A Sneak Preview of Bear and Book
LEO
There was something downright holy about mornings at Bear and Bun. The smell of cinnamon, sugar, and yeasty dough filled the air like a warm hug.
I had flour on my hands, music playing low from the little speaker we kept by the prep table, and Cassian humming under his breath as he kneaded a batch of dough next to me.
It was peaceful. Comforting. Like everything in the world was just the way it should be. I reached for the cinnamon jar and tossed a wink at Cassian.
“Bet I can roll and fill three trays before you finish that dough,” I told him.
He snorted. “You’ll burn them like last time.”
“That was one time.” I pointed a floured finger at him. “And I was distracted. That squirrel got into the display window. I was being heroic.”
“You screamed like a child,” he said.
“I startled with strength,” I said with dignity.
Cassian rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. That was a win in my book.
I lined up the dough and reached for the brown sugar, humming a little as I sprinkled it generously.
Cassian had his quiet rhythm, all precision and grace, while I was more of a kitchen tornado. A very cheerful, cinnamon-scented tornado.
The moment felt almost perfect. Except, of course, for the fact that my brain was still replaying my sister’s voice from this morning’s phone call.
"Have you found someone special yet?"
Her question had been soft, curious. Not judging, not really. But it had still lodged itself in my chest like an ache I hadn’t expected.
I pressed the sugar down with the heel of my palm, trying to ignore the twist in my gut.
“Nope,” I’d told her, keeping my voice bright. “No special someone yet, but I’m good. Really.”
She didn’t believe me. Not fully. Couldn’t blame her.
Truth was, I’d left our family’s den years ago because I couldn’t trust myself. My bear was... different. Fierce in a way that scared people. It was too protective, aggressive. Too much.
There’d been incidents. I’d lost my temper. Frightened folks who didn’t deserve it. And even when I tried to keep it buried, it bubbled up in ways I couldn’t control.
My sister tried to shield me. Mom tried to make peace. But it was easier for everyone if I left. She cried the night I slipped away.
I could still hear her voice on the wind as I walked out of the woods.
She thought it was her fault. That maybe if she’d done more, been louder, I wouldn’t have had to leave. I told her, over and over again, that it wasn’t on her. That I was okay.
That I’d figure it out…and eventually, I kind of did.
I wandered for a while. Town to town, odd job to odd job. Trying to find a place that felt like something more than temporary. But nothing ever fit.
Not until I stumbled into Sugarpaw Springs and met Beau. Beau saw through me in about five minutes. Offered me a job in three. A home in ten. And a family not long after.
These bears, and the wolves we sort of adopted, they were my clan now. Not by blood, but by choice.
And every morning I got to make cinnamon rolls for people who actually smiled when they saw me, who felt safer with me nearby. That meant something.
Still. I glanced at the cinnamon spirals and frowned.
Still, it would’ve been nice to have someone who was just mine.
For the longest time, I thought maybe none of us were meant for that. That we were all just gruff shifters who baked good bread and growled at tax forms and didn’t really do the mate thing.
I’d even joked about it with Rafael once. That we’d be old, gray, still running Bear and Bun together in our sixties with matching aprons and matching back pain.
But then Beau found Sean. Not long after, Rafael got tangled up with Julian and now they were happy. Like, really happy.
Which meant it was only a matter of time before Cassian found his mate. Or Dorian. And I’d be the last one standing.
The single bear at the table while the others talked about scented candles and shared blanket nests and weekend plans with their significant others.
I wasn’t bad at romance, exactly. I just wasn’t good at it either.
I’d had a fling or two, here and there. A night of kisses that didn’t go anywhere, a few weeks with a charming deer shifter who broke up with me via Post-it note. It never clicked. Never lasted.
Maybe I was too much. I was always loud, over eager, and too happy. Maybe my bear still scared people, no matter how many cinnamon rolls I baked.
I wiped my hands on my apron and sighed.
Cassian glanced over. “You good?”
I nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just thinking about how good these rolls are gonna be.”
He squinted at me but didn’t press. Cassian never pressed unless it was important.
I went back to filling the trays, moving fast now, putting extra cinnamon in the middle of each roll. People deserved a little joy in the morning.
That was what I did best. Brought the joy. Covered the cracks. Smiled big enough that maybe no one would look too close at the parts of me I kept locked down tight.
Cassian pulled the first tray from the oven. “You need to stop overstuffing the middle,” he said mildly. “They’re exploding.”
“Explosion of flavor,” I said, proud. “You’re welcome.”
The bell above the front door chimed as Beau walked in, hair windswept, holding a clipboard. He paused, sniffed the air, and groaned.
“You put extra cinnamon again, didn’t you?” Beau demanded.
“Maybe,” I admitted.
Beau raised an eyebrow. “You trying to seduce the whole town?”
I gave him my most innocent look. “Would it work?”
Cassian snorted. “No.”
I laughed and slid the tray into the oven. Beau rattled off the prep list for the afternoon and mentioned something about a storm rolling in later today.
