Chapter 139: Say No More

NORA’S POV

The third-floor hallway of North Hall smelled like popcorn until Knox and I stepped off the stairs. The moment we turned the corner, the aroma of toasted almonds, caramelized clover honey, and wild sourdough trailing behind us took over the corridor.

Knox walked beside me, effortlessly balancing the wide wooden cutting board in his large hands.

Resting in the center was our masterpiece: a four-strand braided brioche crown, gleaming with an amber honey glaze under the lights.

"If someone tackles me for this pastry," Knox warned in a low rumble, "I’m legally allowed to body-check them into the exit door."

"Nobody is tackling you, Sheridan," I laughed softly, digging my key out of my coat pocket. "Although the girls downstairs looked ready to follow you like ducklings."

"I only bake for one girl," Knox replied without missing a beat, looking down at me with steady warmth.

Heat danced across my skin as I unlocked Room 304 and pushed the door open.

Inside, Priya was slumped over her desk beneath her lamp, surrounded by law textbooks and highlighters. Her sleek dark hair was twisted into a messy topknot, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

She didn’t even turn around at the sound of the door clicking shut.

"If that’s campus security telling me I can’t drink cold brew after ten," Priya mumbled, her highlighter squeaking against the paper, "tell them the Fourth Amendment protects my civil procedure survival."

"Priya," I called out gently. "Turn around."

Priya paused. Slowly, she turned in her swivel chair, her gaze landing on the golden brioche crown resting on the board in Knox’s hands.

Her jaw dropped. She pushed her glasses up onto her forehead, blinking in shock.

"What in the Michelin-star universe is that?" Priya gasped, rising from her desk like she was drawn by a magnet.

"Our wildcard centerpiece," I announced proudly, tossing my coat onto my unmade bed. "Honey-glazed sourdough brioche crown with spiced almond frangipane."

"It’s still warm," Knox added, setting the board down onto the clear corner of Priya’s desk.

Priya stared at the braided layers, the glossy mahogany crust, and the visible ribbons of spiced frangipane nestled inside the folds.

"Nora," Priya whispered, her voice dropping into a hush. "This looks like something a French pastry chef would charge sixty dollars for in Manhattan."

"Taste it before you start inflating her ego," Knox teased, leaning against the wardrobe with his arms crossed over his chest. "I already told her it’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten, and now she’s impossible to manage."

I rolled my eyes playfully, picking up the small serrated knife I had brought up from the kitchen. I sliced a warm, generous crescent from the side of the crown, catching the flakes on a clean paper napkin.

"Here," I said, handing the napkin to Priya. "Be brutally honest. The showcase judges won’t hold back, so you shouldn’t either."

Priya took the warm pastry, admiring the golden honeycomb pockets visible inside the airy crumb. She closed her eyes and took a large bite.

For five long seconds, the room went completely silent.

Priya stopped moving. Her eyes snapped open, wide and glossy with sudden drama. She slowly chewed, swallowed, and pressed both hands to her chest with a ragged exhale.

"I am officially withdrawing from law school," Priya declared deadpan. "I am dropping out, moving to Oakhaven, and working at Sugar and Spice for the rest of my natural life."

A burst of relieved laughter escaped my throat, the nervous tension in my shoulders melting away completely.

"Is the frangipane balanced?" I asked, leaning in eagerly. "Does the sourdough tang come through, or does the honey overpower it?"

"Nora, listen to me," Priya said, gripping my forearms. "The crumb is like a cloud, the almonds are toasted to perfection, and that wild sourdough gives it an edge that cuts right through the richness."

"If those Tri-County judges don’t give you a medal for this," Priya added, "I will personally file an antitrust lawsuit against the entire baking committee."

Knox let out a low chuckle from the corner. "Told you, Bennett."

I looked at the golden loaf, feeling a surge of pride swelling inside my chest.

My dad had taught me this sourdough recipe. Standing here with the two people who stood by me through the storm, I felt closer to him than ever.

"We have to shoot the portfolio photos right now," I said, clapping my hands together as my focus snapped into gear. "The wildcard submission portal requires five high-resolution shots."

"Say no more," Priya said, immediately shifting into creative director mode.

She grabbed her ring light from beside her vanity mirror, clamping it to the edge of the bookshelf. Then she cleared off my wooden dresser, wiping the dark oak surface clean.

"We use the natural wood grain of the dresser as our rustic background," Priya instructed, angling the light so it washed over the surface at a soft forty-five-degree angle. "Knox, grab that white poster board from behind the door. You’re our bounce reflector."

Knox raised an eyebrow at the cardboard, but he didn’t argue for a second.

He picked up the poster board, positioning his six-foot-three frame beside the dresser and angling the white surface to bounce light into the shadows of the pastry.

Seeing Briar’s hockey captain standing in our cramped dorm holding a poster board just to light a pastry made my heart squeeze with fondness.

"Angle it two inches higher, Sheridan," Priya ordered without looking up. "We’re losing the rim lighting on the braided crust."

