Baker Daddy (Small Falls #3)

Chapter 13

Marie

I t was one of the slowest days of work of my life. I always enjoyed my time at The Daily Grind, but today I just wanted to be with Dwight.

After what felt like a whole year, I wiped the last table, my rag dragging over the worn wood with slow, deliberate strokes. My shoulders screamed from standing all day, but I couldn’t stop glancing at the clock above the counter. Nearly six. He’d be here soon.

The shop was quiet now, the espresso machine silent, the smell of coffee lingering in the air. Outside, the streetlamps cast soft, golden light through the windows. Small Falls always felt different at this time of night—like it exhaled after a long day. I folded the rag into a neat square and set it by the sink, my stomach fluttering like it always did when I thought about him.

Dwight.

The bell over the door chimed, and I turned quickly, maybe too quickly. There he was, filling the doorway. Tall, broad- shouldered, his dark hair a little messy like he’d been running his hands through it all day. I saw it immediately—the weight in the way he carried himself, the slight slump in his shoulders. My heart twisted.

"Hey, you," I said softly, stepping toward him.

He managed a small smile as he walked in, shutting the door behind him. “Hey.” His voice was low, rough around the edges, like gravel underfoot. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my cheek, warm and gentle, and I felt that familiar heat rise in my chest.

"How’d it go?" I asked, searching his face. I could still see hints of flour dusted on his forearms, and there was a faint streak near his temple, like he’d swiped at his hair without thinking. It made me want to reach up and brush it away myself.

"Busy," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Better than I expected, honestly.”

"That's great!" I grinned, but it faltered when I caught the faint edge of disappointment in his tone. "But?"

His jaw tightened for a second before he let out a breath. “Neither Brett nor Marcus showed,” he admitted, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I know I shouldn’t have expected anything, but . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Guess I was hoping.”

"Ah, Dwight," I murmured, stepping closer. I brushed my hand along his arm, feeling the solid strength beneath. He didn’t pull away, just stood there, letting me touch him. "They’ll come around. You’re a good man." My voice softened. "They’ll see it eventually."

His green eyes met mine, and for a moment, they looked almost boyish—vulnerable in a way he rarely let show. “You think so?”

“I know so. After all, I figured it out,” I said firmly, squeezing his arm. “And until they do, you’ve got me. And this town. And your bakery.”

That earned me a small huff of laughter, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re somethin’ else, Marie.”

"Yeah, well," I teased, tilting my head. "Somebody’s gotta keep you from brooding too much. You’re not nearly as charming when you’re sulking, you know.”

"Charming, huh?" He arched a brow, some of the tension easing from his posture.

"Don’t let it go to your head, Daddy." I poked his chest lightly, trying to ignore how solid it felt under my finger. He smirked, and just like that, the heaviness between us broke, replaced by something lighter. Something that made my pulse kick up a notch.

Locking the door behind me, I shoved the key into my bag and fell into step beside Dwight. The cool night air kissed my overheated cheeks, a welcome relief after hours in the shop. My shoulder brushed his arm as we walked, and I glanced up at him. There was a flicker of something lighter in his green eyes now, almost like my words had actually hit home. That tiny shift made my chest warm.

“Come on,” he said, “we’ve got a stop to make before we get back to mine.”

We slipped into an easy rhythm as he pulled onto the road. Small Falls passed by in quiet blurs outside the window, and we traded stories about our days. I told him about the woman who ordered four different drinks just to change her mind every time, and he laughed, shaking his head. He shared how a kid practically pressed his face to the bakery case, declaring Dwight’s cinnamon rolls “the best thing ever" before his mom dragged him out. Each story felt like a thread pulling us closer together, weaving something steady and safe between us.

"Well, cinnamon rolls are pretty delicious," I teased, twisting to look at him. His hands rested easy on the wheel, but there was a slight curve to his mouth, like he was holding back a grin.

