Page 161 of Pack Plus One

“Perhaps a different station for you,” Liam suggests, steering Caleb toward the back. “Away from the small humans.”

“I like small humans,” Caleb mutters, looking genuinely wounded. “They’re just... loud.”

I pat his arm consolingly. “It’s not you, it’s your face.”

“That’s not better,” he growls.

The mariachi band chooses this moment to launch into an enthusiastic rendition of “La Bamba,” complete with coordinated hip swivels that draw applause from the café patrons.

Mason appears at my elbow, clipboard in hand. “We need to discuss inventory management,” he says, somehow making it sound like both a crisis and a perfectly reasonable observation. “At current consumption rates, you’ll exhaust your premium chocolate supply by—” he checks his watch, “—four PM.”

“That’s weirdly specific.”

He grins and shrugs.

“Have you considered a career in business management?” I grin back.

“I dabble.” Mason plants a kiss on my nose just as the bell jingles again. I look up to see Mrs. Finley making her entrance like a five-foot-nothing battleship, parting the crowd through sheer force of personality.

“Leah, dear!” she calls, waving a newspaper over her head. “You’ve made the morning edition!”

She pushes her way to the counter, cutting in front of three waiting customers.

“Look!” She slaps the paper down, jabbing a bony finger at a small article. “Local Business Beat section!”

I lean over, scanning the headline: “Sweet Omega Draws Crowds on Opening Day; Traditional Rival Struggles Across Street.”

“They’ve already written about us?” I ask, incredulous. “We’ve been open for three hours!”

“My niece’s husband’s cousin works for the paper,” Mrs. Finley says, as if that explains everything. “I might have made a call.”

“Oh, Mrs. Finley,” I laugh, scanning the article.

My laughter dies as I read the next paragraph: “Meanwhile, Alpha Bites, the traditional omega-focused bakery across the street, remained conspicuously empty during its simultaneous opening, with owner Eric Donovan refusing to comment on the apparent lack of interest in his concept.”

“Empty?” I repeat, something between guilt and vindication churning in my stomach.

“Like my Harold’s promises to fix the bathroom door,“ Mrs. Finley confirms with obvious satisfaction. “Not a soul.”

I glance out the window toward Alpha Bites. Through the sleek black awning and pristine windows, I can see Eric pacing, hands gesturing wildly as he berates his staff. Even from here, his frustrated scowl is visible.

“Don’t feel bad for him,” Jude says, reading my expression with unnerving accuracy. “He tried to sabotage you, remember?”

“I don’t feel bad,” I protest, though the churning in my stomach says otherwise. “It’s just…”

“Your compassion showing,“ Liam supplies, finally having dealt with the flour situation. “It’s one of your better qualities, though perhaps misplaced in this instance.”

Before I can respond, there’s a commotion at the door. The crowd parts to reveal Zoe.

“Make way for the conquest spoils!” she announces, striding toward the counter with the confidence of someone who’s been practicing this entrance in her bathroom mirror.

“What did you do?” I ask warily.

“Reconnaissance,” she says, setting the package on the counter with a dramatic flourish. “Open it.”

I tear away the paper to reveal a small silver trophy cup—the kind given out at elementary school field days—with a hastily engraved plaque reading “BEST BAKERY (BY DEFAULT).”

“Is this...?”

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