"When did you find the time to study photography while studying law?" Knox asked with a smirk.

Priya raised an eyebrow, giving him a mock glare.

"Yes, ma’am," Knox muttered with an amused, mock-surrender look, shifting his grip.

I arranged the set, placing the gleaming brioche crown in the center of the wooden cutting board.

Beside it, I placed the small glass jar of Dad’s active sourdough starter, dusted the board with King Arthur flour, and scattered a few whole toasted almonds and raw honeycomb.

Then I wiped my phone lens and leaned over the setup.

The screen illuminated the frame. The amber honey glaze glowed under the ring light, the braided ridges looked crisp, and the deep mahogany crumb invited you to reach right through the glass.

I snapped the wide overhead shot, then moved in for the macro close-up of the delicate lamination layers.

Finally, I placed the sliced crescent on a ceramic saucer beside the main crown, capturing the airy honeycomb interior and the swirl of almond paste.

"Let me see," Priya demanded, leaning over my shoulder as Knox lowered the reflector board.

We swiped through the photos.

The colors were rich, warm, and utterly mouthwatering. The rustic wood, the dusting of flour, and the golden pastry looked like an editorial spread from a culinary magazine.

"Holy shit," Priya breathed, tapping the screen. "You look like a seasoned artisan baker, Nora. This is going to destroy the competition."

"It’s incredible," Knox said quietly, resting his hand against the small of my back. "Your dad would be so damn proud of you, Bookworm."

A sweet knot formed in my throat. I leaned back against Knox’s solid chest for a fleeting second, drawing strength from his steady presence.

"Let’s make it official," I whispered, sitting down at my desk and waking up my laptop.

I opened the tab for the Tri-County Showcase wildcard portal, the clock reading ten-forty-two on Saturday night.

I entered our official details: Sugar & Spice Bakery, Oakhaven. Wildcard Entrant Number Fourteen.

In the technical concept field, I typed: Signature Centerpiece: Honey-Glazed Sourdough Brioche Crown with Spiced Almond Frangipane. Fermentation: 30-Year Heritage Sourdough Levain. Lamination: Eighty-two percent cultured European butter.

I uploaded the five high-resolution portfolio images, verified the ingredient ratios, and paused over the blue SUBMIT ENTRY button.

My heart hammered. This wasn’t a charity handout or a loan; it was my work, my father’s recipe and legacy.

I clicked the button.

A spinning wheel appeared for two breathless seconds, followed by a bright green banner that flashed across the screen:

Submission Confirmed. Wildcard Entry Number Fourteen has been successfully registered for Round One Technical Review.

"It’s done," I whispered, staring at the screen as a breathless laugh escaped my lips. "It’s officially submitted."

Priya cheered, throwing her arms around my neck from behind the chair. "Round one is in the bag, Bennett!"

Knox squeezed my shoulder, his gray eyes shining with pride.

A soft knock at the outer door reminded us of the time, accompanied by the resident advisor calling curfew down the hall.

Priya pulled back with an understanding smile, picking up her toiletry bag from her desk. "I’m heading into our bathroom to wash off this highlighter," she said, giving me an amused wink. "The door is closed. Take your time, guys."

She stepped into our attached bathroom and clicked the door shut, leaving Knox and me in the quiet warmth of the room.

Knox stepped toward me, closing the space between us until I had to tilt my chin to look up at him. "You did it, Bookworm," he murmured, his voice dipping into that low rasp that always sent shivers along my skin.

"We did it," I corrected softly, resting my hands against the front of his thermal shirt. "I couldn’t have pounded that butter block without my sous-chef."

"Anytime you need butter beaten up, you know who to call," Knox said, his lips curving into a gentle smile.

He reached up, his fingers tracing my jaw before cupping my cheek, the tenderness of his touch making my breath hitch.

"Get some sleep tonight, Nora," Knox said softly, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. "You’ve worked harder than anyone on campus today, so tomorrow, you rest."

"What about Monday?" I asked quietly, the thought of the athletic department meeting with Pierce flickering in my mind.

Knox’s gaze hardened with quiet, immovable certainty. "Monday is already won."

"Madison has the recording, Priya has the timeline, and Chloe has zero cards left to play," Knox added. "Pierce will dismiss the complaint before lunch."

He leaned down, closing the remaining distance between our lips.

The kiss was slow, tender, and fiercely reassuring. It wasn’t rushed; it was a promise sealed in the quietness of the dorm room, wrapping me in a sense of safety.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine for a long, quiet moment.

"I’ll see you tomorrow, Bennett," Knox whispered against my skin.

"Goodnight, Captain," I replied softly.

Knox gave my hand one last squeeze, stepped into the hallway, and pulled the dorm door shut with a quiet click.

I stood by my desk, listening to his steady footsteps fade down the corridor toward the stairs.

Behind me, the bathroom water ran, but all my focus remained on the glowing green confirmation on my screen and the golden brioche crown on the dresser.