"Cinnamon rolls in general, or my cinnamon rolls?" He shot me a quick glance, eyebrows raised.

"Well I haven’t tried yours yet, but I’ll let you know." I leaned back into the seat.

Then, without warning, he veered off the main road, the truck turning into the parking lot of a small variety store. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he shifted into park. I blinked at him, confused.

"Forgot something?" I asked, half-joking.

"Not exactly." He cut the engine and turned to me, his expression shifting to something quieter, more serious. "I said we’ve got a stop before home. I thought maybe . . . you’d wanna pick out a few things."

"Things?" My stomach flipped, and it wasn’t because of the abrupt turn. The way he was looking at me—steady, patient, like he was waiting for me to catch up—made my pulse skip.

"For later," he said, his voice softer now. "For when you’re ready to... y’know. Explore that side of yourself." He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away for a beat before those green eyes locked back onto mine. "No pressure or anything. Just thought it might help if you picked stuff out yourself."

The air seemed to thicken between us, charged with a mix of anticipation and nerves. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. No one had ever said anything like that to me before, not so directly. Not like it wasn’t weird or shameful, but like it was normal. Like it was okay.

"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Marie." His tone was firm, but not harsh. "I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t."

I nodded slowly, my hands fidgeting in my lap. Excitement buzzed under my skin, tangled with a healthy dose of nerves. "Okay," I said finally, meeting his gaze. A tentative smile crept across my lips. "Let’s do it."

***

The fluorescent lights in the store hummed faintly, casting an almost-too-bright glow over rows of shelves packed with everything from cheap t-shirts to plastic dinosaurs. I stuck close to Dwight as we walked toward the far end where the toy section waited. My stomach was doing flips again, nerves and curiosity tangling into a knot I couldn’t quite untie.

"Take your time," Dwight said, his voice low but steady. His hand brushed the small of my back, a barely-there touch that still managed to ground me. "No rush."

"Okay . . ." I swallowed hard, eyeing a rack of hoodies nearby. My fingers hovered over one—a soft pastel purple with some cartoon character I vaguely recognized. It felt silly and perfect all at once. I pulled it down and held it up for inspection, glancing over at him.

"Yeah?" I asked, biting my lip.

Dwight’s grin spread slow, warm, like sunshine breaking through clouds. "Yeah. That’s cute. You want it?"

"Maybe." I tried to sound casual, even though my heart was thudding way harder than it should’ve been over something as small as a hoodie. I folded it over my arm and moved on, finding a pair of fuzzy socks with little rainbows stitched along the cuffs. Those went into my arms too before I could second-guess myself.

"Keep going," he encouraged, his tone so easy, so sure, that it made me feel a tiny bit braver.

We turned into the toy aisle next, and my throat tightened. There were plushies lined up neatly on the shelves—bears, bunnies, kittens—and they practically radiated softness. I trailed my fingers across them, stopping when one caught my eye: a small gray kitten with bright blue button eyes. Something about it tugged at me, and before I could chicken out, I grabbed it.

"That one’s got good vibes," Dwight said, nodding toward the kitten in my hands.

"Good vibes?" I shot him a skeptical look, but I couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.

"Yeah. Looks like it’ll keep secrets," he said, deadpan enough to make me snort.

"Okay, fine. This one then. Secret Cat." I tucked the kitten under my arm, feeling the tiniest bit lighter as I wandered further down to the arts-and-crafts section. A glittery set of markers caught my eye, paired with a coloring pad that had thick black outlines of unicorns and castles. It was ridiculous, meant for kids, but . . . I wanted it. I grabbed it before I had time to think, adding it to the growing pile in my arms.

When I glanced at Dwight, expecting maybe a smirk or some teasing, all I saw was pride. Actual, honest-to-God pride. Like I’d just won a medal instead of picked out a coloring book.

"Anything else?" he asked, his voice soft now, not wanting to push too hard.

I hesitated for a second, then shook my head. "This is enough.” I paused before adding, “For now."

