"Isn't it?" She crosses her arms, the gesture pulling her blazer taut across her chest. "You waltz in here acting like we're all beneath you, like our work doesn't matter because it's not investigating corruption in the capital. Well, here's a reality check—this is my paper, these are my people, and I won't let you destroy what we've built because you can't handle being demoted to festival coverage."
The heat in her voice, the fierce protectiveness she radiates when talking about her staff and her town—it transforms her from the controlled editor into something far more dangerous. Far more appealing.
I drag a hand through my hair, buying myself a moment to think. "Fine. You want me to write about autumn décor? I'll write about autumn décor."
"Good." But she doesn't look satisfied by my capitulation. If anything, she looks more suspicious.
"Anything else, boss?" The word drips with just enough sarcasm to make her jaw tighten.
"Just remember why you're here."
I turn toward the door, my hand already reaching for the handle. "Trust me, I'm not likely to forget."
The main office feels almost peaceful after the tension of her private space. Jamie looks up from his desk with a questioning expression, but I ignore him, focusing instead on the stack of papers someone's left on what I assume is my workspace.
She's just a pretty face with an annoying mouth, I tell myself. Another small-minded village editor who thinks she knows better than everyone else.
But as I settle into the unfamiliar chair and try to focus on the festival vendor applications scattered across the desk, I can't stop myself from glancing back toward her office door. Can't stop thinking about the way her composure cracked just enough to show the fire burning underneath.
CHAPTER 5
CALLA
The morning air promises another unseasonably warm day, and I find myself walking the familiar cobblestone path to The Golden Crust with less enthusiasm than usual. The yellow shutters gleam in the early sunlight, but even their cheerful brightness can't lift the weight that's settled in my chest since yesterday's confrontation.
The brass bell above the door chimes as I enter, and the familiar warmth of enchanted ovens wraps around me like an embrace. But something's missing from the usual symphony of scents—no lavender threading through the honey and yeast.
"Don't even ask." Maddie's voice carries from behind the counter before I can open my mouth. She emerges from the back room with flour dusting her apron and a rueful smile on her freckled face. "Still no lavender honey. Still no explanation from the supplier."
I settle onto my usual stool at the counter, the worn wood smooth beneath my hands. "How long has it been now?"
"Three days." She wipes hands on her apron, leaving white streaks across the blue fabric. "I sent another raven yesterday, but you know how these things go during festival season. Everyone's scrambling to fill orders."
The disappointment sits heavier than it should. Those scones have been part of my morning routine for two years now—a small ritual that starts each day with something beautiful and sweet before I dive into the controlled chaos of running the paper.
"I'm sorry, Cal. I know how much you love them."
"It's hardly your fault." I force a smile, though it feels brittle around the edges. "What else do you have that might satisfy a woman in desperate need of something with honey?"
Maddie's eyes brighten with the kind of mischievous gleam that usually means trouble. "Actually, I've been thinking this might be the perfect excuse to experiment. I've got some crystallized ginger that's been calling my name, and there's this elderflower syrup Liora brought by yesterday..."
"Elderflower and ginger scones?"
"Why not? Sometimes the best discoveries happen when you're forced off your usual path."
Before I can respond, the bell chimes again, and the entire atmosphere of the bakery shifts. Thornak fills the doorway, his imposing frame blocking the morning light for a moment before he steps inside. The weathered lines of his face soften as his gaze finds Maddie, and the transformation is immediate—like watching granite become warm earth.
"Morning, heart." His deep voice carries the rough affection of someone who saves his gentleness for one person alone.
Maddie's face lights up, making me both envious and grateful to witness. "Thorn! You're early today."
He crosses to her in three long strides, his calloused hands gentle as they frame her face. The kiss he presses to her forehead is brief but tender, the kind of casual intimacy that speaks of years together.
"Couldn't sleep." He releases her but doesn't step away, one hand remaining on her waist. "Thought I'd walk you to work before heading up to the northern plots."
But even as he speaks to his wife, I catch the tension in his shoulders, the way his free hand keeps clenching and unclenching at his side. Maddie notices it too—her baker's intuition for reading people as sharp as her nose for perfectly risen dough.
"You seem frustrated about something."
