Chapter 5 Annabelle #2
Warmth blossoms in my chest. If Caroline can change, anything’s possible. I spoon a bite of the pie. It’s sweet…and buttery, cinnamon-kissed. I never tasted anything this forgiving , I think, as the crust flakes melt on my tongue. Each crumb feels like a little lighthouse guiding me back to myself.
But this low-calorie delight is definitely missing sugar’s and butter’s true flavor of love.
Still, it’s the effort that counts, and for a heartbeat, everything’s normal, homey, and bright.
Caroline digs into her slice and rubs her belly. “Baby Boone’s forced me into nesting mode. I baked ‘til dawn.”
I shove a second bite into my mouth. “Thank you for bringing this by. It’s delicious,” I say, savoring the warmth. It’s not my apple pie, but it’s comforting.
She beams. “Welcome home, Annabelle.”
I glance at Derek—pie-smudged grin and all—and know I’m exactly where I belong. His eyes drop to my lips, and in that flicker, it feels like he’s memorizing my mouth. My pulse spikes as he brushes a stray crumb from my chin with the pad of his thumb.
Between Caroline’s pies and her unexpected goodwill, I almost believe I can have both a fresh start and a family, on my terms. She talks about her practice in town, and I try to update this new Caroline in my brain.
Derek lingers close on the seat, hand drifting to my waist. “Are you still practicing?” I gasp, heat pooling where he touches me, and everywhere else.
“I’m due in court on my due date. But thanks to Emma’s new Wi-Fi, it’s all video-conference.”
Wow.
Caroline wipes her hands on her shirt and adjusts her jacket around her belly. “Well, I should let you get on with your day. Good luck at the clinic. Give Emma my love.”
She gives me a quick hug, gentle and new. We walk her to the pickup, and she drives away.
I turn back to Derek. “Well…that was interesting.”
“Sorry, I should have warned you she changed.”
My nose wiggles. “I’m still skeptical. She made a sugar and fat-free apple pie in a stainless steel bowl.”
“It was good,” he says, flicking his rag my way. “But not as good as yours. Yours are the only ones I want to taste.” His wink ignites a spark in my chest.
That clean-cut musk of engine oil and sunshine floats in the air.
I look down the winding driveway where dust begins to settle. “She’s still practicing law. Maybe you need a lawyer to look at the estate papers and the loan?”
Maybe I should ask her to submit my divorce papers? But I can’t. I trust Emma much more, and I’m set to meet her in an hour.
He tucks the rag behind his belt and steps forward, close enough that I catch the warmth of him. “Or maybe I just need you to explain it to me.” His words slip out warm and quiet, brushing against my skin like heat.
His fingertip traces a path along my arm. Heat follows like a whisper, locking me in place. “Don’t worry about the loan, Honeycrisp. I’ll figure it out. What did she mean about the clinic?”
“I’m meeting Emma there in an hour. I should get ready. Are you gonna finish the Mustang?” I manage, my voice catching as he settles his hand at the small of my back.
“Didn’t you see her yesterday?” he asks.
“She wasn’t home. I just caught up with my brother and parents.”
“I’d offer to drive you, but I have to check the orchard right after. We’re using an organic pesticide this year. You gonna ask Dr. Marvey about working there?”
I hesitate. I finished nursing school, but I never used it. Not after what happened. Baking was safer. And buttercream sweeter. A way to help without falling apart.
He steps so close, our hips brush, and the scent of him—motor oil and memory—makes my throat tighten.
“Maybe,” I whisper.
His smile softens. “You’d be good at it.”
“Thanks. I was thinking of a break. May Day’s coming up, and I’ve got a lot of pies to bake.”
I tuck a hand at my waist, fingers brushing over my hip. “I also need to stop by the motel. My lucky underwear and face cream disappeared.”
The second I say it out loud, my gut lurches.
What if…
What if Mike’s not just in my head? What if he’s been in that room, touching my things? What if he’s here? What the hell was I thinking, getting comfortable?
The air changes. Every cell in me tightens as Derek’s scent, his nearness, and the promise in his eyes, take over my senses.
He steps forward, his dilated pupils filling my field of vision. Colour drains from his face and steel replaces the warmth in his eyes.
I shiver.