He smiled. "Alright." He reached out, taking the hoodie and Secret Cat from me to carry himself. Just that small gesture made my chest ache in a way I didn’t entirely understand, like he was saying more than what the words allowed.

At checkout, my hands trembled as I fumbled for my wallet. The cashier didn’t even blink at the mix of items; to her, we were probably just another couple buying random stuff late at night. But Dwight noticed. Of course, he did. His fingers brushed mine lightly as I handed over the cash, grounding me again, steady as ever.

"Hey," he murmured as we walked outside, the cool evening air wrapping around us. "You’re okay."

"I know," I said quickly, but my breath hitched anyway. I hugged the bag of purchases close to my chest. "I mean, I am. It’s just . . . this feels big, y’know? And kind of silly. What if I can’t actually—" I stopped short, shaking my head. "Never mind."

"Marie." Dwight’s voice had that firm edge again, gentle but unyielding. He stepped closer, brushing his knuckles along my arm. "Talk to me."

I exhaled sharply, staring down at my shoes. "It’s just . . . at Lucy’s Littles League, I always struggled to let go. Like, really let go. Everyone else seemed to slip into it so easily, but me? I just felt stiff. Like I was pretending too hard."

"That makes sense," he said simply, like it wasn’t this big, shameful thing. He eased the bag out of my hands, freeing them so he could take one in his own, calloused and warm. "We’ll figure it out. No rush, no pressure. Okay?"

"Okay," I whispered, letting him guide me back to the truck. His hand never left mine, and somehow, that small connection made the knot in my chest loosen just a little.

***

The fluorescent sign outside Dwight’s motel buzzed faintly, one corner flickering like it couldn’t decide whether to give up or keep trying. I trailed after him up the cracked stairs, my bag of goodies clutched tight against me like a lifeline. Each step creaked under our weight, and I could feel my nerves rising with every groan of the wood.

Inside, his room was as small and unassuming as I remembered. The smell hit me first—it was so him . It wrapped around me like a hug, grounding me even though my stomach was doing somersaults.

I set the bag on the bed carefully, like it might shatter if I moved too fast. My fingers lingered on the plastic handles for a second longer than necessary before I finally pulled away. “Okay,” I said, mostly to myself. “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” he repeated, his voice low and steady. He leaned back against the dresser, arms crossed, watching me closely. Not in a pushy way—he never pushed—but in that quiet, patient way of his, like he’d wait all night if I needed him to.

I fiddled with the edge of my sleeve. “So, uh . . . what now?”

“That’s up to you.” He straightened then, stepping closer until he was right in front of me. His hands found my arms, warm and solid through the fabric of my sweater. “But first, I want to know what’s going on in here.” He tapped gently at my temple, his green eyes catching mine. “What scares you about this?”

I swallowed hard. There it was—the question I’d been avoiding, the one bubbling under the surface since the moment I grabbed that hoodie off the rack. My lips twitched into a humorless smile. “You want the whole list?”

“Start with the top,” he said simply.

I looked down at the floor, suddenly feeling very small. “I’m afraid I’ll look stupid,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Like, people will see me acting silly or childish and just laugh. Like I’m some kind of joke.”

His thumbs stroked over my arms in slow, comforting circles. “Who’s ‘people’?” he asked softly.

"Everyone," I shot back quickly. Then, softer, "You. Maybe."

"Hey." His tone sharpened just enough to make me glance up. His hands shifted, cupping my cheeks so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. His thumbs brushed over my skin, firm but gentle, anchoring me there. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice dropping lower, steadier. “I will never laugh at you like that, Marie. Not ever.”

My breath caught. “Dwight—”

“No.” He shook his head, silencing me without raising his voice. “I mean it. I might grin, sure. I might tease a little if it feels right. But I will never mock you. Not for this. Not for anything.” His words carried this weight, this certainty that sank deep into my chest and clung there. “You’re safe with me. Always.”

