Page 91 of Knotted By my Pack

I carry her to the back, pushing open the half-hinged door and setting her on the low prep counter. She tries to slide off.

“Don’t,” I say. “Just let us help.”

Elias crouches in front of her while I tear into the antiseptic wipes and bandages. The cut’s long but not deep, a thin line of red slicing across the arch of her foot.

Glass glints just under the skin. She flinches when Elias gently presses near it.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“I’m fine,” she says.

“You’re not,” I counter, keeping my tone steady while my chest goes tight watching her grit her teeth. “It’s okay not to be.”

Elias nods in agreement as he sterilizes the tweezers. “This wasn’t just some random act of vandalism. Whoever did this wanted to send a message. But that doesn’t mean we can’t fix it.”

She swallows, then nods as Elias carefully pulls out the shard. I hold her hand and keep her eyes on me while Elias wraps her foot. She’s quiet now. Too quiet.

When it’s done, she thanks us and swings her legs over the side. “Who would do this?” she asks again, her voice brittle and raw.

I exhale through my nose. “I don’t know. Not yet.”

The words stick. I do know. But I won’t say it. Not now. Not while her fingers are cold and her eyes keep searching the corners of the ruined bakery like she’s hoping this is some kind of nightmare she’ll blink out of. Not when she’s already decided Julian’s words were true.

We step back into the front of the shop, and the air changes. More people have shown up.

Mr. Alden brings plywood. Two of the high schoolers from the volunteer program are sweeping glass. Fiona’s already set up a cooler with water bottles and wipes.

Cora watches them, stunned. “Why would they?—”

“Because this is Whisked,” I tell her. “And this is your place.”

People don’t just come to her for cupcakes. They come to her because she remembers birthdays without needing a calendar, because she keeps extra dog treats by the register for strays.

She’s the kind of woman who makes a whole town feel like family.

We join in. Elias takes over organizing the shelves that didn’t collapse. I help reframe the front window. We replace the sign,board up the cracks, and clean the scorch marks from the left side of the door.

It takes all day, but by evening, the place looks less like a crime scene and more like a place waiting to breathe again.

Elias claps his hands together, brushing off dust. “I should check on Rusty. He hasn’t been walked all day.”

Cora leans in and hugs him tight.

He kisses her temple, lingering. “You did good, babe. Keep me updated, alright?”

“I will,” she says, her voice still rough.

He gives me a nod before heading out. When the door shuts behind him, the silence between us stretches. She wipes at a speck of dirt on her apron, then turns and starts rearranging the display tray that has nothing in it.

“You’ve done enough,” I say gently, stepping closer. “You can do the rest tomorrow.”

She doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t meet my eyes. “There’s just so much to clean. I have to redo the menus, and the frosting station is ruined. The espresso machine?—”

“Cora.” I touch her wrist, just enough pressure to stop her. “Grace said she brought chili earlier. Did you eat?”

She finally looks at me. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“That’s enough. You’re done for tonight.”