.
Dad worked himself half to death after. Double shifts at the local diner, trying to keep us fed and housed while juggling two grieving daughters.
I watched him age ten years in one, watched him choose between paying the electric bill and buying groceries, watched him cry in the bathroom when he thought we couldn’t hear.
We survived. Barely.
And now, every December, we drive to Great-Aunt Martha’s mansion, where Mom’s relatives ask when I’m going to find an Alpha, make passive-aggressive comments about the quaint little bakery, and pretend they’ve been supportive all along.
They didn’t visit when Mom was dying. Didn’t help when we were drowning. Didn’t call, didn’t care, didn’t do a damn thing.
But Mom loved them anyway. So we go.
“Fine,” I hear myself say, throat tight. “I’ll be there.”
“Good girl. Lily can’t make it this year, so it’ll just be us two.”
I nearly drive through a red light. “Wait, what? Lily’s bailing?”
“She’s got some wedding out of town for one of her Alphas’ friends and they’re taking their babies. Left me a message this morning.”
“If she gets to skip, I should get to skip!”
Dad chuckles. “Life’s not fair, kiddo.”
“I hate this.”
“I know. Pick me up at five tomorrow? Don’t be late. Love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
He hangs up, and I’m left stewing in frustration and dread.
Just great. An evening with relatives who think I’m a failure, asking invasive questions about my nonexistent love life.
This will be fun.
I pull up to Flour & Fable Bakery. Lily has already turned on the Christmas lights framing the windows, illuminating displays of gingerbread houses and elaborate frosted cookies that probably took her hours.
The place looks warm. Inviting. Safe.
I park on the street, grab my purse, and push through the front door. Bells jingle overhead, and the scent of fresh bread and cinnamon wraps around me.
God, I love this place.
It will always feel like home. Mom’s recipes, Mom’s dream.
The display cases are packed with holiday specials.
Gingerbread cookies with intricate icing.
Sugar cookies shaped like snowflakes and bells.
Cranberry orange scones. Those little spiced apple tarts that sell out by noon.
Peppermint bark brownies. Lemon raspberry macarons with edible gold leaf because Lily likes to get fancy sometimes.
Everything is gorgeous. Professional. Exactly the kind of quality that makes this bakery the most popular in three counties.
Lily is behind the counter in a red sweater with a reindeer on it that’s so aggressively festive it should require a permit. Her curls are piled on her head in a messy bun, and she’s packing cookies into small paper boxes.
She spots me and grins. “Hey, you. How’d yesterday go? Did anyone get trampled?”
I collapse against the counter, dropping my purse on the floor. “Coffee first. Crisis processing second.”
“You look like someone kicked your puppy.” She’s already moving to the espresso machine, a beautiful Italian beast that makes coffee so good it’s basically drugs. “What happened?”
Within moments, she sets a perfect latte in front of me, foam decorated with a little swan that’s almost too pretty to drink. “Now spill about yesterday before I die of curiosity.”
I take a sip, perfect temperature, perfect flavor, liquid salvation in a cup.
“The event was flawless. Every detail worked. The reindeer were a huge hit, kids loved the goats, parents raved about the setup. I got three emails this morning from people who attended asking if I’m available for their events. ”
“That’s amazing!”
“Well, I’ve decided if I can’t keep running Confetti and Meatballs, I’ll start my own event-planning business. Doesn’t look too hard to set up online. I just need a name, a logo, and a little shameless self-promotion.”
Lily grins. “That’s the spirit. You don’t need a fortune, just Wi-Fi, caffeine, and that scary level of determination you get when you’ve been wronged.”
“I prefer to call it entrepreneurial vengeance.” I take another sip of coffee, already feeling the spark of energy. “Now I just need a name that screams ‘professional.’ ”
“Okay, shoot.” She leans on the counter, all in. “What’ve you got so far?”
I tap my chin. “If I’m doing this, I want something clean and businesslike. Something people won’t laugh at.”
Lily immediately ruins that. “What about Chaos and Champagne?”
“No.”
“Party Like A Mother?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Okay, okay…” She pretends to think deeply. “Hannah-Saves-Your-Ass Events. Very honest branding.”
I glare at her through my coffee steam. “I’m trying to look legitimate, not like I host interventions.”
She grins, utterly unhelpful. “Fine. Evergreen Events. Hannah Parker Events—ooh, that one actually slaps.”
I pause. “That… doesn’t suck.”
“Thank you. My genius is underappreciated. Now, tell me how the bounty hunter beefcakes behaved at the petting zoo. And if the answer isn’t ‘shirtless,’ I will be personally offended.”
I laugh. “No shirts came off.”
“Tragic.”
“But,” I continue, “everything went perfectly. The animals behaved. Nobody cried. And Noel—” I start laughing before I can finish. “Completely blew out the seam of his pants.”
Lily gasps, delighted. “No.”
“Oh, yes. Right in front of Santa’s chair. Full exposure. Kane nearly choked trying not to laugh, and I think the reindeer judged him harder than the parents.”
She’s howling now. “You’re kidding. You brought them to one event, and they already gave you viral content.” Then she pulls out a plate, carefully arranging three perfect macarons. “But you’re still giving me info about the bounty hunters while you eat. I want all the details.”
The café portion is empty right now, too early for most customers, so it’s just us standing at the counter, Lily on her side, me on mine, with expensive cookies and good coffee between us.
“They were great,” I say, taking a bite of a macaron. Tart lemon, sweet raspberry, the crunch of the shell giving way to soft filling. Heaven. “Really professional. Handled everything perfectly.”
“And?” Lily prompts, grinning.
“And what?”
“What else happened? You’re leaving something out. I can tell.”
I take another bite, avoiding her eyes. “Noel told me we’re scent matches.”
Lily drops the towel she was holding. It hits the floor, and she’s staring at me with her mouth open, eyes wide. “That’s huge.”
“Said I’m their scent match. All three.” I shove the rest of the macaron in my mouth, suddenly needing something to do with my hands. “Just said it straight out. No preamble. Just ‘Did you ever think you’d find your scent match at a petting zoo?’ ”
Lily is around the counter in a flash, grabbing my shoulders. “That’s incredible! That’s amazing! Do you know how much that means—”
“I know.”
“Then why do you look like someone died?”
I set down my coffee, suddenly exhausted. “Because my life is imploding, Lily. My career is destroyed, my partnership is over, Scot is actively sabotaging me, and now three Alphas I barely know are claiming that we’re destined mates? The timing couldn’t be worse.”