Chapter 137: First Rule of Sourdough

NORA’S POV

My thumb hovered over the screen of my phone. On the open Instagram thread, Madison Carter’s name sat illuminated in white text beneath her profile picture.

"Put it on speaker," Knox murmured in a low voice.

I tapped the small phone icon in the top right corner. The ringing tone echoed through the silent living room of the SinBin, bouncing off the exposed wooden beams.

Jake and Bear leaned over the kitchen counter, tense with anticipation, while Priya folded her arms and watched the screen closely.

After two rings, the line clicked open.

"Hello? Nora?" Madison’s voice came through the speaker.

"Hey, Madison, I’m here," I replied, tightening my grip on the phone. "I have Knox, Jake, and Priya in the room with me. Is this a good time?"

"Yeah, it’s fine; I’m sitting in the hallway study alcove," Madison said, letting out a sharp sigh. "Chloe is inside our room packing a bag like she’s the victim of some grand tragedy. Did you see what she posted?"

"We saw it," Knox answered. "She’s claiming we ambushed and intimidated her outside Room 214."

Madison snorted in disgust. "It’s complete garbage, Knox. She deleted the story ten minutes ago because at least four girls on our floor immediately replied asking why she was lying."

Relief swept through my chest, loosening the tight knot between my ribs.

"She started freaking out the second you guys walked away," Madison continued. "I was sitting right on my bed when she slammed the door shut and threw the deadbolt."

"She didn’t look like an intimidation victim at all," Madison added with a dry laugh. "She looked completely terrified that she’d been caught."

"Did she say anything after we left?" Jake asked, leaning closer to the phone.

"Oh, she did more than talk," Madison said, and I could hear the grim satisfaction in her voice. "The second the lock clicked, she called someone on FaceTime in a full meltdown, pacing the room. I started a voice memo on my phone because she was screaming so loud I thought the floor would shake."

My heart skipped a beat. "You recorded her?"

"A forty-second audio clip," Madison confirmed.

"You can hear her shrieking into the phone: I screwed up... I mentioned Knox’s bedroom nightstand and Priya is pulling the router logs! What am I supposed to do?" Madison explained. "Then she hung up, and five minutes later, she cooked up that fake victim story on Instagram to cover her own ass."

Bear let out a low whistle from the counter. Jake closed his eyes and blew out a long breath of pure relief.

"Madison, that’s everything," I said, my voice trembling slightly with gratitude. "Would you be willing to share that with Dean Hastings or Athletic Director Pierce on Monday?"

"In a heartbeat," Madison replied without hesitation. "Chloe has treated everyone in our hall like her personal stepping stones all semester. I’m sick of her drama, and I’m not letting her frame Knox to save her own skin."

"We appreciate you doing this, Madison," Knox said sincerely. "It means a lot to both of us."

"Don’t mention it... you two have dealt with enough garbage this week," Madison said softly. "I’ll see you Monday morning outside Pierce’s office, so just text me the time."

"I will. Thank you so much," I said.

The call ended with a soft tone, leaving the room blanketed in silence.

Bear slapped his broad palm against the kitchen counter with a loud crack. "Boom... game, set, match! That little viper is completely cooked!"

"She has no leverage left," Jake said, shaking his head with a wide grin. "A direct audio recording of her admitting knowledge of Knox’s nightstand destroys any claim of innocence. Pierce will dismiss the intimidation nonsense in two seconds."

Priya tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, leaning back against the sofa. "Well, that takes care of our Monday crisis. Which means we can finally focus on what actually matters."

As if on cue, my phone gave a double chime in my palm. A banner notification popped up from my email app, displaying the official header: Tri-County Baking Showcase Committee.

My breath caught in my throat. "It’s the showcase confirmation."

Knox immediately shifted closer, his arm resting warm against the back of my neck as I tapped the email open.

Dear Sugar & Spice Bakery (Wildcard Entrant #14), the message read. Your registration for the Tri-County Winter Baking Showcase is officially confirmed. As a wildcard entry, your technical centerpiece concept, ingredient ledger, and test-bake portfolio photos must be submitted to the portal before Sunday at 11:59 PM.

"Sunday midnight," I whispered, reading the deadline aloud. "That’s tomorrow night. I have less than thirty hours to test-bake a full four-tier showcase concept."

"What’s the signature centerpiece?" Bear asked, his eyes lighting up with genuine curiosity.

"A honey-glazed sourdough brioche crown," I told them. "I’m using my dad’s thirty-year starter with a spiced almond frangipane filling. But brioche dough requires two distinct proofing cycles and an industrial oven that can maintain even convection heat."

I looked around the SinBin kitchen. The residential stove was fine for Bear’s massive pancake breakfasts, but it couldn’t handle four simultaneous brioche crowns without uneven hot spots.

"My dorm room toaster oven definitely won’t cut it," I murmured, chewing on my lower lip.