He exhales. “I’m driving you to the clinic.” He peels off his ragged tee, muscles rippling under damp skin. My mouth goes dry.
“What about the car and the orchard? I can take the bike?—”
His palm snags around my wrist, anchoring me. “No. You’re coming with me. Be ready in fifteen minutes.” He inches closer, and I swear I taste hope and something more forbidden on his breath.
I turn to leave, and he stops me with one word: “Annabelle.”
That single name carries ownership— you’re mine —and damn it, a foolish part of me wants to be his.
I turn around. He stands beside his Mustang, framed by grease and sunlight, a man who’d bulldoze anything between him and what he wants.
“Whoever you’re running from, you don’t have to face him alone.”
Shit. He speaks as if he already knows.
I point to the RV. “Any idea when it’ll be ready?”
His smirk returns, slow and devastating. “What’s wrong, Honeycrisp? Don’t like sleeping in my bed?”
Goosebumps bloom. Sleeping isn’t the problem. It’s everything I imagine happening afterward.
It’s the way his scent surrounds me at night. The way the sheets hold the warmth of his body. The way I imagine him sliding beneath them with me.
I spin on my heel and flee, heart sluicing cold down my spine and cheeks aflame.
Upstairs, I stop at the hallway mirror. My face looks drawn, but my eyes blaze with purpose. I push my shoulders back, sweep one lock of hair behind my ear, and inhale. Fear can try to bite, but today, I call the next move.
A glance at my purse on the dresser ushers me forward. I slip my hand inside, fingers brushing the manilla envelope. My escape is a stamp of approval away.
Armed with adrenaline, I change in a blur, mascara streaked from shaky hands. I hear the shower running in the washroom. Hear him. An instant image of water sliding down his chest and across those hard thighs forms in my head.
Stop.
I stuff the manila envelope into my purse, heart hammering. It’s time to send the documents before Mike finds them.
I head back down. Moments later, Derek stands by the door, hair damp, T-shirt black and stretched across his chest like a memory I ache to taste. I lick over my cracked lips.
“Ready?” he asks.
Not even close, but I nod, grab a box of hot fritters and follow him to his black truck. The shiny monster is one his prides.
He grips the steering wheel with his left hand, maneuvering the turns as his right hand grazes the gear shift close enough to scorch my thigh. My body hums. I fight the memory of how he held me yesterday, and how he looked at me this morning.
“Derek, stop!”
My hand flies out, grabbing his arm.
“Look!” I point out the window.
A pregnant stray dog, ribs showing, skitters between buildings—the same one I saw behind my parents’ burnt house.
He sighs. “She’s been running around for weeks.”
I slide out. “Hey girl… It’s okay.”
She bolts into the shadows.
“She needs help,” I whisper, heart cracking. I see her peeking from behind a wall and want to take a picture, but I realize I forgot my phone at home.
His hand settles on my lower back—meant to steady me, but it ignites me. I close my eyes, trying to slow my pulse.
“We’ll try again later.” His breath skims my ear. “Come on.”
We pass Valley’s Delights—quiet and empty except for the ghost of cinnamon sugar in the air. A “For Sale” sign blazes in the window of the vacant corner house across the lot. It was an insurance office before everything went online.
The space is small but charming. Big windows. Cute awning. Enough room for a glass counter, maybe two display tables.
My fingers curl on the seat.
He glances over. “What is it?”
“That space.” I nod. “Perfect for a little pastry shop. Warm and cozy, swimming in butter. Lots of butter.”
He doesn’t laugh—just studies me, curious.
“You ever think of doing that?” he asks. “Opening your own place?”
I bite my lip. “All the time.”
He blinks. “What about nursing?”
I hesitate. “I finished school… But after Huntz, baking felt safe. I can still help people. Just… In a different way. Doing what I love with apples, brown sugar, and cinnamon.”
He nods once, respectful, and the truck slows in front of the clinic. He parks and turns to me.
“Go see Emma. I’ll go get your things.”
I squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For the ride. And for not pushing.”
He grunts, but his eyes soften before he leaves.
Inside, the clinic door chimes. Dr. Marvey looks up from his clipboard.
“Annabelle,” he says with a faint smile. “Here to apply for the nursing position?”
I freeze mid–step.
Because suddenly, I’m not sure that’s why I came.
Not sure at all.