Chapter 19
Cole
The bakery is silent before sunrise, just the tick-tick of the wall clock and the low thrum of the proving oven.
I shape dough on the steel counter, muscle memory from a hundred mornings guiding my hands.
Press and fold. Again and again until the line of pasties looks like something to be proud of.
Outside, Seamuse Village is a misty, blue smear, the streetlamp casting moth-swirled halos along the pavement.
I’m just dragging a sandwich board onto the curb when I hear footsteps.
Not the shuffling, dog-walking retiree steps of our usuals, but a steady, rapid gait.
The door jingles. Lucas Harkin stands in the frame, looking mostly like himself.
Hair salt-blasted, still wet from a run.
Which he shouldn’t be doing, given doctor’s orders to rest. The only hint he’s just survived a medical disaster is a band of white tape under his shirt sleeve, peeking out as he waves.
“Morning, Johnson,” Lucas says, his voice already three shades brighter than the sky.
I drop the sandwich board and feign nonchalance, but I’m so relieved, I nearly crack a tray of saffron buns right then and there. “You almost died, and you’re up jogging before six?”
He shrugs, then wipes his face with his sleeve. “Had to see if the lungs still work. Spoiler: they do, but not as well as your almond croissants.”
“All right, come on.” I take him back into the bakery and let him have free run of the pastry case. He picks out a croissant and some coffee. The former is demolished in a single bite.
I pour two coffees for us and lean against the back counter, arms crossed. “You sure you’re good? I was gonna check on you at home if you hadn’t dropped by.”
He swallows and then makes an exaggerated effort to pat his own chest. “All clear, Doc. They said it was mostly a scare. ‘Just’ took on a few liters of seawater, no big. But I’m off lifeguard duty for a week. And Helena says if I even touch the beach before Monday, she’s calling my mum.”
He talks lightly of it all, but I can see the faint hauntedness in Lucas’s eyes, hidden under his usual summer-boy sheen. He hides it well, but after a more than a few years of watching him, I know where to look.
“Maybe you should listen to your omega,” I suggest. “Nobody wants a repeat performance.”
He raises his cup in mock salute. “You and me both. I don’t plan on nearly dying more than once.”
We sip in comfortable silence. I start restocking the case for the morning rush, stacking iced buns in neat rows. Lucas watches me, chewing thoughtfully, then breaks the silence again. “Hey, you got one of those big pastry boxes? The ones you use for birthday parties?”
I nod and pull one from under the counter. “Sure thing.”
He lights up. “Thanks! I want to take some to Helena and Zane. Kind of a thank-you for… well, for visiting me in the hospital, but also for not freaking out about the, uh, unwilling wet T-shirt contest at the sea wall.”
That makes me laugh again. “Pretty sure the only thing Helena cared about was you not dying, Lucas. Zane too, though he’d never say it out loud.
” I start loading the box with all of Helena’s favorites: honeyed Chelsea buns, a pair of saffron loaves, and some of the oaty biscuits that go soft after an hour in the tin.
Then I grab three of the cinnamon buns for good measure.
“I’m thankful for you too, you know,” he adds.
I glance up at him and just smile. “That’s what friends and packs are for, mate. Just never again.”
Lucas nods and then picks up the box. “Noted. You should come with me for delivery.”
I shake my head. “Can’t. We’ve got a full house at eight, and you know how the summer families get if they’re not fed quick. Tell Helena I’ll come by later. She’ll want to see you, anyway.”
He looks like he wants to protest, but then he just lifts the box in one hand, easy as anything. “Fine, but I’ll tell her you sent the cinnamon buns. She likes when you pick them yourself.”
I try to shrug it off, but his words stick. I watch him walk out, sunlight glancing off the glass as he goes. But all that remains is a quiet bakery and me.
Is this what the future holds?
I find myself daring to hope.
The last of the daylight slants through the glass.
It’s after six, and the bakery has emptied out, save for me and the lingering smell of burnt caramel from a failed tray of morning buns.
I dump the evidence in the bin and wipe my hands on my apron, counting the register for the third time in as many minutes.
The air is heavy with humidity and slightly electric, perhaps signs of a storm rolling in.
I glance at the clock, wondering if I should just pack it in and catch the sunset, when the bell above the door goes.
Helena floats inside with sunlight haloing her ink-dark hair, while Zane stalks two paces behind, big and silent as a wolf in a suit. She’s carrying an armful of color printouts and she gives me a little wave.
“Special delivery.” Helena fans out the pages on the counter. “All the marketing ideas I promised. Posters, a punch card for regulars—oh, and the QR code thing you liked, I figured out how to make it so it’s cute and not… industrial.”
I wipe down the counter so she has room, then catch Zane’s eye. He’s wearing his usual expression: not quite a glare, but not not a glare, either. Even for a potential packmate.