“Wolves are checking in on the northern roads. Power lines might be affected,” Beau said. “Might send some of us out to help if things get bad.”
Helping meant repairs. Clearing branches. Checking on elderly shop owners. Maybe hauling fallen trees or running supplies to folks stuck out in the hills.
The kind of good, solid work that made your muscles ache and your heart feel full. My ears perked up like a pup hearing the word “walk.” I practically bounced on my toes.
“Send me,” I said immediately, flour still on my apron and cinnamon on my sleeves.
Beau gave me a long look, not unkind, just considering. “You sure? You’ve got early morning shifts the rest of the week.”
I shrugged. “I can nap in cinnamon rolls. I volunteer as tribute.”
Cassian, over by the sink, let out an audible groan and rolled his eyes so hard I was pretty sure he saw his past lives flash by.
Beau chuckled under his breath, that warm kind of laugh that meant he was trying not to smile too wide.
“Alright, alright. You’re on the list. You might be assigned to help some local shops if things get messy,” Beau said.
“Do I get to pick which ones?” I asked, only half-joking.
There were some places in town I liked more than others.
And I wouldn’t say no to being assigned to the little bookstore near Pine Street. I’d never been inside, but the front window always had the coziest-looking displays.
“Nope. Go where you’re needed,” Beau said firmly, slipping right back into Alpha mode.
Fair enough. I could do that.
Still, something flickered under my skin, like a buzz of excitement just beneath the surface. I liked helping. I liked being useful.
There was something deeply satisfying about putting your body to work and knowing it mattered. And a storm? That meant people would need warm hands and strong backs.
I had both. In spades, but it wasn’t just that.
My bear stirred, pacing. Not restless, exactly, but alert. Like it had heard a far-off sound I couldn’t. Like it could smell something on the wind that hadn’t quite arrived.
I paused, frowning slightly as I wiped my palms on my apron.
Maybe it was just nerves. Storms always made folks feel a little jittery. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe, maybe fate was on the move.
I couldn’t explain it, not even to myself, but something told me today wasn’t going to be just another storm. Something was coming. Or someone.
* * *
The storm rolled in fast.
One moment, the clouds were just hanging low and heavy over Sugarpaw Springs, and the next, the sky cracked open like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.
Rain poured in sheets, thick and relentless, the kind that made you feel like you were underwater even when you were standing on the porch.
The wind howled through the trees like a living thing, and thunder shook the walls of Bear and Bun so hard that one of the cinnamon bun displays tipped over.
We fixed it, of course. We always fixed things. By the next morning, the worst had passed. The rain eased to a drizzle, but the damage had already been done.
Sugarpaw Springs looked like it had gotten into a wrestling match with Mother Nature and come out a little bruised.
Streets were lined with debris. Gutters overflowed. The little flower shop down the road had water all over its floor.
A few homes had roof leaks, and one of the old shops near the square had its front window cracked straight down the middle like a spiderweb. And still people came out.
Boots splashed through puddles. Kids with umbrellas too big for their heads helped haul sandbags.
Bears and wolves moved through the streets with practiced efficiency, checking in on residents and passing out dry blankets.
The whole town buzzed with energy, that special kind of electricity that only happened when everyone pulled together after something hard.
We bears were right in the middle of it. I was elbow-deep in hauling broken tree limbs off a sidewalk when I looked up and realized something.
People were watching me and not with suspicion or nervous glances like they had when we first opened up shop, but with open smiles.
A woman brought me a thermos of hot tea and thanked me for helping. A teenage boy asked if I could carry a box of canned food to his grandma’s store.
A little girl waved at me from a second-story window like I was a cartoon superhero. It hit me right in the chest. The wolves had always been the town’s golden children and understandably so.
They were the first shifters to settle here, the ones who ran a successful local business and helped out during wildfires and community fundraisers.
But we bears? We were newer. Bigger. Rougher around the edges.
Folks didn’t quite know what to make of us when we arrived, especially with Rafael's resting murder face and Dorian’s dramatic eye rolls. But something had shifted.
It wasn’t just that people tolerated us now. They trusted us. They relied on us.
After a few seasons of baking contests, harvest festivals, and town-wide events where we passed out chocolate croissants with honey glaze, the people of Sugarpaw Springs had started to see us as theirs.
And me? I was proud of that.
Proud to be part of a town that didn’t just accept us, but welcomed us. Proud to wear the Bear and Bun apron like it was some kind of soft, cinnamon-scented armor.
Proud to haul firewood and mop floors and make the world a little cozier, one honey bun at a time. This wasn’t just a stop on my wandering.
Sugarpaw Springs had become something else entirely.
It was home.
I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sharp scent of wet earth and pine. Rain still pattered lightly against the leaves overhead.
Somewhere down the road, Cassian was fixing a busted awning while Beau and Dorian helped shore up the town library’s roof.
My boots squelched through the mud as I walked, heading toward my next assignment. Beau had said I was needed over on Pine Street. Something about a waterlogged shop.
I didn’t know it then, but that soggy little bookstore was where everything was about to change.