Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
The sourdough needed another hour. Willow knew this because she'd been watching the clock since four a.m.,watching the dough like her life depended on it. Press, fold, turn. The rhythm soothed her, gave her hands a task while her brain refused to cooperate.
She’d been running on autopilot since Ryker walked out.
It had only been two days, but it might as well have been two weeks.
She’d crammed every possible moment with work.
Baking before dawn, running between vendor stations to troubleshoot signage and extension cords, making sure everyone participating in the festival had what they needed.
Smiling at tourists through lunch. And then collapsing into dreamless exhaustion that never quite managed to be restful.
Frost Fest was in full swing now, the culmination of hours and hours of planning, and she'd thrown herself into every last detail with the kind of manic energy that left no room for thinking.
The sharp edges of what happened in the cabin had dulled into a bruise she could handle, one she'd learned to breathe around.
The bell over the bakery door chimed, interrupting her manic thoughts. She looked up from the counter, ready with her practiced smile, and found four women staring at her with expressions she knew by now meant nothing but trouble.
Faith stood at the front of the group, one hand on her barely-visible bump, the other planted on her hip.
Behind her, Lily, already moving toward Willow with that gentle determination she'd inherited from her mother with Sage by her side.
And Mara, practical as ever, closing the door behind them and flipping the sign to CLOSED.
"We're kidnapping you," Faith announced.
Willow wiped flour from her cheek with the back of her wrist. "The Carlson order needs to go out by—"
"Sage has it covered." Faith crossed the bakery in three strides and took the dough hook from Willow's hand, setting it aside with the air of someone who would not be argued with.
"You've been in this kitchen for forty-eight hours straight.
You need a break and a sugar fix, and it just so happens the Cocoa Crawl has begun. "
"But the festival—"
"Is running fine without you micromanaging every cocoa station." Mara appeared at her elbow, already untying Willow's apron strings. "You look like death. Go and drink some chocolate, get some fresh air. You're outvoted anyway."
Lily linked her arm through Willow's, and the touch was so warm, so unexpected, that her throat went tight.
Her cousin didn't say anything. Didn't ask what was going on or why Willow had dark circles under her eyes or why that smile never she kept pasted on never quite reached anywhere real.
She just held on and steered Willow toward the door.
The fight drained out of her somewhere between the counter and the threshold. She didn't have the energy. Didn't have anything left except the hollow space in her chest and these women who refused to let her fill it with nothing but baking time.
She let them take her.
When they stepped out onto Main Street, it was evident the Cocoa Crawl was jam packed with people and the weather had decided to cooperate perfectly.
Frost sparkled on the cobblestones, and string lights glittered between buildings like scattered stars.
The sky was the soft silver of a Pacific Northwest winter, the kind that made the evergreens look vivid green against the muted clouds.
It was darn near picture perfect for their event.
Tourists in puffy jackets clutched steaming cups and posed for photos near the marina, breath puffing white in the crisp air. The smell of chocolate and cinnamon hung in the cold, mingling with coffee and woodsmoke from the vendor carts.
She'd helped plan this. Every vendor, every specialty drink, every hand-painted sign directing traffic between stops. She should feel proud. The fest was drawing record crowds, building on the momentum from a successful Harvest Festival. It was coming together even better than she’d hoped.
Pride flickered somewhere distant, like a candle in another room, but she held onto it anyway.
They started at the bakery's outdoor window.
Sage had already taken over the station, ladling Willow's lavender honey cocoa recipe into paper cups for a line that stretched halfway down the block.
She studied tourists take their first sips, watched their faces light up, and searched for anything resembling satisfaction.
When Faith handed her a cup, she smiled and let the hot chocolate warm her palms. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, maybe it was time to take a break. She took a sip of her own recipe, familiar and sweet, and let it settle in her chest.
It would be nice to experience the event from a different perspective.
The cantina tent was next, a cheerful pop-up with striped canvas walls and colorful paper banners fluttering in the breeze.
Inside, a local vendor served spiced Mexican chocolate from a portable burner, rich and dark, with a kick of cayenne that warmed her from the inside out.
She drank, nodded at the appropriate moments, even managed a few words about the Polar Plunge betting pool.
Her friends kept the conversation light, never once pushing her to say more than she could.
They walked farther into the festival market and stopped at a vendor near the water.
A vintage Airstream trailer painted robin's egg blue, with a serving window framed by twinkling fairy lights and a chalkboard menu propped against the wheel.
The owner had strung garlands of pine and silver bells along the awning, and the whole thing looked like something out of a winter postcard.
Salted caramel cocoa, the sign promised.
She drank it slower than the others, watching the boats bob in the harbor, letting the sweetness coat her tongue.
Between stops, Lily pressed close against the cold, their arms still linked.
She'd already finished two cocoas and was eyeing a third.
"The twins are using this crawl as an excuse to make me consume more sugar than I should," she said, voice pitched low enough that the others couldn't hear.
"I'll blame them when I can't button my jeans tomorrow. "
Despite everything, Willow smiled. Small, but real. "You're growing two whole people. You can have all the cocoa you want." She bumped her shoulder against Lily's. "Besides, you're glowing. It's disgusting."
Lily laughed, the sound bright against the winter air, and for a second Willow remembered what it felt like to be okay.
Then Lily squeezed her arm, her expression softening. "You don't have to tell me what happened. Just know I'm here if you ever want to talk."
Willow squeezed back. She wasn't ready to tell anyone about her one night with Ryker, might never be, but having Lily here helped more than she could say.
“Thanks. I don’t think it’s worth rehashing. But I really appreciate you being here and all the support you’ve given me.”