“That’s brilliant, Helena.” The mockup for ‘Seamuse Bakery Loyalty Program’ has little cartoon pasties with smiley faces. The font is the same exact shade of blue as our shop sign. “I couldn’t have done this. You’re a wizard.”
She blushes—no, more than that. She glows.
The change is sudden and total, like someone cranked her brightness up a notch.
Her honey scent spikes and unfurls across the bakery.
I blink and look down, but the scent lingers, weaving into the cinnamon and flour that’s been my background noise for weeks.
Zane tenses, jaw clenching. I notice his hands, both flat on the counter, fingers fanned and white-knuckled. My own pulse does a little stutter-step.
“Did you like the cinnamon buns?” I ask, trying to steady myself with small talk.
Something has changed here. Something charged.
Helena’s smile goes soft at the edges. “I did, thank you. Lucas is right; you do know exactly which I like best.”
Her smile draws me in far more than normal. It makes her whole face light up. It’s subtle, but even her pupils are a little more dilated than normal. I bet mine are too, given the thickness of her honey scent and the way it’s quickly turning every nerve ending on in my body.
Suddenly, it feels like there’s not enough air behind the counter.
Wait.
Helena’s flush isn’t just from the walk over. Or the presence of two of her alphas.
Zane must notice too. He leans a little closer to her, not quite possessive, but definitely staking a claim.
“Are you okay, Helena?” My voice cracks. Embarrassing as hell.
“Fine.” The word comes out breathy. “Just—” She gestures helplessly, fingers fluttering at her collarbone. “It’s a lot, suddenly.”
Her scent is a living thing now that fills every inch of the bakery and sticks to the back of my tongue.
Zane’s nostrils flare. His breathing moves slower. My hands are shaking. I want—fuck, I want her, but it’s not just that. It’s the pull of them both, the way every cell in my body is screaming to close the space.
Pack. Pack. Pack.
Zane speaks first, voice lower than I’ve ever heard it. “We should go.” But he doesn’t move an inch.
“Or,” Helena says, her voice silvery and soft, “we could stay.”
She looks at me when she says it—it’s my undoing. I round the counter, already untying my apron, and meet her halfway. The force of her scent is dizzying. It floods my head and makes me ache with need. She leans up and kisses me in soft but urgent waves. Her hands twine in my shirt.
Zane steps in behind her, one hand on her waist, anchoring her as she clings to me. She kisses him next, head tipped back to bare her throat. He accepts the invitation and kisses her pulse point. The sound she makes pulls at something low in my chest that I don’t have a polite name for.
We move to the storeroom. I can’t imagine making love to her in the middle of the retail floor. The three of us are a tangle of hands and mouths with no patience for slow or gentle. My shirt hits the tile. Helena’s dress pools around her ankles. Zane removes his own shirt with shaking hands.
Helena sinks to her knees and looks back up at us. She undoes Zane first. I watch her mouth wrap around him with glossy lips. Zane’s head tips back and he releases a ragged sound. I kneel behind her and bury my face in the crook of her neck. Her scent wipes my brain clean.
My hands slide up her thighs, where I find her already slick and ready. I work two fingers in, then thrust faster as she rocks back against my hand. She moans around Zane’s cock. He hisses through his teeth and wraps a hand in her hair.
“She’s perfect,” I whisper.
Zane grabs my shoulder, hard enough to bruise. “Don’t stop touching her,” he growls.
I don’t.
Helena’s breath goes ragged and then stops entirely as her whole body seizes into stillness. Then she breaks apart as she claws at my arm. She cums. Zane follows with a sound I feel more than hear, his rhythm against her mouth stuttering until he simply holds his cock inside her mouth.
She turns to me next. Her eyes are dark and unfocused, her mouth still wet.
When she kisses me I taste the salt of Zane on her tongue, and something else beneath it that is just her.
Helena pulls my cock toward her mouth and slides me inside like a sword into a sheath.
The sound that leaves me is embarrassingly involuntary.
It doesn’t last long—I’m too wound up, too hungry for it. I cum with a rush and a harsh growl as I try my best not to thrust with abandon into her throat. She holds me in her mouth until I can breathe again.
After, we collapse on the bags of flour, tangled together in a sticky, satisfied mess. Helena traces lazy circles on my chest, hair spilling across me like midnight.
No one says anything for a while, but the silence isn’t awkward. It’s comfortable, close—like the beach at low tide, when all the noise has pulled back, but you know it’ll return, fuller than before.
“You think Lucas will mind he missed out?” Helena asks, after a long pause.
I snort, and Zane actually cracks a smile. “He’ll be fine,” I say. “Next time, we’ll save him something honey.”
Helena giggles. I close my eyes and let myself completely unwind.
And definitely don’t think of how Helena’s scent only keeps spiking.