"What about the communal kitchen on the ground floor of North Hall?" Priya suggested, raising an eyebrow. "The one you used for the charity bake sale back in October? It has two commercial convection ovens and three stainless steel prep tables."

"That’s perfect," I said, hope blooming in my chest. "The space is huge, and nobody ever uses it on a Saturday night."

Priya grinned, picking up her coat from the armchair. "And it conveniently gets me back to my own desk so I can finish my torts outline without listening to hockey debates all evening."

"Hold on before you head out," Bear said, waving a hand as he disappeared into the SinBin walk-in pantry.

A moment later, he emerged carrying two bags of King Arthur unbleached bread flour and several blocks of imported golden European butter.

"Team pantry supplies," Bear announced proudly, setting the ingredients on the island. "We buy in bulk for post-game carb loading."

"You need quality flour with high protein content for laminated brioche, right?" Bear added. "Take whatever you want."

"Bear, this is fifty pounds of premium flour," I laughed, touched by his generosity. "Are you sure?"

"If it helps Sugar & Spice kick ass at that showcase, you take the whole pantry," Bear insisted with a wide grin.

Knox stood up from the sofa, reaching for his truck keys on the side table.

"Let’s get moving, Bennett," Knox said, looking down at me with calm resolve. "I’m driving you to North Hall, and I’m helping you bake."

I blinked up at him, warmth fluttering through my ribs. "Knox, you’ve had an exhausting week. You don’t have to spend your Saturday night kneading dough in a dorm kitchen."

Knox stepped toward me, closing the distance until I had to tilt my chin to meet his steady gray gaze. "I’m not letting you haul fifty pounds of baking supplies across campus alone," Knox murmured, his voice dipping into that quiet, intimate register meant only for me. "And I have zero intention of spending Saturday night anywhere except right beside you."

A flutter of heat rushed to my cheeks. "You don’t even know how to laminate dough."

"Then teach me," Knox said softly, reaching down to lace his warm fingers through mine. "I’m a fast learner."

—

Knox’s truck rumbled across campus through the deepening twilight; a cool November wind blew golden leaves across the asphalt, while the heater hummed pleasantly inside the warm cabin.

Priya sat in the back seat, already scrolling through case law on her tablet, while Knox kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting warm over my knee.

When we pulled up to the front entrance of North Hall, several groups of students hanging out near the brick steps turned to look.

A collective murmur rippled through the porch as Knox stepped out of the driver’s side.

He didn’t pay any attention to the curious glances. He simply walked to the truck bed, hoisted the fifty-pound flour sack effortlessly onto his broad shoulder with one arm, and grabbed the insulated crate of European butter blocks with the other.

Watching him carry fifty pounds of flour with athletic ease sent a shiver down my spine.

Priya climbed out of the back seat, adjusting her backpack. "I’m heading up to the third floor before I get drafted into manual labor."

"Wait for me," I told Priya, turning back to Knox. "I need to grab my starter jar from the mini-fridge, along with my digital scale and mixing bowls."

"Go ahead," Knox said, nodding toward the entrance. "I’ll get the kitchen lights on and wipe down the stainless tables."

I followed Priya up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time to the third floor.

Inside Room 304, I pulled the mason jar of my dad’s sourdough starter from my mini-fridge. I grabbed my scale and bench scraper, then hurried back downstairs.

Down in the kitchen, Knox had already turned on the lights, making the stainless prep counters and commercial ovens gleam.

He had set the flour sack onto the central prep table, rolling his broad shoulders as he wiped the surface clean with paper towels.

"Delivery arrived safely," I said, setting my scale and tools on the counter.

I set the mason jar of sourdough starter next to the scale. Cool to the touch from the fridge, the thick starter rested dormant, smelling faintly of wild yeast.

"First rule of sourdough," I explained, looking up at Knox with a smile. "You can’t bake with a sleeping starter."

"Dad’s starter has been resting in my fridge all week," I added. "We have to feed it equal parts warm water and fresh flour right now so it wakes up and starts bubbling while we prep the butter."

"Where do we start, Boss?" Knox asked, stepping around the island with a faint gleam of humor in his gray eyes.

A clean navy baker’s apron was folded on the table. Before I could reach for it, Knox shook the fabric open.

"Turn around," Knox instructed softly.

I turned my back to him, smiling as he slipped the loop over my head.

Knox stepped closer, his broad chest lightly pressing against my back as his hands came around my waist to gather the long fabric ties.

The heat radiating from his body soaked through my sweater, sending an electric awareness along my skin. His fingers worked slowly, brushing against the curve of my hips as he gathered the straps behind my lower back.

He pulled the ties snug, securing them in a neat knot right at the small of my back.

Knox didn’t step away immediately. He leaned down, his warm breath brushing against the sensitive skin beneath my ear. "Show me how it’s done, Bookworm," Knox murmured, sending a shiver of anticipation straight down to my toes as I turned around to face my captain.