7. Rafael
Rafael
The bell above the door to Wolf and Whisk jingled cheerfully as I stepped inside, though my mood was anything but.
I told myself I was only here to return the clean delivery crate Beau forgot last week. But that was a lie. A weak one. I was here for James.
Beau would’ve rolled his eyes if he knew. Sean would’ve smirked. Dorian and Cassian would’ve found some way to turn it into a group bet.
The bakery smelled like cinnamon and roasted espresso beans, sweet and nutty and warm. But it felt empty. Too quiet. The usual chatter of wolves and the hum of machines was missing.
I turned the crate over in my hands, debating leaving it on the counter and pretending this never happened. That’s when a familiar voice floated in from the kitchen.
“You’re either here to kill me or kiss me,” James called, footsteps echoing lightly. “And I’m hoping for the second one.”
I didn’t say anything as he appeared in the doorway, still wearing his Wolf and Whisk apron, sleeves pushed up, flour dusted on his cheek like war paint.
“Oh wow,” he said, stopping short and grinning. “You actually came. Don’t tell me. Are you that worried about me, you’d sacrifice your precious lunch break?”
I grunted. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
James’s smirk widened. “Too late.”
My arms crossed on instinct, but it felt too stiff. He was right, anyway. I had been worried. After what happened with that goon the other night, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.
He’d looked small in that alley. Cornered. But he’d also looked strong. Brave. And way too alone.
“You’re by yourself?” I asked, glancing around the bakery uneasily.
The space was too quiet. No chatter, no Rowan yelling over a mixer, no Cyrus cracking jokes from behind the counter.
Just James, apron smudged with flour and hair slightly tousled like he’d been running around nonstop. Shouldn’t there be at least one other wolf here with him?
That also begged the question. Did Callum and the others really not know about James’ situation? I frowned, my bear stirring beneath my skin. Protective. Restless.
James didn’t seem like the type to lie. Not in the way Kellen used to, all charm and misdirection. But still, he’d kept this whole damn mess with that goon under wraps.
He wasn’t just dodging trouble. He was burying it, locking it up tight like he was afraid of what would happen if anyone really looked too closely. Was he protecting himself? Or protecting them?
I could guess. I’d seen that quiet tension in his shoulders. The kind that said, don’t ask, I’m fine. I’d seen that too many times in Ironfalls, in the eyes of shifters just trying to survive.
James had that same look. Like the moment he let someone in, they’d turn away. Or worse. See him as a burden. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t told Callum or the others.
Not because he didn’t trust them… but because he did. Because they were his pack. Because he didn’t want to be the weak link. And hell, if I were in his shoes, I might’ve done the same.
No. I had done the same. For years. If something went sideways, I handled it myself. If I couldn’t?
I only let one person in. Beau. And that was only because Beau was like a brother to me and I trusted him to have my back. Maybe James didn’t have someone like that in his pack.
Or maybe he just hadn’t learned how to lean yet.
He should lean on them, though. That was what pack was for. That was the point of all those shared meals, dumb traditions, inside jokes. It wasn’t just about warmth. It was about protection. Stability. A safety net.
One he clearly needed, and one he was too damn stubborn to reach for. Still, was it my place to tell him that? Maybe not. But it didn’t stop me from wanting to.
Didn’t stop the way my chest tightened watching him move around the kitchen like nothing was wrong.
“Everyone went out for lunch,” James said, breezy. “Callum gave me kitchen duty today.”
“You should’ve gone with them,” I pointed out.
“I had cupcakes.”
I blinked. “That’s not lunch.”
James grinned and gestured toward the tray beside the espresso machine. “It is when you’re desperate and too lazy to cook.”
I sighed and stepped toward the counter. “That’s pathetic.”
“It’s called resourceful. And those cupcakes have a whole egg in them. Protein.” He watched as I picked one up, inspected it. Then cautiously, I bit into it.
It was… not great. Dense, a little dry. But not the worst thing I’d ever eaten.
James leaned on the counter, watching me like I was some kind of rare exhibit. “So?”
I shrugged. “Edible.”
He laughed. “Coming from you? That’s practically a Michelin star review.”
“You need to eat better,” I said, frowning. “You’re not going to stay young and reckless forever.”
James raised an eyebrow. “Is this your version of asking me out on a lunch date?”
“No,” I said, then paused. “Maybe.”
His smile turned soft. Dangerous. “That a yes, Grumpy Bear?”
I grunted and stuffed the rest of the cupcake in my mouth.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” James said.
The moment lingered. There was something in the air between us, Warmer than before. Not quite comfortable. But not prickling like it used to.
I wasn’t just reacting to him now. I was choosing to be here. With him.
“Is something wrong with your espresso machine?” I muttered, nodding toward the busted, humming mess on the counter.
“I was waiting for my favorite grizzly contractor to wander in,” James said.
I rolled my eyes. “Step aside.”
He did, dramatically, bowing. “Fix away, O mighty baker-mechanic.”
I got to work, popping open the panel and checking the connections. James leaned close, way too close, pretending to peer at something while his elbow brushed my arm. His scent wrapped around me.
He was doing it on purpose, I knew. Teasing. Testing. Flirting. But it didn’t feel like manipulation anymore. It didn’t feel like Kellen. It felt like James. Honest and messy and just a little bit annoying.
“You know,” James said, breaking the silence, “I was really convinced you hated me when we first met.”
