Chapter 8
Cole
The ovens hum and the air inside Cornwall’s Best is already thick with warm cinnamon and the promise of a beautiful new day.
I’m up to my forearms in dough, pressing it out for morning pasties, when the bell above the door rings with a bright trill.
I know I’ve got flour smeared across my cheek, probably in my hair, but I don’t bother to check.
Most people who show up before nine are here for food, not a fashion show.
Through the haze of oven steam, I see her—jet hair loose and luminous, blue eyes scanning the chalkboard menu with the intense focus of someone tackling an unfamiliar language. She’s pretty, sure, but it’s the alert, slightly overwhelmed way she moves that draws my attention.
And she’s not alone. There’s an alpha with her, standing so close, I wonder if she’ll ever get a moment to breathe.
He’s taller than me by a half inch, built like someone who could bench press a Mini Cooper for a laugh, and his gaze doesn’t rest anywhere.
It very obviously moves and tracks every living thing in this bakery. Assessing everything.
And he’s familiar, but I can’t place him yet.
They’re both overdressed for Seamuse in June. She’s in a sundress that looks more expensive than my car, and he’s wearing slacks and a tailored shirt rolled to the elbows.
Out-of-towners, obviously.
“Welcome in.” I wipe away the sweat on my forehead with my wrist. “Don’t be shy—the best smell in Cornwall’s free with every order.”
The woman gives a tiny, startled laugh. “It’s… very inviting. Are you open for breakfast, or is it all—” She gestures toward the case, where rows of sausage rolls, pasties, and sweet buns glisten under the glass.
“Everything’s fair game,” I assure her. “There’s coffee too, if you’re braver than me. The rookie made it this morning. He’s… passionate about caffeine.” I almost say “deranged” but don’t want to scare her off. I don’t think the coffee’s quite that strong. “First time in, then?”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “We just arrived last week. Everyone said the bakery was a must.”
I try to listen to her, but a few things hit me all at once. First, she looks insanely cute brushing hair behind her ear like that.
Second, she’s not just a woman. She’s an omega. One whose honey scent is slipping through the air to me as though being dripped from her very skin like honey from a comb. I want to lick it all up and call her mine.
Lick her all up.
Fuck me.
I clamp down on the rising alpha instincts and affix a bright smile to my lips in hopes no one somehow heard my thoughts. Good thing my dark apron’s hanging low enough to cover my fucking cock right now.
Holy hell. A scent-matched omega. Right here, suddenly right before me in my own damned bakery.
I swallow hard and step out from behind the counter. Instantly, the alpha by her side locks on to me, eyes narrowing for a microsecond before he smooths it away.
I know that face. The jawline, the scar across the eyebrow. But the memory’s slippery—high school, a rugby match, something about a bonfire and a fight nobody lost.
I offer my hand. “I’m Cole. Cole Johnson. My family’s run this place since sourdough was invented.”
The alpha studies my hand like I might crush his fingers. Then he grins—unexpected, wide, infectious—and shakes it. “Zane Hawke.”
The name hits with a jolt. Zane Hawke, Seamuse’s own prodigal son, last seen hauling ass to the city with a scholarship and a chip on his shoulder. Rumor said he ended up private security for some important people.
The way he hovers over his companion, I’d guess she’s one of them.
The woman introduces herself, too. “Helena Starling.” Her handshake is firm, like she’s had lessons. “We’re supposed to be on holiday, but…” She glances at Zane with an affectionate exasperation that makes his stoicism look almost cute.
I can’t help but smile. “Some people just can’t switch off. Here, let’s get you sorted.”
We drift toward the case. Helena’s eyes widen at each shelf.
There’s a mountain of stick Chelsea buns and a perfect spiral of cinnamon rolls on the top shelf.
Beneath that, I’ve got neat rows of golden pasties.
The village prides itself on Cornish tradition, but I try to keep things a little interesting.
I cross my arms. “We’ve got the usuals, but if you want something wild, try the saffron and lemon curd. You look like someone who could handle a little adventure.”
She laughs, and I feel a spark of pride in making her relax. “All right. One of those, please. And a coffee.” She leans forward. “Real coffee, please, not what you serve tourists.”
I like her already.
Thank god the rookie made the coffee this morning.
While I slice a saffron bun, Zane patrols the perimeter of the bakery with his eyes, taking in the details.
I hope he doesn’t notice the chipped tile and rather focuses instead on the displays of local art on the walls.
He’s still in protector mode, which is weird even for an alpha, but now I remember.
