Page 27 of Chasing Stripes (Enchanted Falls #3)

TWENTY-SEVEN

B artek’s tiger side rumbled with anticipation even as he maintained his scowl. The prospect of extended proximity to Artemis sent heat coursing through his veins.

“Fine,” he said, folding the letter and tucking it into his pocket. “I’ll speak with her today about establishing a schedule.”

The words emerged too quickly, his acquiescence too immediate. His friends exchanged knowing glances.

“Such sacrifice.” Haavi pressed a hand to his heart, expression solemn though his eyes sparkled with mirth. “How will you possibly endure spending hours developing flavor combinations with a woman whose scent makes your claws pop?”

“Professional courtesy,” Bartek insisted, ignoring the flutter in his chest. “Nothing more.”

“Professional,” Rust echoed. “Which must explain why you’ve memorized the exact scent profile of her hair—cinnamon, wild honey, and ‘just a trace of vanilla when she’s concentrating.’“

Bartek froze. “I never said that.”

“Three drinks in at poker night,” Artair corrected with infuriating precision. “Right after you mentioned how she hums an old fae lullaby when working with dough and how her left ear has a more pronounced point than her right.”

Heat crept up Bartek’s neck as he realized how closely he’d been observing her—far more intimately than a passing business acquaintance would notice.

“You learned all this during your one-minute flour disaster?” Rust asked, one eyebrow arched elegantly.

Haavi burst into laughter. “He’s been watching her through the windows. And don’t forget the nightly ‘security patrols’ past her apartment above the bakery.”

Bartek gripped the edge of the bar, forcing himself not to react to their needling. The truth was both embarrassing and undeniable—he’d been orbiting Artemis Blu like a planet circling its sun since the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

“By the way,” Haavi added with deliberate casualness, “Mimi called this morning. She’s been talking to your mother about the ‘bakery girl.’ They’re planning something.”

Cold dread replaced embarrassment in an instant. His sister and mother conspiring meant trouble of the highest order.

“I need to finish inventory,” Bartek said, the dismissal clear in his tone.

His friends took the hint, rising from their seats with varying degrees of amusement.

“Don’t forget guys’ night tonight,” Rust reminded him. “Your turn to host.”

“And don’t rush over to tell her about the council directive the minute we leave,” Haavi added with a wink. “That might seem eager.”

Bartek’s growl followed them out the door, accompanied by their poorly suppressed laughter.

The moment they disappeared from view, he pulled out his phone. A text to Artemis would be the professional courtesy, after all. Nothing more.

The sun had climbed higher as Bartek paced outside Honeycrisp Bakery, precisely thirteen minutes before their agreed meeting time. He’d messaged Artemis about the council directive, receiving a polite but brief response that they could discuss it after her morning rush.

Now he stood on the sidewalk, debating whether arriving early would seem overeager or merely professionally prudent. He ran a hand through his hair, then immediately regretted messing up the styling he’d spent an uncharacteristic amount of time on that morning.

His gaze caught on his reflection in a storefront window. Dark jeans, boots, and the forest-green Henley that Mimi insisted brought out his eyes. Pure coincidence he’d chosen it today. Definitely not because green happened to be Artemis’s favorite color, according to the offhand comment she’d made to a customer yesterday—which he’d overheard only because shifter hearing was naturally acute, not because he’d been specifically tuned to her voice.

A movement in his peripheral vision disrupted his thoughts. A tall man in an immaculate dark suit lingered across the street, watching the bakery with calculated intensity. Something about his stance—the deliberate stillness, the predatory focus—triggered Bartek’s protective instincts.

Perfect. A legitimate security concern gave him the excuse he needed to enter early.

The bell chimed softly as he pushed open the bakery door. Inside, the scent of fresh pastries mingled with Artemis’s distinctive fragrance, creating a heady combination that momentarily staggered him. Beneath the expected notes of cinnamon and vanilla lay something sweeter, warmer—a hint of arousal that his tiger immediately recognized.

She desired him too.

Artemis emerged from the kitchen, flour dusting one cheek and her golden hair escaping its bun in wispy tendrils. At the sight of him, her eyes widened—hazel shifting toward emerald with flecks of gold. Her pulse jumped, the quickening audible to his sensitive ears.

Every light in the bakery surged brightly, then dimmed.

“You’re early,” she said, her voice carrying a melodious lilt that tightened something in his chest.