Page 122 of Bound

An older Bachman couple sits at a cafe table, each with a coffee.

We leave the gates and head out to the street. Cass’s bakery smells like butter, sugar, cinnamon, and happiness. She is behind the counter, dusted with flour.

Ryan sits on a stool eating something he was definitely not supposed to touch yet.

“Tell him to stop,” Cass says.

“Stop.”

Ryan takes another bite.

“I tried.”

Cass rolls her eyes.

Gregory emerges from the back carrying a tray. He has flour on his black sweater. Two Cass-sized handprints. On the back of his shoulders.

Lucian notices. I notice Lucian noticing.

Interesting, we both think.

Very interesting.

But also natural.

He makes her laugh. She keeps him in check. And he cares for Ryan in that way that makes a woman’s womb ache just watching them together.

“Cinnamon rolls.” Cass points at the tray. “My new recipe.”

Gregory sets down the tray. “Technically, I suggested the temperature adjustment.”

Cass looks at me. “He has become unbearable.”

“You asked for help.” Gregory smiles. “You said the croissants were uneven.”

“They were rustic.”

“They were burnt.”

“They were artisanal.”

I have to ask. “So. Gregory. You’re enjoying your time here⁠—”

Lucian leans toward me. “Do not meddle.”

“What?” I whisper back.

“You have the look.”

“I have many looks.”

“That one means matchmaker, and you know we don’t have a good past with those.”

Cass puts a pastry in my hand. “Eat.”

I bite. Butter, sugar, cinnamon, and gooeyness fill my mouth. “Oh, my God.”

She grins. “I know.”