18. Elena
Chapter eighteen
Elena
Amber lights envelop me as I push through the heavy wooden door of The Lake's Edge. The pub buzzes with laughter, clinking pints, and the energy of bakers blowing off steam. Despite the long day, the vibrant atmosphere hits me like a shot of espresso, giving me that second wind I needed.
In the far corner, an eruption of laughter draws my attention. James, Dorian, and Cole sit clustered around a table, shoulders shaking with mirth as the three of them are in stitches.
I blink hard. Cole is laughing. Not just a chuckle; a full, genuine laugh that shakes his shoulders and reveals a dimple I never would've guessed was hiding beneath all that calm restraint.
I begin weaving through the cheerful crowd, drawn toward their table like a moth to a flame.
As I get closer, I catch the tail end of James's animated storytelling—along with an enticing blend of their mingled scents, definitely softened by the DuoBlocks but still enough to make my pulse tick up. Thank goodness I doubled up.
"—completely covered the food critic from Bon Appétit ," James is saying, gesturing dramatically. "Head to toe in passionfruit curd. It was a massacre."
"And what exactly did you do?" Cole asks, wiping an actual tear from the corner of his eye. His laughter has a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates pleasantly.
"The only thing I could do," James replies. "I offered him a spoon."
Another wave of laughter washes over the table. Dorian notices me then, his gray eyes bright.
"Ms. Avery," he calls out, gesturing to the empty chair nestled between him and Cole. "Come, join the fray. James is sharing his greatest culinary disasters."
"So glad I didn’t miss the highlight reel.
And please, call me Elena," I add, as if his hands weren’t all over me just yesterday, sliding into the seat.
Being sandwiched between Dorian and Cole is…
an experience. On one side, Dorian's sophisticated energy hums with an underlying heat I know all too well.
On the other, Cole exudes an earthy, steady presence, a quiet strength that feels both protective and intriguing.
My senses feel like they're doing a very confused but enthusiastic tango.
"And I didn't realize firefighters were allowed to laugh, Cole," I tease, turning to him.
"Only on alternate Thursdays," Cole shoots back, his eyes crinkling. That dimple reappears. Lethal. "And apparently when hearing tales of pastry misfortune."
"And I was about to ask James more about the spa," Dorian jumps in, his eyes taking on a mischievous glint. "He's been telling us all about how relaxing it was."
My cheeks instantly flame. "Oh. That's... nice."
James catches my eye with a wink. "I was just mentioning how… skilled the massage therapists were."
I want to disappear. Did he also mention the hot springs? The shower? My face must be the color of a ripe raspberry.
"Relaxation is important," Dorian says smoothly, fishing. "Especially the kind that leaves you glowing."
"I—we—it was very professional," I stammer, then immediately realize how guilty that sounds.
Cole's eyebrow raises. "Professional relaxation. Sounds intense."
"Quick, let's get Elena a drink before she combusts," James laughs.
I grab the raspberry ale Dorian slides my way, taking a long gulp so I have time to collect myself.
"By the way," James continues, "we just discovered fascinating ancestral connections. Dorian's grandfather opened the first French bakery in Lakeview. Cole's grandfather used to be a regular."
"Seriously?" I set my drink down. "I had no idea you had ties to Lakeview." I look at Dorian. "Small world."
"Small town," Cole corrects, his deep voice close to my ear, sending thrills down my spine. "Lakeview has a way of weaving threads."
"Speaking of weaving," Dorian chimes in, "did you tell Elena about the pretzel dough incident, James? The one where you nearly strangled yourself trying to get untangled?"
"Oh. My. God. Details!" I lean in toward James. "I thought you were an infallible baking Terminator!"
James grins sheepishly. "Picture this: I’m in the middle of an aesthetic bake-off, and somehow I end up with two feet of pretzel dough wrapped around me like some kind of gluten boa constrictor.
" He takes a sip of his beer. "The judge shows up just as I’m wrestling to free my right arm, takes one look at the disaster, and goes, ‘Delightfully avant-garde.’ Gives me first place on the spot!”
