Page 9 of Choosing the Rejected Mate

The words come too fast.Too practiced.My hand stills around the screwdriver, and Holly stiffens like she did not mean to say it.

I don’t look at her right away.A woman like Holly does not want pity.I know that with the same certainty I know I will need a new belt, replacement gears, and possibly divine intervention to keep this mixer alive through another rush.

“Then we won’t rely on Her,” I say.“I’ll make it work.”

Her silence is deafening.When I finally glance up, she’s staring at me like I have become a math problem that hurts her head.

“What?”I ask.

“You say things like that.”The words are soft but somehow still accusatory.

“Like what?”I feel my brows draw down.

“Reasonable things.”

“I can stop.”

“I would prefer it, yes.”

My mouth twitches.“Noted.”

She huffs and looks away, but there’s no hiding the pink that climbs up her neck.My wolf notices that too.He’s becoming a real problem.

I turn back to the mixer before I do something stupid, like tell her she’s beautiful when she already looks one compliment away from stabbing me with a whisk.

The front bell jingles again.Customers come and go.Her assistant, Maisie, moves around the bakery with easy competence, giving me curious looks every few minutes.She knows.Not everything, maybe, but enough.Humans underestimate themselves.They can’t smell a bond, but they know when the air changes.And the air around Holly and me is one lit match away from disaster.

I work in silence for a while, cleaning the gears, adjusting tension, replacing what I can with parts from my kit.It’s not perfect, not even close, but I have done more with less.

Story of my life.Useful Daniel.Fix-it Daniel.

Call him when something breaks, pay him, thank him, forget him.

It’s not the worst life.It’s steady.Simple.No pack politics.No Alpha breathing down my neck.No council of old wolves deciding my worth based on bloodline, bite strength, or who my father was.

I left that behind years ago.

I drift from town to town, fix what needs fixing, take cash or barter, and move on before anyone can decide I belong to them.Wolves are funny that way.They want family until family gets complicated.They want loyalty until loyalty costs them something.

I’m good with my hands.Good with tools.Good in a fight.Good at leaving.

That was until I stepped into a bakery, breathed in sugar and pain, and suddenly leaving feels impossible.

The mixer jerks under my hands when I test the switch.It gives a grinding groan, shudders, then starts spinning.Not smoothly or happily.But spinning.

From across the kitchen, Holly gasps, and the sound goes straight through me.

I stand, wiping my hands on a rag.“Temporary miracle.”

She rushes over, eyes bright in a way that punches right through my ribs.“You fixed it?”

“For today.”

She touches the mixer as if it were a beloved pet returned from war.“Oh, thank fuck.”

I laugh, and her eyes flick to mine.For one second, she smiles, really smiles.No suspicion.No armor.No sharp edges.Just Holly.Her mouth soft and eyes warm.Flour on her cheek and relief shining through every line of her face.

The bond slams into me so hard I almost step back.My wolf lunges.