"Not at all. Just different." His expression turned thoughtful. "Garrett said you were guarded. He didn't mention you were..."
He trailed off, and I raised an eyebrow. "Was what?"
"Short," he finished, grinning. "I mean, not short-short, but the way he talked, I expected someone seven feet tall and made of thorns."
A surprised laugh escaped before I could stop it, and Levi's grin widened like he'd won something. "There we go. See? Not so scary."
"I never claimed to be scary," I muttered, but I could feel my defenses wavering slightly. There was something disarming about him—not in the intense, too-perceptive way Garrett had,but in a lighter, more playful manner that was harder to bristle at.
"No, but you're doing a pretty good impression of a porcupine right now." He tilted his head, studying me with open curiosity. "All prickled up and ready to run."
"I'm not running. I'm shopping." I told him defensively, though he really wasn’t wrong. I did have the urge to run the other way now I knew what pack he was a part of.
"Uh-huh." He glanced at my basket, which contained exactly three items. "Very decisive shopping. You've almost got a full basket there."
I narrowed my eyes at him, my lip curling up, "Are you always this annoying?"
"According to my pack? Yes." He seemed entirely unbothered by the accusation. "But I prefer to think of it as persistently charming."
"That's not what I'd call it." I muttered, but I knew by the look on his face he heard me.
"What would you call it?" He grinned, eyes bright as he kept talking to me.
"Pushy."I breathed out as I shook my head at the man…this Alpha before me.
He laughed, the sound genuine and warm. "Fair enough. Though in my defense, I'm not trying to push. I'm just making conversation with someone who ran into me. Literally."
"You ran into me." I glared, and he had even admitted to that a few moments ago.
"Pretty sure we ran into each other." He said teasingly. I knew he was just trying to get a reaction from me as I watched him shift his weight, somehow managing to look both relaxed and attentive. "But I'm willing to take full blame if it makes you feel better."
I didn't know what to do with him. Garrett had been intense, all careful attention and patient observation. Oliver had been direct, authoritative. But Levi was... playful. Like this was all a game he found genuinely entertaining, with no pressure for me to play along.
It should have been easier to dismiss. Instead, it was somehow more disarming.
"I need to finish my shopping," I said, trying to sound firm.
"Don't let me stop you." He stepped aside with an exaggerated gesture of courtesy. "Though if you need any recommendations on flour, I'm your guy. I've been trying to perfect my sourdough starter for months."
I paused despite myself. "You bake?"
"Trying to. Emphasis on trying." He grimaced. "So far I've produced approximately one edible loaf and seven hockey pucks. But I'm stubborn."
"Sourdough's tricky," I heard myself say. "The starter needs a consistent temperature and feeding schedule. Most people give up too soon."
His face lit up. "See, this is exactly the kind of advice I needed. Garrett mentioned you do fruit and vegetables but sometimes do preserves and baking for the market as well. Think you'd be willing to share any tips?"
I should have said no. Should have made an excuse and moved on. But there was something about his genuine enthusiasm, the way he'd admitted his failures without ego, that made me hesitate.
"The temperature is key," I said slowly. "Too cold and it won't ferment properly. Too hot and you'll kill the yeast. You want it somewhere around seventy-five degrees, consistent."
Levi pulled out his phone, actually taking notes. "Seventy-five degrees. Got it. And the feeding schedule?"
"Once a day if you're keeping it on the counter. Every few days if you store it in the fridge. Equal parts flour and water by weight, remove half the starter before feeding." I told him, reciting all the information by heart to him.
"By weight," he repeated, typing rapidly. "Okay, I've been measuring by volume. That might be my problem."
"It's definitely part of your problem." I found myself shifting my basket to my other hip, settling into the conversation despite my better judgment. "What kind of flour are you using?"
