Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
I nodded toward the kitchen. “I saw a jar in the fridge yesterday. Might’ve been her starter, though it’s probably been in there too long.”
Rowan lit up like I’d handed her a treasure. “I bet I can revive it. It’s probably just dormant, not dead. I’ll try feeding it for a few days if it still smells okay.”
Her hopeful look hit me right in the chest. “I didn’t smell anything bad in the fridge. And my nose is exceptionally good.”
She laughed softly, her eyes beaming at me.
“But if that one’s past saving, I know she shared her starter with a few people in town,” I added. “They’d be happy to give you some.”
Rowan bit her lip, excitement flickering through the bond. “Maybe I could open a bakery. I’ve always wanted one.”
“You should.” I loved the idea of my mate doing what she’d dreamed about. “As long as you don’t focus on pies, Timber Ridge will line up around the block for you. That’s what the one already in town specializes in.”
She flushed, and I couldn’t stop myself from brushing my knuckles along her cheek.
“You could even partner with Timber’s Treasures. As long as Larken is good with it.”
“Larken?” she asked curiously.
“Our pastry chef.”
Rowan laughed, a delighted sound that eased everything inside me. “No worries there. I’m obsessed with bread. Not pies or sweets.”
I grinned and slid my thumb along her cheekbone, savoring how she leaned into my touch. “Perfect.”
Standing in her grandmother’s cottage with winter light spilling across her skin, the scent of my mark on her, and her bakery dreams taking root, I felt the future settle firmly into place.
EPILOGUE
ROWAN
The morning of my bakery’s grand opening dawned crisp and bright. Inside Eleanor’s Hearth, the air smelled like warm sourdough—comfort wrapped in every breath I took.
I stood behind the counter, smoothing my apron over the bump beneath it, and let myself enjoy the moment. The bakery was ready to serve my first customers.
Bexley’s house in town had been gutted and completely redone over the past six months. Fresh drywall had been painted a buttery yellow, wide plank floors had been installed, and new shelves lined with jars of honey and spices had been added to the wall opposite the big front window that let in every scrap of sunlight. Grandma’s sourdough starter bubbled happily in its Mason jar on the back counter, revived and thriving like it had been waiting for me to come home and wake it up.
It had only been six months since I’d stepped into Timber Ridge, intending to sell the cottage and leave. Then Bexley had walked out of his kitchen, gruff and intense, and turned my entire world upside down with one brush of his fingers.
I’d learned Timber Ridge’s rhythms during the renovations and found unexpected family in the people who’d welcomed me like I’d always belonged. Although Bexley’s parents lived in Alaska and mine still weren’t a part of my life, our child would have plenty of honorary grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.
I smoothed a hand over my stomach again and smiled at the tiny flutter that answered. Bexley still got this awed look every time he felt our cub move, like he couldn’t quite believe fate had given him this miracle. I understood because I felt the same.
The bell above the door jingled, and my stomach flipped with nerves. I’d spent weeks perfecting the menu filled with sourdough loaves, cinnamon rolls, and maple-pecan scones. I worried that nobody would come to the opening, though. Or that they’d hate my food.
But my nerves settled when Bexley stepped inside, wearing the “Eleanor’s Hearth” baseball cap he had specially ordered for the occasion.
“Line goes around the block, baby,” he announced as he crossed the room in three long strides.
My heart did a happy little somersault. “You’re kidding.”
He wrapped an arm around my waist from behind, pulling me back against his chest. “Nope. Half the town’s out there. Larken’s already teasing she’s gonna have to up her pastry game.”
I laughed, leaning into him. “She brought me rosemary and thyme this morning. Said it’s for good luck and great bread.”
Bexley pressed a kiss to my temple. “She’s not wrong.”
A small flutter moved under my palm again, and Bexley’s big hand covered mine instantly, splaying wide and protective. His voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “Our cub’s awake early today.”
Tears pricked my eyes. Happy ones. “I think she knows it’s a big day.”
He nuzzled my hair. “Or he. And yeah, baby. He knows.”
The bell jingled again, and I straightened, smoothing my apron one last time. Bexley gave my waist a gentle squeeze before stepping back.
“You’ve got this, Rowan. Eleanor would be so damn proud.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. Then I looked up at my first customers and smiled.
The crowd cheered like I’d done something miraculous instead of just opening a bakery. People streamed inside, filling the space.