Page 3 of Lycans & Lattes

I tried not to focus on him or the push and pull between us, but I never felt in control of my emotions when it came to him. I couldn’t keep feeling like this anymore. Something had to give. We either needed to get closer or much further apart . . . and I had a terrible feeling it would have to be the latter.

I turned back to Billy, whose eyebrows had practically lifted into his jagged black hairline.

“What?” I snapped.

“Nothing,” he answered in a mocking way that told me he was holding his tongue.

I let out a disgruntled groan and threw a dish towel over my shoulder. “I’ll go deal with the tables.” I jutted my chin at the gathering crowd of new patrons who were clearly waiting to ask for a photo. “Your audience awaits.”

2

Wyatt

Moonlight filtered through the stained-glass windows of the old brownstone bakery. I took a deep inhale of the sourdough, sugar, and butter smell, then let it out slowly. I loved the Full Moon Bakery, the cinnamon and sweetness, the metallic tang of cooling ovens, and even the smell of the disinfectant drying on the freshly mopped floors.

All the bread had been racked for cooling, and the daily orders were nestled safely in their boxes, awaiting our rounds.

It would be a miracle if I got to sleep by noon.

I could’ve used the very expensive stand mixer I’d bought last year to cut the time down, but I needed to get a little bit of aggression out tonight. The full moon was days away, and I was more agitated than usual. The demon sigil branded on my collarbone was barely suppressing my monthly shift, and it was getting more difficult to remain whole. Especially after that encounter at the Witch’s Brew.

My muscles tightened. Another alarm was going off in my primal consciousness, and there was no way of relieving it. Not in the way I needed to. I took another deep breath, calming whatever nerves I still had control over.

“What am I doing?” I groaned into the empty kitchen.

Since the day Willow and I had met, I’d promise myself that it would be the last day she didn’t know. I’ll tell her tomorrow, I’d think. Always tomorrow. Then I’d finally confess how desperately I needed her. And the next day would end with me chickening out—again.

For years.

If only I were just the local baker and Willow were just the local café owner. Simple. Maybe we could’ve lived in this little daydream for a while longer.

But we were running out of time.

And like overly proofed dough after it came out of the oven, the walls were going to cave in at any moment.

When the front door creaked open, I spun around with a snarl.

“Put your teeth away. You sound as ruthless as a Pomeranian,” a familiar voice said with a tsk. “Not at all how a pack leader should greet an intruder.”

I rolled my eyes. “Hello, Mother,” I replied tightly. “Take that as your monthly reminder that I am not the pack leader.”

“And by the moon and all the stars, don’t I know it,” she shot back.

I should’ve known better than to spar with my mother this close to the full moon. She was more formidable in verbal combat than anyone else in the pack.

My mother’s silhouette was framed in the doorway, backlit by the golden glow of the streetlamp. As always, she exuded werewolf royalty. She wore a fur stole over a heavy velvet dress and had painted her lips bloodred. I didn’t bother asking if she’d just come from some extravagant gala or charity auction in the city. She always dressed like she was the next Hollywood starlet and demanded the same regard.

I took off my apron with a sigh and threw it onto the flour-dusted countertop. Whatever she’d come for was going to demand all of my focus and restraint.

“Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind, or should I let you berate me for a bit longer?”

She laughed, flashing her ever-so-slightly elongated canines. “What has your hackles up this evening?” She batted her lashes, feigning innocence. “Can’t a mother come to check on her two children? I haven’t seen your sister in a couple of days.”

“Eloise is out with friends,” I supplied, swiping my hair off my forehead in an act I knew would displease her. She hated how long my hair was. And by my mother’s souring expression, my rebellion was noted.

Her eyes scoured the glass counter, probably looking for smudges. “It’s good she’s reconnecting with her pack after being gone for so long.”

“She was only in college for four years,” I muttered. “And she still came home for all the major holidays and summers. She wasn’t lost at sea.”