Lily looked like she wanted to say more, but she didn't push. Just stayed close, keeping a warm presence at her side, and for a moment the ache in her chest eased just a little.
They were near the edge of the festival grounds when Willow saw him. He was by the marina, talking to Cal, head bent, shoulders tight, that familiar rigid posture she'd once found reassuring. Now it just reminded her of how fast he'd shut down. How easy it had been for him to walk away.
Her body didn't care about any of that. The pull in her chest, the burn under her skin. Her traitorous heart lurched toward him despite everything she knew.
He glanced in her direction. Their eyes met across the crowd, and her breath caught before she could stop it.
For half a second, his expression shifted. Not the cold mask he'd worn when he left. Or the cruel set of his jaw when he'd compared her to Iris. This was rawer, unguarded, and if she'd been stupid enough to believe it, she might have called it regret.
But she wasn't stupid. Not anymore.
She held his gaze and let him see exactly what he'd done. The hurt she wasn't hiding. The anger underneath it. The fact that she was still standing, still functioning, still here despite his best efforts to break her.
He looked away first and kept walking.
Willow stared down at the peppermint cocoa in her hand.
It was shaking, so she set the cup on the nearest surface before she dropped it.
Mara appeared at her other side, close enough that their shoulders touched.
No comment, no questions, just presence.
Faith's hand brushed her back, light and brief.
She had good friends, she reminded herself. That wasn’t nothing.
They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Mara spoke again. "You should probably know that the Pack sent a squad of wolves to check the north shore yesterday. Cal led it." She glanced at Willow. "We thought you'd rather hear from us than someone else."
Willow kept her expression neutral, despite the sudden worry gnawing at her. "And?"
"Nothing useful." Mara's tone was matter-of-fact.
"Cal took three wolves out at dawn. They walked the whole shoreline, checked the tide pools, even swam out past the rocks. The water was calm with no unusual currents, and no signs of anything living or hiding there that didn’t belong.
They found the boundary markers you mentioned, the shells arranged in patterns, but Cal said they looked like a kid playing on the beach. Or some Art project, maybe."
Willow's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
"They searched and waited out there for hours," Mara continued.
"Watched the water and the tree line. Nothing moved, nothing pinged their senses.
Cal's report said the area felt normal and quiet with nothing out of the ordinary.
" She paused. "Whatever energy you sensed out there, it wasn't showing itself yesterday. "
"They didn't find anything because they don't know what to look for." The words came out flat. "I'm the one who felt it. I could have—"
She stopped. The rest of the sentence died in her throat.
What could she have done? Helped? Contributed? They hadn't asked. Hadn't consulted her, hadn't even told her until now. She was the witch who'd sensed the danger, and the pack had investigated without her. Her stomach tightened. Okay. Message received.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to act neutral. "Good to know. Hopefully all the incidents were coincidental." She made herself walk, made herself breathe. The others were watching, and she wouldn't give them anything else to worry about.
Of course they'd cut her out. Of course. She was Iris's daughter, and the witch Ryker had sex with and then accused of playing a longer game. Why would they trust her with anything that mattered?
But they were wrong.
She knew there was a threat in that cove. Felt it in her bones, the same way she felt approaching storms or when trouble was nearby. But she had no proof now, and no one was asking for her help.
After the crawl she went straight home. The witches' cabin sat dark against the beach behind it, surrounded by fog and silence. The other witches were staying in the village during the festival rush. Extra hands were needed and it was easier if they were closer to the action. Willow was alone.
She was exhausted, bone-deep tired in a way that went beyond sleep deprivation.
But every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face and heard his voice.
Maybe I had time to think. The way he'd looked at her as he said it, calculating what it would cost to trust her and deciding the price was too high.
The cabin settled around her. Wind rattled the windows, and the old wood creaked in protest, familiar sounds she'd grown accustomed to in the months since the pack had granted them sanctuary. She lay in the dark and listened to the sounds of nature hoping to find some peace or at least .
Until she heard a sound that didn't belong. Movement outside, and not the wind.
Willow went still. Her magic prickled across her skin, that early warning system she'd learned to trust. Whatever it was prowled the tree line or the rocky shore or both, and it knew she was here.
She rose and crossed to the window without turning on a light, her bare feet silent on the cold floor.
As usual for this time of night, the cold fog hung thick beyond the pane, obscuring everything beyond a few feet.
She could make out the shape of the nearest pine tree, the pale blur of beach stones, and nothing else.
But there was more. She couldn't see it, but she felt it. Eyes on her, awareness pressing at the edges of her senses.
She waited, and it waited with her.
She wasn't afraid, exactly. Too tired for fear. But she was aware that she was alone out here, cut off from a pack that wasn’t close enough to help her, with a watcher she couldn't name circling in the dark.
The minutes stretched. Whatever, or whoever it was held its ground, patient and unmoving, and Willow stood at the window with her palm flat against the cold glass and her magic humming beneath her skin.
Then, as if a switch had flipped, the feeling faded. Whatever had been watching her had moved on. Or hidden itself well enough that she couldn't sense it anymore.
She stayed at the window a long time after that, watching the fog shift and curl, listening to the silence it had left behind.
Tomorrow the festival would continue. She would open the bakery, smile at customers, and pretend she was fine. She would function because she had to, because the alternative was drowning, and she'd gotten too good at treading water to stop now.
But a threat lurked in those waters, one that had nothing to do with Ryker or the investigation or the pack that had shut her out. And no one was listening when she tried to tell them.
The cold pressed heavy outside, and the cabin creaked around her, as Willow sat in the dark with her magic prickling at her skin. Dawn would come. It always did. She just had to make it through the night.