Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
The third batch of honey crescents came out of the oven flat and lifeless, and Willow wanted to throw the entire tray across the kitchen.
She set it down on the counter instead, staring at the sad, deflated pastries that should have been golden and flaky and infused with the warm magic of comfort.
They looked like something from a grocery store freezer section.
They tasted like flour and disappointment.
She'd already bitten into one, hoping against hope that the appearance was deceiving.
It wasn't.
"Maybe you should take a break." Sage hovered near the prep station, hands wrapped around a mug of tea she'd been nursing for the past hour. Her words were careful, the way everyone's voice got around Willow these days. "You've been at this since five."
"I'm fine."
"You've made three batches—"
"I said I'm fine." The words came out sharper than intended. Willow forced herself to take a breath, to unclench her jaw. "Sorry. I just need to focus."
But that was the problem. She couldn't focus.
Not with Ryker living under her skin, a constant low-grade fever she couldn't shake.
Days of vendor meetings and supply runs, sitting across from him close enough to see his jaw tighten every time she spoke.
To catch that pine-and-woodsmoke scent that made her want to press her face against his throat and inhale deeply.
Her crescents didn't stand a chance.
Sage was watching her with that worried expression, and Willow hated being the cause of it.
The younger witch had followed her out of her mother's coven, trusted her to build something better for all of them.
She deserved a leader who had her shit together, not one who couldn't bake a simple pastry because some wolf made her blood run hot.
"Willow. Seriously. Take a break. Get some air."
"The festival's in ten days," Willow said, scraping the ruined crescents into the compost bin. "I don't have time for breaks."
"You don't have time for a breakdown either." Sage set down her mug. "What's going on with you? I've never seen you struggle like this."
The bell over the front door chimed before she could answer.
She looked up, and her traitorous heart slammed against her ribs.
Ryker stepped inside, bringing the brisk air and the scent of pine with him.
Grey thermal stretched across his shoulders, highlighting a lot of muscle underneath, and his jeans sat low on his hips, highlighting something else.
Even his hair caught her attention because it was pushed back like he'd been running his hands through it.
His smoky blue eyes swept the bakery, landed on Sage, then found Willow with an intensity that made her skin feel two sizes too small.
Heat flooded her. Spread from her belly outward, liquid warmth that pooled in all the places she didn't want to think about. His nostrils flared, and she knew he could scent exactly what his presence did to her.
She swore under her breath.
"I need to go." Sage was already reaching for her jacket, moving toward the door with the speed of someone fleeing a burning building. "I just remembered I have a thing. An important thing. Somewhere else."
"Sage—"
But she was gone, slipping past Ryker with a muttered greeting and disappearing onto the street. The door swung shut behind her, and the bell's cheerful chime felt like mockery.
Willow stood alone in her bakery, surrounded by the evidence of her ruined morning, facing the man responsible for all of it.
"The revised vendor contracts aren't ready yet." She was proud of how steady her voice came out. "I told you I'd bring them to the meeting this afternoon."
"I know." He stopped at the counter, his hands in his pockets.
His gaze dropped to the empty tray and the compost bin full of failed baked goods.
Something, curiosity or maybe concern, crossed his face before his expression went neutral again.
"I'm here about the delivery schedule. Word just came in that the mainland shipment got delayed. Something about ice on the roads."
"Oh no. How long?"
"Two days, maybe three." He pulled out his phone, checking the screen. "I can shift some non-food vendors to cover the gap on setup day, but you'll need to adjust your baking schedule."
"I'll make it work."
His eyes lifted from the phone. Held hers. "You sure? That's a lot of extra prep."
The question caught her off guard. It sounded almost like concern, which didn't fit the cold professionalism they'd established over the past four days. She searched his face for mockery and found none.
"I've been running this bakery's prep for months," she said. "Two extra days won't break me."
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. "Didn't say it would. Just figured you'd complain."
Her jaw tightened. "Sorry to disappoint you."
"You never do."
