“No,” he said, and the word came out with more heat than he intended—literal heat, smoke curling at the edges of his breath. “You cannot give her my number. You cannot set me up with your niece, your grandson, your second cousin twice removed, or anyone else in this town. I am not available. I am not interested. I am trying to work, and if one more person interrupts me to discuss my romantic prospects, I will?—”
He stopped.
Disappointment landed in his chest, cold and sharp, and it wasn’t his own.
Marina stood in the kitchen doorway, flour on her apron, her expression carefully neutral. But he could feel what she felt: the sharp sting of secondhand embarrassment, the protective surge toward her customers, the quiet anger at being put in this position. She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t said a word. That was worse than if she’d shouted.
The brownie’s lower lip trembled.
You absolute idiot.
“I apologize,” Alessandro said stiffly. “That was uncalled for.”
“Mrs. Thornberry,” Marina said, stepping forward with a grace that made his presence feel even more oafish, “why don’t you try one of the new honey cakes? On the house. I think you’ll love them.”
She guided the brownie away with gentle hands and a warmer smile than Alessandro had ever seen directed at him. Her fury pulsed through the bond—not the explosive kind, but the banked, patient kind. Worse.
He was in trouble.
The shop cleared within minutes. Whether that was coincidence or supernatural gossip moving at the speed of light, Alessandro couldn’t be sure. Marina flipped the CLOSED sign early, and he felt her decision like a door slamming shut.
“Outside,” she said. “Now.”
He followed her through the back door into the narrow alley behind the bakery. Salt air hit his face. Seagulls cried overhead, their calls mocking. Marina turned on him with fire in her eyes, fire that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the quiet woman he’d underestimated.
“Those people are my community.”
“I know.”
“They’re my neighbors. My friends. The people who kept this bakery alive after my grandmother died.” Her voice shook, just slightly, but he felt the earthquake beneath it. “Mrs. Thornberrybrought me soup every day for a month after the funeral. Mr. Callahan fixed my oven for free when it broke last winter. These aren’t just customers, Alessandro. They’re family.”
“I understand that.”
“Do you?” She stepped closer. He could smell flour and vanilla and underneath it, the salt-and-seaweed scent that was distinctly hers. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you think you’re too good for them. Too important. Too busy with your Manhattan contracts to treat people like human beings.”
He was Alessandro Draven. He’d been insulted by kings of hell and board members alike. A small-town baker’s opinion shouldn’t have registered at all.
But it did.
“I’m not…” He stopped. Tried again. “I’m not good at this. Small talk. Friendly conversation. People wanting to know things about me.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“I know it’s not.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding in both directions between them. “I know. I just… I’ve spent my entire life building walls, Marina. Keeping people at a distance. It’s how I survive.”
She was quiet. Her anger shifted, making room for something else. He recognized it: the particular look of one isolated person seeing another.
“You will be polite.” Her chin lifted. “Or you will be silent. Those are your options.”
“I’m not some trained pet…”
“No.” Her voice cut through his like a blade through butter. “You’re a guest in my home and my business. You eat my food. You sleep on my couch. You use my wifi to do whatever very important work you think is more valuable than basic human decency.” She crossed her arms, and he noticed for the first timethat her hands were trembling. This confrontation was costing her something. She was shy, deeply, genuinely shy, and she was doing it anyway. “Act like a guest. Or find somewhere else to stay.”
They both knew he couldn’t. The bond wouldn’t let him.
But that wasn’t why he nodded.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’ll do better.”