I blinked rapidly, trying to process it. The knot in my throat loosened just a bit, but I still felt raw, exposed. “But what if I can’t, you know, actually do it? What if I freeze up and just sit there like an idiot?”

“Then we figure it out together,” he said, not missing a beat. He smiled softly, his thumbs brushing away tears I didn’t even realize had started falling. “No rush, remember? No pressure. This is your pace, your space. I’m just along for the ride. There’s no right way or wrong way to do it.”

Something inside me unclenched. Not completely, not yet, but enough to breathe a little easier. Enough to let the warmth of his touch settle into my skin. “You really mean that?” I asked, hating how shaky my voice sounded.

“Every word,” he murmured. And the way he said it, the way he looked at me, made me believe him.

I pulled the hoodie over my head, the fabric soft and warm as it slid into place. The sleeves hung past my fingertips, brushing against my thighs when I moved, and I couldn’t help but give them a little shake. It felt... safe. Like wrapping myself in a cloud that whispered, It’s okay to try . My heart pounded as I grabbed Secret Cat from the bag, her plush fur cool against my palm.

"Okay," I muttered under my breath, turning to where Dwight leaned casually against the dresser, arms crossed but his expression open, patient. He was giving me room without pushing, but I could feel his attention locked on me like a steady anchor.

I tugged the hood up, tucking loose curls away from my face, and took a shaky step forward. “Um,” I started, my voice high and soft, almost foreign to my own ears. I scrunched my nose, holding the kitten close to my chest. “Will you color with me?”

The words barely made it out before I wanted to crawl under the bed. They sounded ridiculous, stupid even. Who asks that? But then, just as quickly, I saw the shift in Dwight’s face. His eyes lit up, green flecked with something warm and golden, and the corners of his mouth curved in this slow, delighted grin.

"Well, look at you," he said, his voice dipping into this low, teasing drawl that sent heat curling through my chest. He straightened, stepping toward me with an exaggerated flourish, like he was bowing for royalty. “How could I say no to such an adorable request?”

My cheeks burned, but I couldn’t stop the tiny laugh that slipped free. “You’re so dramatic.”

"Only for you, darlin’." He reached out, his hand warm as it wrapped around mine, fingers gentle but firm. "Come on. Let’s get set up."

He led me to the small table by the window, tugging out one of the mismatched chairs that looked like they’d been scavenged from a garage sale. Dwight sank into one with a groan, his knees nearly hitting the underside of the table.

"Your throne, milord," I teased, biting back a giggle as I sat opposite him.

"Throne?" He straightened up, puffing out his chest like he was on stage again, and waved a hand imperiously. "Daddy is here to color with his adorable Little. Bring forth the royal glitter markers!"

“Oh my god.” I covered my face with the sleeve of the hoodie, laughing harder now. “You’re ridiculous!”

"Ridiculously excited to see your masterpiece," he shot back without missing a beat, already cracking open the coloring pad and setting the markers between us.

I hesitated for half a second, but then the warmth in his voice melted away the last bit of tension coiled in my shoulders. I picked up a sparkly purple marker and flipped to a page with a cartoon unicorn. “Fine. But don’t mess up my vibe,” I warned, squinting at him playfully.

"Wouldn’t dare," he said, grabbing a blue marker and starting on a castle in the corner of the page.

We fell into this easy rhythm, passing the markers back and forth and trading jabs about who had better coloring skills. Dwight’s voice dipped into goofy commentary every now and then, narrating his progress like it was some kind of epic quest.

"Behold!" he announced, holding up the coloring sheet after filling in a banner with what I think was supposed to be gold. "The castle of Daddyland is complete."

"That’s not gold, that’s mustard yellow," I snorted, leaning over to look closer.

"Excuse you, it’s vintage gold," he corrected, deadpan.

"Sure, sure." I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop smiling.

