Chapter Two-Bella
Those emerald eyes of his glittered in the overhead light as he raked his gaze over me from head to toe.
I didn’t want to think about what I looked like—hair mussed from smoke and wind, soot streaks on my cheek, probably flour somewhere it shouldn’t be.
And here he was, looking outrageously good despite the ungodly hour.
Was it possible he’d gotten even more handsome since the last time I saw him?
Because I was ninety percent sure that was illegal under some magical treaty.
And it was so damn unfair that male Shifters—and men in general, honestly—just got hotter with age, while we women got grayer, softer, and needed a highlighter palette to fake our youthful glow.
“Sure, come in,” I muttered with false gaiety, stepping back.
“Thank you.” He moved past me, all clean pine and alpha male heat, and I tried not to inhale like a weirdo. “So, do you have a list of what was destroyed?”
“The display case on the left this time,” I told him, keeping my voice steady while desperately not staring at the way his biceps flexed as he scribbled in his little black notebook. “We caught it early, so it didn’t spread.”
I was a fool to think he still thought of us.
I just missed my shot with him, I guessed.
Better that way—relationships just weren’t my thing.
That was my story, and I was sticking to it.
Still, I wondered if maybe he ever thought about me. And yes, I hated that I wondered.
I handed him a list of the damage for the police report.
His fingers brushed mine, sending a stupid little shiver up my spine.
Do not make this personal, Bella.
He’s just an attractive man you have history with.
No sparks. None. Zip. Nada.
“Are you alright, Bella?” His deep voice conjured butterflies in my stomach, and I closed my eyes for a moment just so my brain would have time to recalibrate.
“The damage is superficial—”
“I don’t mean the bakery, Sugar. I mean you.” His gaze softened, and damn it, my knees didn’t need that. “It must be difficult being targeted.”
“What do you mean? It’s probably just some punk kids,” I shrugged, trying for breezy.
“This is the second fire in a couple of months. Jaxson and I think it might be personal.”
“Personal? But everyone loves me! I spread joy with cupcakes and donuts! Who would want to hurt me?”
The very idea I was being singled out made my stomach flip.
True, I’d considered it before. But having him say it aloud like that? Well, that just smarted.
“What do I do? Am I in danger?”
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
It wasn’t like me to crumble in front of anyone, least of all Conrad Boman—Shifter deputy, ex-fling, and human embodiment of handle with care.
But when his big arms came around me in a solid, grounding hug, I didn’t resist.
We were friends, right?
Sort of.
Just your average everyday consenting adult friends who’d slept together.
Twice.
Okay, three times if you counted that one night where neither of us actually slept.
And yeah, maybe I’d been the one to put the brakes on things, but some traitorous part of me had been quietly sulking that he’d stopped asking.
I mean, sure, it was my choice, but still what if?
Conrad was the kind of Shifter Witchy women whispered about—big, capable, steady, the kind who could lift you over his shoulder without breaking a sweat.
And I was sure plenty of women were willing.
Not that it was my business.
It wasn’t. Totally not.
Tell yourself that, Bella.
Anyway, I had to admit, it felt really damn good to be close to him again.
“Hey, you’re safe now,” he murmured, holding me like he meant it.
The man was a world-class hugger—none of that stiff pat-pat nonsense.
He hugged with his whole body, warm and protective, until the rest of the world kind of melted away.
“Lawd, I miss you, Sugar,” he said softly, his Southern drawl coming out when I least expected it.
Conrad tipped my chin up with one finger, pinning me with his singularly focused green-eyed gaze.
Oh, no.
Oh, yes.
He leaned in slowly, giving me all the space in the world to step back.
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
I needed that kiss.
Someone had been setting fires in my bakery.
My whole world was tilted.
But here, in his arms? I finally felt right again—dangerously right.
Like maybe everything would be fine if I just stayed right here.
So, maybe I wasn’t as immune to Conrad Boman as I’d been telling myself all this time.
Maybe there were things.
Things he and I still needed to work out.
The problem was, I didn’t have the time—or the emotional bandwidth—to play twenty questions with my own heart right now.
My plate was full. And not in the fun, stacked-high-with-pastries way.
I had hang-ups, okay?
Deep, deep hang-ups.
Emotional scar tissue from relationships past, the kind that doesn’t fade with a hot bath and a glass of wine.
Plus, I had the whole plus-size Witch thing. Which, in the supernatural world, was its own special brand of baggage.
We’d only just started seeing any recognition that we weren’t magically defective just because we didn’t fit into the sleek, slinky stereotype.
Meanwhile, every other supernatural species got their perfect physiques and freakish metabolisms handed to them on a glittery silver platter.
Werewolves could demolish an entire side of beef and still have abs you could grate cheese on.
Vampire women could eat their weight in molten chocolate cake and somehow only get shinier.
Even the freaking Selkies stayed slim—probably because they spent half their time swimming, but still.
And then, there was me.
Just your not-so-average Witch from New Jersey.
Calories loved me.
Worshiped me.
Practically built a temple in my honor and sacrificed their entire extended family straight to my hips, thighs, and soft belly.
I swear, my baked goods doubled in caloric value the second they got within a five-foot radius of my face.
And look, I’m not making excuses—I own my curves.
I earn them with the goods I bake. I dress them well. I am, objectively speaking, a whole damn snack in one woman-sized package.
But it’s hard not to notice when everyone else can eat a dozen donuts—a true baker’s dozen—and still look like they’re ready for the supernatural swimsuit calendar, while I so much as look at a croissant and my jeans start plotting a mutiny.
But honestly—honestly—who in their right mind could resist a strawberry-dipped chocolate donut with rainbow sprinkles on just your average Wednesday?
Not this Witch.
Not ever.
And yes, that exact inability to say no to a baked good also fed the entirely accurate—though deeply annoying—voice inside my head that liked to question Conrad’s motives every time he came within a five-foot radius of me.
What’s a guy like that doing with a Witch like you?
That snide little thought would slink in uninvited, setting up shop in my brain and making itself at home like it paid rent.
Because Conrad Boman wasn’t just hot.
He was weaponized.
Tall, broad, chiseled like a Greek god who’d traded the toga for a Deputy’s badge and biceps that could bench press my bakery’s industrial ovens.
The man had hero written all over him, right down to the jawline that could cut glass.
Meanwhile, I was Bella Strega—curvy, cake-powered, and owner of the only bakery in Castor’s Corner that could double as a crime scene thanks to recent firebug activity.
So yeah, you can see how the math didn’t exactly add up in my head.
I had no idea what a guy like him saw when he looked at me—and honestly?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out. Not if the answer was that I was just a for now kind of girl.
Especially with both my girls finding their happy endings with their mates.
Oh my Gaia, please no.
Not if I had to learn that he was only in it for the kicks, the giggles, and maybe a few late-night rolls in the sheets before moving on to someone with less frosting on her fingers.
Because here’s the thing.
I’d already invested my heart.
I hadn’t meant to. I’d tried so hard not to. But somewhere between his stupidly protective streak, the way he called me Sugar like it meant something, and the memory of how he kissed like sin itself, I’d gone and handed over pieces of myself I couldn’t take back.
And I knew better.
Like my Nana always said, it’s better to end things before they start—less sweeping to do after the glass shatters.