The words hung between them. His eyes widened slightly, like he hadn't meant to say that, and she watched him catch himself. Watched the walls rebuild, brick by brick, until the man who'd almost smiled at her was gone.
"I'll send the revised timeline," he said, voice rough. "Let me know if anything doesn't work."
"Fine."
He should have left then. The conversation was over.
But he stood there, phone still in hand, his gaze dropping to her throat before he caught himself and dragged it back up.
She saw the moment he registered her quickened pulse, the flush climbing her throat.
The humiliation of being so transparent never got easier.
"Was there something else you wanted?"
Ryker opened his mouth. For a moment, she thought he might actually acknowledge the electricity crackling between them, the impossible tension that made every interaction feel like touching a live wire.
Instead, he shook his head. "No. I'll see you at the meeting."
The door closed silently behind him as she stood frozen behind the counter, gripping the edge until her knuckles went white. Through the window, she watched him cross the street, shoulders set, stride long and unhurried.
He didn't look back.
She turned to the mess of her kitchen and felt something crack in her chest. The failed crescents, the scattered flour, the evidence of a morning spent fighting a losing battle. She couldn't keep doing this. Wanting someone who would never let himself want her back.
But the festival was in ten days, and she had work to do. So she grabbed a fresh bowl, measured out flour with hands that only trembled a little, and started batch number four.
The afternoon had settled into a quiet rhythm when the bakery door burst open and Maeve stumbled in with a triple stroller, a diaper bag the size of a small suitcase, and an expression that suggested she hadn't slept in months.
"Bless you," Maeve said, shoving the stroller toward Willow. "Hold these. I need to pee and also possibly cry."
She disappeared toward the back before Willow could respond.
The triplets, two girls and a boy, stared up at her with round blue eyes.
Willow still struggled to tell them apart.
One of them was chewing on her fist. Another had somehow gotten his sock off and was waving his bare foot in the air like a tiny pink flag.
The third was making a sound that suggested a diaper situation was imminent.
"Right," Willow said. "Okay. We've got this."
She was halfway through changing the offending diaper when the door opened again.
Ryker walked in, and Willow's hands went still. Dammit. She’d lost track of time.
He stopped short when he saw her, clearly not expecting an audience. His gaze dropped to the baby on the changing pad in front of her, then to the other two in the stroller, then back to her face.
"Maeve here?" His voice was gruff.
"Bathroom." Willow finished securing the fresh diaper and scooped up the baby, one of the girls, she thought. "She needed a minute."
Ryker nodded, but he didn't leave. He stood just inside the door, that restless energy she'd noticed over the past few days practically radiating off him. His fingers tapped against his thigh, and he kept glancing at the babies like they were puzzle pieces he couldn't quite fit together.
The baby in her arms started to fuss, a whimpering sound that threatened to escalate. Willow bounced her gently, making soft shushing noises, but the whimpering only got louder. She could feel the pitch building toward a full cry.
"May I?"
She looked up. Ryker had crossed the room without her noticing, and now he stood close enough that she could see the fine grain of stubble along his jaw.
His expression was different. Softer, somehow.
The hard edges she'd grown accustomed to had smoothed out, and he was looking at the baby with something that might have been tenderness.
Willow passed her over without thinking.
Ryker took the infant with easy confidence, settling her against his chest like he'd done it a thousand times.
His big hands looked comically large against her tiny body, but his hold was secure and gentle.
He made a low rumbling sound in his chest, not quite a growl, but equally soothing, and the baby's fussing stopped almost immediately.
Willow stared.
"What?" He caught her looking and raised an eyebrow. "Never seen a wolf with a baby before?"
"I've just never seen you—" She stopped. Gentle. Unguarded. Looking at something with that softness in his eyes.
"Connor's my cousin," Ryker said, as if that explained everything. "I've been on baby duty many times since these three came home from the hospital. Someone had to give Maeve and Connor a chance to sleep."
He crossed to the stroller and crouched down, still holding the first baby. The other two tracked his movement with wide eyes, and when he leaned in to make a face at them, one of them burst into a gummy grin.
Something cracked open in Willow's chest.