Every little thing he did—his exaggerated expressions, the way he leaned into the silliness without hesitation—made me feel lighter, freer. It was like he’d built this bubble around us, a space where nothing mattered but having fun. No judgment, no pressure. Just us. I didn’t realize how much I needed that until now.

"Done!" I bounced in the tiny chair, waving the coloring pad in Dwight's direction. My voice pitched high and squeaky as I wiggled the page in front of me. "Look—look—look! It's a unicorn, see? Isn't it so pretty?"

Dwight didn’t even flinch at my tone—or the sheer ridiculousness of my outburst. He set down his marker with exaggerated care, steepling his fingers like some kind of art critic. His green eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and then he leaned forward with an expression of absolute seriousness.

"Wow." He dragged the word out, his mouth falling open in mock astonishment. "This . . . this is incredible." He reached out, lifting the page delicately between his fingers like it was priceless. "I’m talkin’ gallery level here. Masterpiece!"

"Right?" I grinned, bouncing even harder now, the chair creaking under my enthusiasm.

"Hold on," he said, raising a hand to stop me. Then, suddenly, he started clapping—loud, enthusiastic claps that echoed through the small room. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are in the presence of greatness. The one, the only . . . Marie 'Unicorn Extraordinaire' Johnson!"

"Stop it!" I doubled over, laughing so hard my stomach hurt, but I couldn’t stop smiling. It wasn’t just what he said—it was the way his face lit up when he looked at me, the way he went all in without hesitation.

"Not stopping," he replied, still clapping, his grin turning mischievous. "Do you think the Louvre has space for this? Or should we call the Smithsonian? This is serious business."

"You're ridiculous!" I gasped between giggles, swatting at him with the sleeve of my hoodie. He caught my wrist gently, his thumb brushing against the fabric, but let go just as fast. The laughter bubbled up again, uncontrollable and freeing, like everything else had fallen away except this moment.

I stood, needing to move, the energy buzzing too much to stay still. "Fine, if you’re not gonna take me seriously . . ." I grabbed the stuffed kitten off the table and tucked it under my arm. Without thinking, my feet began skipping in circles around the small space.

"Rainbows and cupcakes, sugar and spice—" I half-sang, half-giggled, the words tumbling out in no particular order. "Sprinkles and sunshine, everything nice!"

"Whoa, whoa, hold on!" Dwight called after me, standing up slowly. "You can’t have a song like that without backup." He stomped his feet once, twice, creating a steady rhythm. "Flour and frosting, cookies galore," he added in a deep, overly dramatic baritone. "Baking and dancing right on the floor!"

I spun, dizzy and laughing, watching him try to keep the beat while stomping his boots and snapping his fingers like some kind of lounge act gone rogue. "That’s terrible!" I cried, nearly doubling over again as the kitten slipped out from under my arm. "Like, really bad!"

"Rude," he shot back, but there was nothing but humor in his voice. "This is gold. Vintage gold, remember?" He smirked, and I groaned, clutching the back of a chair to steady myself.

"Okay, okay, fine," I said, still catching my breath but feeling braver now. I grabbed Secret Cat again, tucking her securely this time, and started hopping from one foot to the other. "But you're gonna have to keep up, Mr. Daddyland."

"Challenge accepted." Dwight’s eyes sparkled, and before I knew it, he was joining in, stomping and spinning in a goofy circle that made the whole room shake. His movements were big and wild, completely over-the-top, but somehow they matched mine perfectly. We were both ridiculous, two grown adults acting like kids, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this light or—dare I say it—happy.

"Marshmallows and glitter, castles and dreams!" I sang louder now, twirling toward him.

"Chocolate and sugar, rivers of cream!" Dwight boomed, throwing his arms wide like he was on stage.

"Stop it!" I giggled again, almost breathless. But secretly, I didn’t want him to stop.

I flopped back into the chair, gasping for air between uncontrollable giggles. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and my chest heaved like I’d just run a marathon. Secret Cat had fallen to the floor somewhere along the way, but I didn’t even care. Everything in that moment felt . . . free. Free and light, like all the weight of the day had burned off in our ridiculous dance.

