Page 149 of Pack Plus One

All eyes turn to Caleb, who hasn’t agreed to my terms.

“Caleb?” I prompt.

He holds my gaze, something fierce and protective in his expression. “I won’t do anything to harm your business or reputation,” he says carefully. “That’s all I can promise.”

It’s not exactly what I asked for, but I know it’s the best I’m going to get from him. Alpha instincts run deep, especially when it comes to perceived threats to pack.

“Fine,” I concede. “Now, can we please focus on getting this place ready for the grand opening? Starting with these display cases that need moving.”

The next few hours pass in a flurry of activity. The pack works with surprising efficiency. Liam calculates the optimal placement for each piece of furniture, considering traffic flow and visual appeal. Mason creates a detailed inventory system for supplies and ingredients. Jude starts painting the walls the exact shade of yellow that, I have to admit, does seem to make the space feel warmer and more inviting.

And Caleb... Caleb does the heavy lifting, moving display cases and tables with alpha strength that, despite my best feminist principles, I find ridiculously attractive. The way his muscles flex under his t-shirt as he positions the vintage glass display case is nothing short of mesmerizing.

I catch myself staring more than once, and each time, he meets my gaze with a knowing smirk that sends heat flooding through me. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

By late afternoon, the bakery has been transformed. The failed wallpaper has been replaced with cheerful yellow paint. The display cases gleam in their new positions. The seating area looks inviting and cozy, with vintage chairs clustered around small tables.

“This is...” I trail off, tears welling up again as I take in the space. “Thank you. All of you.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Jude says, pulling out his phone. “We need to document this for the ‘gram. Transformation content is social media gold.”

I laugh, allowing him to position me in front of the main display case for a photo. As he snaps pictures, directing meto “look more baker-y” (whatever that means), I catch Caleb watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

“What?” I ask when Jude finally declares he has enough content for a week of posts.

Caleb shakes his head slightly. “Nothing. Just... you look happy.”

“I am,” I realize, somewhat surprised by the truth of it. Despite Eric’s appearance and the threat to my business, I feel... okay. More than okay. “It’s hard not to be, with all of you here.”

Something shifts in Caleb’s expression, a softening around the eyes that makes him look younger, more vulnerable. “Good,” he says simply.

We finish the day’s work as the sun begins to set, casting golden light through the large front windows. The bakery—my bakery—is finally starting to look like the vision I’ve carried in my head for years.

“Dinner at the pack house?” Jude suggests as we lock up. “I’m thinking pasta. Carbs are critical after manual labor. It’s science.”

“It’s really not,” Liam murmurs, shaking his head, but he doesn’t disagree with the dinner invitation.

I hesitate, glancing across the street at Alpha Bites. The lights are still on, silhouettes moving behind the windows as Eric’s team continues their preparations. A knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach at the sight.

Caleb follows my gaze, his expression hardening. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “Don’t let him live in your head rent-free.”

“Easier said than done,” I reply.

“I know.” His hand finds the small of my back, a warm, steady pressure. “But you’re not facing him alone anymore.”

The simple truth of that statement washes over me. I’m not alone.

It’s terrifying. And wonderful.

“Pasta sounds good,” I say finally, turning away from Alpha Bites and toward my pack. “But I need to shower first. I’m pretty sure I have wallpaper glue in places wallpaper glue should never be.”

“I could help with that,” Jude offers with exaggerated innocence. “I’mverythorough.”

“I bet you are,” I laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly.

“My shower has excellent water pressure,” Caleb mentions casually. “And plenty of room.”

The implication sends heat curling through my belly.