We laugh loud enough to turn a few heads.
The sound is still fading when Dorian chimes in.
"My first board meeting, I spilled coffee on a sixty-year-old board member's lap.
Then tried to mop it up with the quarterly report.
" He grimaces. "To make it worse, it was 'take your dog to work day', and I mistook his prize-winning poodle for a 'particularly hairy' footstool. "
This sends a fresh wave of laughter rolling through our group.
"Your turn, Cole," James prompts.
Cole sighs. "Last month, I extracted a terrified squirrel from a bakery vent."
"And?" James prods.
"It bit me," Cole deadpans. "Then had the audacity to steal a croissant on its way out."
We're practically howling, clutching our sides.
The pub grows even more crowded, the music louder. Someone orders another round, and someone else follows with shots. Time blurs as conversation flows from baking to family to ridiculous what-if scenarios.
"No," James insists, "If you only had three ingredients… it’d be flour, butter, and…"
"Sugar!" Dorian and I chime in unison. Our eyes meet, his pupils dilating. I look away, my pulse quickening.
"I'd eat whatever you make," Cole says, his gaze moving between James and me before settling on me a second too long. "You could probably make dirt taste good."
"Be that as it may," Dorian interjects, his voice soft but somehow commanding attention, "sugar is the pleasure. The indulgence. And a life without indulgence…" He lets the words trail off, his eyes locking with mine again.
My face is on fire. Okay, it seems even my increased medication is not one hundred percent effective against three radiating alphas. I take a long swig of my cherry ale, hoping to cool both my cheeks and the inappropriate thoughts quietly queuing up.
"Well, well, lookie here. The winners' table." Max Fleming, an alpha and fellow contestant sways toward us, eyes glassy. He drags a chair between me and Cole, scraping it across the floor before plopping down far too close.
"Fleming," James says coolly, his tone dropping several degrees. "Out celebrating third place?"
Max waves a dismissive hand. "Yeah, well, some of us weren’t lucky enough to be paired with an advantage." He jerks his chin toward me, then winks at James. "Must be real motivating, working so close with a pretty little thing like that."
The table’s warmth vanishes in an instant. James straightens, jaw tight. Dorian's expression goes cold. Cole doesn't move, but every line of his body sharpens, a low, warning growl rising from deep in his chest like thunder rumbling just before a storm breaks.
"Max," Dorian says evenly, "you're representing your team. Consider what impression you’re leaving."
Max startles slightly, finally registering Dorian's presence. "Mr. Beaumont! Didn't see you there." He puts on a clumsy veneer of respect. "My apologies, sir. Just offering congratulations to the winners."
But then his eyes slide back to me, greasy, lingering. "No harm in appreciating the… talent." His hand snakes under the table, landing hot and heavy on my thigh.
I go rigid, every nerve lighting up in icy shock.
Then everything happens at once.
James and Dorian both start to rise, but Cole is faster.
In a blur, he grabs Max by the hair and slams his face into the table with a brutal thunk.
The entire pub falls silent.
"That's enough." Cole's voice is low and deadly calm. "You're going to apologize to Ms. Avery. Then you're going to leave."
"I—I’m s-sorry," Max stammers, his voice muffled against the wood, blood starting to trickle from his nose. "M’sorry. Outta line."
Cole releases him and shoves him toward the door. Max scrambles away, stumbling over chairs in his haste to escape, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. Slowly, conversations resume around the pub, though now punctuated by whispers and sideways glances.
"Are you alright?" Cole asks, turning back to me immediately, his eyes scanning my face with protective concern.
"Yes," I manage, my voice a little shaky but steadying. "I’m fine. Thank you, Cole."
Dorian lets out a slow breath, sinking back into his chair. "That was impressive, Cole. You handled that with... efficiency."
"Yeah," James echoes, his tone laced with a touch of admiration. "Nice work, man."
Cole's gaze remains fixed on me, steady and reassuring. "Just did what had to be done."