Dwight dropped to one knee in front of me, his big hands bracing on either side of mine. His touch was warm, grounding. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” His voice was low, steady, but his green eyes sparkled like he still wasn’t over how silly we’d just been.

I snorted, trying to play it cool despite the heat flooding my face. “Yeah, well, you weren’t too bad yourself, Mr. Daddyland.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. Then, his expression softened in this way that always made my stomach flip—like I was the only thing in the world worth looking at. He rested one hand on my knee, his thumb brushing slow circles over the fabric of my jeans. “My brave little one,” he murmured.

That did it. My smile stretched so wide it almost hurt, but I couldn’t stop it, not with the way he said those words. Soft, sure, full of something I didn’t quite have the courage to name yet. Warmth bloomed in my chest, spreading out until it reached every corner of me. This wasn’t about being sexy or charming or anything like that. This was just . . . safe. Accepted. Seen.

"Stop looking at me like that," I muttered, even though I didn’t mean it. My fingers played with the edge of his shirt, tugging lightly.

"Like what?" His grin tilted crooked, teasing. But his thumb kept moving, gentle and steady, like he knew exactly what I needed.

"Like . . . I’m a damn Disney princess or something," I shot back, rolling my eyes. My voice cracked a little, betraying me.

"Not a princess," he said simply. "Just you." And somehow, that hit harder than any over-the-top compliment could’ve. Just me. Enough.

I didn’t have an answer for that, but maybe I didn’t need one. Instead, I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against his shoulder for half a second before pulling back, feeling shy all of a sudden. “Alright, alright,” I said, clapping my hands together. “Let’s clean up before this room looks like a glitter bomb went off.”

He stood smoothly, offering me a hand to pull me up. His palm swallowed mine, firm but not rough—a quiet kind of strength. Together, we started gathering the markers and coloring pad, the stuffed kitten getting pride of place right in the middle of the bed. Neither of us spoke much, but it wasn’t awkward. It was easy. Comfortable in a way I wasn’t used to.

Once everything was tidied, Dwight turned to me, his arms opening without hesitation. “C’mere.”

I didn’t even think twice. I stepped into him, letting his arms wrap around me. He held me close, firm but careful, like he knew exactly how light or tight to squeeze. My hands found his back, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his shirt. He smelled like flour and something woodsy, clean and familiar. “I really care about you,” he whispered again, his lips brushing the top of my head this time.

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled into his chest. "Don’t get mushy on me now."

"Too late." His laugh rumbled through me, and I swore I could feel it in my bones. He pulled back just enough to look down at me, his hands sliding to rest on my upper arms. "I love seeing you like this. Carefree. Playful. You don’t gotta hide that part of yourself with me, okay?"

I nodded, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "Okay," I whispered, meaning it more than I thought I would. Relief settled over me like a warm blanket, cozy and heavy in the best way.

We ended up on the bed, lying side by side with Secret Cat nestled between us. His hand found mine again, his fingers running absent-mindedly along my knuckles. We talked quietly, voices low like we were afraid of disturbing the moment. Nothing important—just little things, soft words about nothing and everything. But it felt big. Bigger than words.

I glanced over at him, my heart swelling in a way that almost scared me. Dwight wasn’t just one part of my life. He was my silly partner-in-crime, my anchor when I felt adrift, and yeah, my Daddy who somehow knew how to guide me without pushing too hard. All of it wrapped up in one person.

"Thanks," I said suddenly, my voice barely above a murmur.

"For what?" He turned his head, eyebrows lifting slightly.

"Just . . . this." I waved vaguely at the space between us, at the messy pile of feelings I didn’t know how to articulate. "For letting me be ridiculous. For making it fun."

"Always," he said, no hesitation. And I believed him.

For the first time in a long time, I felt completely at ease. Completely myself.