Zane Hawke.
We went to school together here in Seamuse once upon a time. And he’s always been always like this, even as a kid. The one who would stand between you and a punch. The one who’d walk you home if the streetlights went out.
I guess he took all that to the city with him and into some private security firm, if the rumors are true.
Once the coffee is ready, I pour some in a mug for Helena and then push both it and the plate with the bun toward her. My eyes find Helena naturally. It’s impossible to not watch every move she makes, to not find myself leaning over the counter to get closer to her.
Shit, man.
Zane’s brow furrows. He’s gotta be her alpha. And yet here I am, matched as well.
Calm the fuck down.
Unfortunately, I find I can’t. But I can distract myself. “So, how do you two like Seamuse?” I slice a fresh slab of butter for the still-warm scone I’m about to inhale to keep my mouth too busy to ask this omega on a date.
Helena sips the coffee and makes a blissed-out face that makes me hard all over again. I have never had this reaction to an omega before. Ever.
“I haven’t seen much beyond the sea and the bakery, but so far, it’s beautiful. We don’t get cliffs like that in the city.” She studies the surface of her bun before biting in, then beams at me as if I’ve performed an actual magic trick. “This is divine.”
No, but you are.
Zane takes a bite of his own bun and just grunts approval, which is high praise coming from someone whose entire personality seems to be grudging acceptance.
We talk shop for a few minutes—me recommending beaches, her asking questions about local history. Zane even volunteers information as well, but it’s clear he’s been away from home here in Seamuse for a long time. The whole time, Zane keeps his gaze on me, as if warning me not to try anything.
I’m a gentleman.
One whose inner alpha is truly about to lose control, but a gentleman nonetheless.
It’s the friendliest standoff I’ve ever participated in, like we’re all pretending this is just casual when every cell in my body is screaming pack, pack, pack. Because Zane must be Helena’s alpha, but if scent-matches are to be believed, then I belong, too.
It’s been minutes. Shut the fuck up.
After a lull, Zane perks up enough that his scowl disappears. “You still play football on Thursdays?”
It’s so abrupt that it takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me, not just scanning for danger.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “It’s mostly for the excuse to go to the pub after.” I try not to let my voice get wistful. “Didn’t think you remembered me at all.”
He shrugs. “Seamuse doesn’t change much.” His eyes flick to Helena, then back to me. “Except for the tourists.”
I look at Helena, who’s watching us with a mixture of delight and shyness. She’s clocked the undercurrent, I can tell. She’s smart, and maybe a little dangerous in her own right. But she laughs at our back and forth.
She also has had a steady blush on her cheeks for the last few minutes.
“No, it doesn’t.” Then for her benefit, I add, “Zane and I know each other from school years.”
She nods slowly. “That makes much more sense.”
I gesture to my bakery as a whole. “Well, you’re both welcome anytime.
” Part of me hopes Helena never leaves. Even if I know that means more than ever I need to calm the fuck down.
You just met her. I clear my throat. “We do baking workshops on Sundays, if you ever want to see how the magic happens.”
Helena perks up. “That sounds wonderful. Can I sign up?”
Zane smirks. “She’ll make you regret it, Cole. She’s competitive.”
I nod, grinning. “Bring it on. Bet you can’t out-bake me.”
She tilts her chin, mock-serious. “Challenge accepted.”
Something in my chest does a little flutter I’ve never felt before. Then I wonder in what other ways Helena might like to be competitive.
There’s a beat, a warm stillness, and then Zane steps forward. He lowers his voice in the intimate way of old friends. “Hey, can I talk to you out back?”
I nod and lead him through the swinging door to the alley behind the bakery. My stomach coils into knots. He’s going to tell me to fuck all the way off. Old rivalries will hit and he just wants his omega to himself.
Which I get.
My inner alpha has jumped far farther ahead than the rest of me.
“It’s good to see you,” he says finally.
“You too,” I reply, quiet. “Didn’t think you’d come back, honestly.”
Zane rubs the back of his neck. “Neither did I. Life’s complicated.” He glances at the open door, where Helena’s silhouette is visible. “She’s… special.”
I nod. “I can tell.”
“Are you…?” He trails off and paces a few steps away. When he turns back again, he inhales sharply and says, “You’re an alpha, and I can tell you’ve not just clocked Helena. But you’ve scent-matched, haven’t you?”
I don’t know what to say. Is it better to admit the truth? “If she’s your omega, I won’t—I mean, she’s a tourist, anyway, right?”