The Alpha and The Baker

by Roxie Ray

Yet sometimes I still felt like an imposter, like a little boy playing in his father’s oversized work boots.

“Man, this smells so good,” Felicia said as we sat down, doing that little wiggle some women did when they were enthusiastic about what they’re going to eat. I loved that it was a little trait that spanned species, from shifters, to humans, to dogs, to guinea pigs. There seemed to be some sort of inherent, primordial wiring that said happy plus food equaled wiggles.

“I promise I will never offer to do something if I’m not ready, willing, and able to do it with a happy spirit,”