Page 10 of Chasing Stripes

Thornwood politely pretended not to notice. “No problem at all. These things happen.”

Haavi materialized with paper towels, his expression neutral save for the telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll clean that up, boss.”

Through sheer force of will, Bartek reclaimed his focus. The rest of the meeting proceeded without incident, though every fiber of his being remained agonizingly aware of the bakery across the street. By some miracle, he managed to concentrate enough to select several spirits for Tooth & Claw’s inaugural menu.

After Thornwood departed with a signed purchase order, Haavi sidled up to Bartek, arms crossed and eyes dancing with suppressed mirth.

“So,” Haavi drawled, “should we discuss the elephant in the room, or would you prefer I ignore the fact that you nearly shifted because someone baked cinnamon rolls this morning?”

“Nothing happened,” Bartek growled through clenched teeth.

“Nothing? You nearly broke a four-hundred-dollar water glass with your bare hand.” Haavi leaned against the bar. “I’ve known you fifteen years and never seen you this off-balance. Guess we found your kryptonite in that bakery across the street, huh?”

A rumbling growl vibrated from deep in Bartek’s chest—a sound that would have sent most beings backing away rapidly. Haavi, however, merely grinned wider.

“Your eyes are doing that glowy thing again,” he pointed out helpfully. “And I think I see the tips of fangs. Very intimidating. The delivery guys will be terrified.”

Bartek exhaled slowly, wrestling his tiger back under control. “Don’t you have something productive to do?”

“More productive than watching the mighty alpha tiger get flustered over a pretty fae baker? Not really.” Haavi’s expression softened slightly. “Though if you’re genuinely upset, I can drop it.”

The offer, sincere despite the teasing, reminded Bartek why Haavi was his most trusted ally. Behind the jokes lay true loyalty.

“I’m not upset,” Bartek conceded reluctantly. “I’m... concerned.”

“About?”

“This reaction. It’s...” He searched for the right word. “Unprecedented.”

Haavi’s eyebrows rose. “Unprecedented like ‘I’ve never found a woman attractive before’ or unprecedented like ‘my tiger has never tried to take control in public before’?”

“The latter.” Bartek ran a hand through his hair, disheveling the dirty blond strands. “It makes no sense. I don’t even know her.”

“Maybe you don’t need to.” Haavi’s voice turned serious. “You know the old tales about recognition.”

NINE

Bartek stiffened. Recognition—the near-mythical phenomenon where shifters instantly identified their true mates through scent or sight. Most modern shifters dismissed such stories as romantic nonsense, but ancient clans still whispered of rare pairs so perfectly matched that their beasts recognized each other on a primal level beyond choice or reason.

“That’s childish superstition,” Bartek said firmly. “Bedtime stories for cubs.”

“Is it?” Haavi’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Mimi swears she knew the moment she met me. Said her fox recognized me before her human side had processed my name.”

“My sister also believes in birthday wish magic and refuses to step on sidewalk cracks.”

“And yet she’s happily mated with two beautiful daughters.” Haavi shrugged. “Sometimes the old ways contain more truth than we modern, sophisticated shifters like to admit.”

Before Bartek could formulate a suitably dismissive response, his phone chimed with a message. He glanced at the screen, grateful for the interruption.

“The contractor needs approval on the final security system settings,” he said, pocketing the device. “I’ll handle it.”

“Running away to hide in technical details?” Haavi’s tone remained light. “Very alpha of you.”

“I’m not running,” Bartek retorted, already moving toward the back office. “I’m delegating. You stay here and finish the front setup.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, boss!” Haavi called after him. “Though from the look of that reaction, sleep might be hard to come by with a certain baker on your mind!”

Bartek shut the office door firmly behind him, cutting off Haavi’s laughter. The small space offered refuge, its walls adorned with tiger-themed artwork and framed photographs of pride gatherings. A large map of the Western Mountain Tigris territory hung behind his desk, marked with boundary lines and resource notations.

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