“You made it easy,” I muttered.
He snorted. “Thanks.”
“You flirted with everything that moved.”
James blinked, then gave a self-deprecating smile. “It’s what I know. Or it was.”
He reached for the toolbox to hand me a screwdriver, his fingers brushing mine. “I wasn’t always like that. I just… I got good at pretending.”
I glanced up at him. His usual armor was down. No wink. No smug grin. Just those soft brown eyes watching me like he was waiting to be seen.
“I don’t hate you,” I said, quieter now.
James tilted his head. “That so?”
“Yeah. You just make me… frustrated,” I admitted.
“Oh, I definitely take that as a compliment.”
I huffed a laugh and finished screwing the panel back on. “Try it now.”
He hit the button. The espresso machine rumbled to life with a satisfying whirr.
“Look at that,” James said. “You really are good with your hands.”
“James,” I warned.
“What?”
“Don’t.”
He was smiling. But he stepped closer.
I could’ve moved. I could’ve told him this wasn’t a good idea. But I didn’t. I stayed right there, heart kicking up, my bear wide awake under my skin, watching James like he was already his.
James looked at me like I was something rare. Like he wanted to unwrap every grumpy layer and find the soft center I swore I didn’t have.
“Do you want to kiss me again?” he asked, voice low, a whisper between us.
I didn’t answer.
He stepped even closer, hands brushing my sides. “Because I want to kiss you.”
My restraint snapped. I grabbed his waist, yanked him in, and kissed him hard. No hesitation this time. No guilt. Just heat and hunger and something deep and rising that felt like mine.
James made a noise against my mouth, one I felt all the way down. His hands clutched my jacket, pulling me in like I was oxygen and he’d been starving.
I pushed him back against the counter, our bodies flush, mouths greedy.
His thigh slid between mine again. My hands gripped his hips, possessive. I didn’t just want him. I wanted him to know he belonged to me.
His breath hitched. “Rafael…”
“I’m not sharing you,” I growled against his lips.
“Who said I wanted to be shared?”
His grin was wicked and soft all at once, and it made something fierce twist in my chest.
“You’re trouble,” I muttered.
“You like trouble.”
Maybe I did. When it came with a heartbeat like his. I kissed him again, slower this time. Savoring. And when I finally pulled back, James’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes shining.
“I wasn’t expecting you today,” he whispered.
“Neither was I.”
“But I’m glad you came.”
Me too. Not that I’d say it out loud.
Instead, I grunted and tugged at the front of his apron. “Eat something real before I drag you to Bear and Bun and make Sean force-feed you soup.”
James grinned. “Yes, sir.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start.”
Inside, I was already thinking of when I could come back. The door chimed just as I was about to head out. A customer had entered. It was some guy I didn’t recognize, at first anyway.
He was tall, lanky, with a receding hairline and a permanent scowl. He held a to-go coffee in one hand and looked around the shop with an expression like it smelled bad in here.
James greeted him cheerfully, but the guy didn’t even respond. His eyes landed on me and narrowed. I felt it in my gut. Recognition. The kind that never meant anything good.
“Hell,” the guy muttered. “I knew it. You’re from Ironfalls, aren’t you? Rafael Kingsley.”
I stilled. James looked between us, brows furrowing.
"Excuse me?" I said flatly.
The man stepped closer, voice rising. "My brother still walks with a limp because of you. You remember that? Or do all the people you hurt blur together?"
Every cell in my body went cold. The café quieted. James froze.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I said, though my throat was dry.
I remembered too well. A bar fight. Hot blood. My bear too close to the surface. The guy had grabbed me, and I’d snapped his arm clean.
"You hurt him because he looked at you wrong," the man hissed. "And now you're pretending to be some cozy baker in Sugarpaw Springs? How the hell did someone like you end up in a place like this?"
The moment felt brittle. Like one more word and I’d shatter.
James stepped forward. Calm. Friendly. Too damn good for this world.
“Sir, I’m really sorry you feel that way. Tell you what, why don’t you take a free pie on the house? We’ve got a fresh peach bourbon crumble that just came out of the oven.”
The guy sputtered, caught off-guard. “I—well—fine.” He grabbed the box James handed him and stormed out without another glance.
The silence left behind was worse than any shouting.
James turned to me slowly. “So… was he telling the truth?”
I wanted to lie. God, I wanted to lie. But James’s eyes weren’t judgmental. Just curious. Careful.
I looked away. “It was a long time ago.”
James didn’t speak right away.
“I’m not that guy anymore,” I said finally, my voice low, heavy with something I didn’t want to name. Shame? Regret?
“Okay,” he said softly. But I could tell he wanted more.
Before he could ask, the door jingled again. Rowan and Cyrus burst in, laughing about something. Callum followed a moment later, already reaching for an apron.
“Ooooh,” Cyrus grinned when he spotted me. “Guess who’s back from his surprise lunch date?”
James rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.
“He ate my terrible cupcakes,” he said, as if that explained everything.
The wolves snickered. James blushed.
I couldn’t stay. Not now. Not after… that.
“I should go,” I muttered, already heading toward the door.
James turned, eyes catching mine. He looked like he wanted to follow. I shook my head once, and he stopped. The air outside hit colder than I expected.
Why did it feel like something had cracked open inside me, and now I couldn’t shove it closed again?