Something settles in my chest as I look at these three men… They didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.
I drain the last of my beer and push back my chair, the sudden weight of the day catching up with me all at once. “Well. I think I’ve officially maxed out my excitement quota. I’m heading home, need to be rested for tomorrow.”
"Allow me to walk you home," Cole says immediately. "Just to be sure our little friend isn't lurking about."
"Thank you, Cole. I’d appreciate that."
James grins. "Sweet dreams, Elena."
Dorian rises and takes my hand, brushing his lips softly over my knuckles. “Sleep well,” he murmurs, his gray eyes lingering on mine.
* * *
The night air feels deliciously cool against my flushed skin as we step out of the warm, noisy pub. Above, the sky is a sweep of black velvet, dusted with an impossible number of stars. Lakeview at night always feels a little magical.
"You sure you’re okay?" Cole asks again, his deep voice a comforting rumble in the sudden quiet.
"Honestly? Yes." And surprisingly, I am. Maybe a little creeped out, but okay. "Thank you again, Cole. For stepping in back there. That was… impressive."
He shrugs, dismissing it easily. "He crossed a line. Someone had to put him back on the right side of it." There's a finality in his tone that brooks no argument.
"Still. You didn't have to—"
"Some things you do because you have to," Cole interrupts softly. "Others because you want to." The words hang between us, heavy with implication.
We start walking, falling into a comfortable silence. The only sounds are our footsteps echoing softly on the sidewalk and the distant chirp of crickets. I notice, with a little internal smile, that Cole has automatically adjusted his longer stride to match my pace.
"So," I say finally, breaking the companionable quiet. "You, James, and Dorian. Quite the unexpected bromance."
A low chuckle rumbles in Cole’s chest. "Yeah, surprised me too, if I'm being honest. Especially James."
"Oh? What did you expect from James?" I asked, curious.
"Pretty boy alpha. More style than substance," he admits. "Assumed he was all talk and fancy piping techniques. Turns out, he’s actually got the skills to back up the swagger. And he’s not entirely insufferable… when he’s not trying to impress someone."
I laugh. "High praise indeed! And Dorian?"
"Interesting guy," he says thoughtfully. "Carries a heavy legacy on his shoulders, but wears it with grace. Doesn’t talk down to people, and works harder than he needs to. For someone in his position, that says a lot." Cole glances over, studying me. "And he thinks highly of you."
My cheeks warm. "We barely know each other."
"Maybe. But I recognize how he looks at you." His voice stays casual, but there's something careful in it. "Same with James. You three have history?"
My steps falter. "What makes you think that?"
"Body language. How James watches. How Dorian's eyes follow you. How you tense." He turns. "I notice things, Elena. It's part of my job."
Heat climbs up my neck. "It's... complicated."
Cole says nothing, just gives a slight nod and keeps walking. I exhale, relieved he’s not pushing.
We turn onto Maple Avenue, the street quieter here, lined with sleeping houses and fragrant gardens. The night air carries jasmine and something distinctly Cole—muted, but still enough to make my pulse skip.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you laugh like you did tonight," I say after a while, looking up at him.
Something in his expression opens up, making him look more vulnerable. "Haven't had much reason to laugh until the festival. City work is different. More calls, less connection."
"You miss it here," I observe.
"Parts of it." His eyes meet mine, holding for a moment too long. "Though I'm finding new reasons to appreciate the visit."
We're walking closer now, our arms occasionally brushing. Each contact sends electricity through me that has nothing to do with thinning chemical buffers and everything to do with the man beside me.
"Left up here," I say, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
As we turn the corner, my foot catches on an uneven section of sidewalk. I stumble forward with a small cry of surprise. Cole's hand shoots out instantly, catching me by the waist. His palm is large and warm against me, fingers spanning nearly half my upper body.
"Careful," he murmurs, steadying me but not immediately letting go.
I should try to step away. I don't.
"Thanks," I whisper instead, turning my head to look at him.
Under the gleam of a streetlamp, I can see gold flecks in his hazel eyes.