Chapter 2
SETH
An hour later and Seth had mostly recovered from the bizarre encounter in his driveway.
He still didn’t exactly love that he’d been thrown to the ground with zero explanation (and no, “I want to eat you” did not count), but he’d come away unscathed, and twenty minutes under a hot spray had soothed the indignity of cold, wet gravel in his hair.
Now he was fresh and clean and cozy in his sweats, a hydrating face mask in place as he happily housed down some microwaved ramen on his couch, his phone tucked between his cheek and his shoulder.
It wasn’t the most comfortable couch in the whole world—the rental house had come mostly furnished, and the furniture it had included was relatively outdated.
Like, a chintz sofa with a hard back wouldn’t have been Seth’s first choice, but whatever.
The vibe was kind of retro, even, if he sort of squinted in dim lighting.
Seth had decided to invest in some vintage accent pieces to set it all off.
Maybe he’d go thrifting for some lamps on his next Monday off.
For now, he was overcompensating for the discomfort with an abundance of fleece blankets. And, of course, recounting the whole ordeal of this terrible day to his cousin, Benny.
Seth had started the phone call off with the appropriate bitching and moaning over the slow start to Coastal Crumbs, and he’d just finished with the tale of the stranger in his driveway.
There was a beat of silence as Benny processed. It didn’t last long.
“Maybe he meant it sexually,” Benny mused in his deep baritone, calm and cool as ever. “Like he wants to eat your ass. Kind of a compliment, really, if he wants to eat it more than anything.”
Jesus.
This was exactly why Seth had called his cousin though.
No one else would’ve taken the wind out of Seth’s sails in quite the same way.
He swallowed his latest bite of ramen in a hurried gulp.
“You know, I love the way your brain works, but no, I’m almost positive he didn’t tackle me in the rain to whisper that he wants to eat my ass. ”
Benny hummed doubtfully. “You haven’t been doing your squats, then?”
Seth hadn’t been doing his squats for the past twenty-six years, so he changed the subject. “I’m pretty sure he stole some of my leftover pastries too. The count is off.”
“Don’t you give those away?”
“Yes, but he didn’t ask.”
“You would have said yes, though, right?”
Seth let out a huff as he set his mostly empty ramen cup on the coffee table. “Obviously. He seemed like he was in a rough way.”
“Then he just, like, cut out the middleman.”
The statement was so wrong and yet so right at the same time.
Benny was a sweetheart gym rat who might have aptly been called a himbo, and he loved to assume the best in people.
So did Seth on his better days, but sometimes it was nice to play the grump for once, especially after putting up with this disappointing day.
Seth considered arguing a little more, just for the fun of it, but then he paused, holding his phone to his chest.
Had he heard something? Over by his window maybe?
When he’d chosen this house to rent, Seth had liked that he was out on the edge of the woods without too many people around, but he suddenly wished he had neighbors on all sides, instead of the one old lady next to him who Seth was pretty sure was half-deaf, based on their few interactions.
Would she even hear Seth if he screamed bloody murder? Or if he was murdered bloodily, for that matter?
Seth crawled off the couch and tiptoed to the window, peering out. The rain had stopped, although water was still dripping slowly off the roof. He didn’t see anyone lurking nearby, no hooded figures with ice picks in hand waiting to off him in the dark.
“What if he comes back?” Seth whispered into the phone. “The tackler.”
“Call the cops?”
Seth frowned out the window. He didn’t love the idea of calling the so-called authorities on someone who was maybe just going through a tough time. “Seems mean.”
“Then keep your doors locked and call me. Helio can get us there, like, really fast.”
Seth couldn’t help a small eye roll, even as he murmured some vague sound of acknowledgment.
Benny’s husband, Helio, was super odd and super rich, but even private jets could only go so fast. Seth didn’t think they’d be able to rescue him from a murderer, unless the murderer was moving at the speed of frozen molasses, or setting up some elaborate Saw-esque torture game.
Benny cleared his throat. “Hey, Seth, are you really okay?”
Oh, that dreaded question. But Seth loved his cousin enough to give it a good think before answering, “Yeah, I’m good. Just a hard day. But, you know, change.”
“You can come back if you want. Everyone would be stoked to have you.”
“I know.” And he did. But Seth didn’t really want to go back to Maine.
Not yet, at least. He’d been in a rut back home, living in the same tiny tourist town where he’d been born and raised.
And that might have been okay if he’d been happy—Seth didn’t mind having a quiet sort of life—but he hadn’t been.
Not for a while. Something had been…off.
Missing, maybe. Old friends moving on or settling down and Seth just always there, kind of stagnant and ornamental, just another part of the charming scenery.
So, no, Seth wasn’t going to go running back after one slow day and a little light battery.
He’d just made it back to the couch when he heard a noise again. A scrape against his wall? A subdued cough? An ice pick sliding through gravel, perhaps?
Seth suppressed his shiver mercilessly. He wasn’t going back to the window. He was being paranoid, and it wouldn’t help to indulge the madness.
Although, to be fair, his pastries were delicious. Maybe his sort-of attacker had tasted them and come running back for more.
Seth deliberately settled into the ugly couch, tucking the blanket around himself like a straitjacket so he wouldn’t be tempted to get up and scout the perimeter again.
“Have you gotten a good running route yet?” Benny asked.
Seth made a vague noise that could have been interpreted as a yes or no. “I’m working on it.”
Seth wasn’t a hardcore fitness maniac like his cousin, but he liked the endorphins of a good run now and again.
Trudging along in the rain and the mud was another matter entirely, and he was giving himself time to adjust to the change in conditions.
Maybe he’d treat himself to some fancy, waterproof running gear.
Not tonight though. Tonight he was going to chat mindlessly with his cousin, then watch TV mindlessly by himself, and then conk out mindlessly by dinnertime.
The catch about baking for a living was the part where Seth had to arrive at work by four a.m. When he’d been younger, Seth might have partied all night and just pushed through until the next day, but he wasn’t up for that kind of life anymore.
He was usually in bed by nine p.m. at the latest, and even that could be a stretch.
When he’d worked for Marjorie back in Seacliff, he’d at least had a few days off a week, but until he decided he could pay someone to help out, Mondays would be his only free morning here.
Seth resisted the urge to chew on his nails as he considered sleeping in his new house after being tackled in the driveway.
He’d painted them bright orange—another sartorial attempt to fight off the gloominess of the weather—which meant he had to wear gloves when baking but also meant he was less likely to engage in old stress habits.
No nibbling, he reminded himself.
“Hey, Benny…I can do this, right?”
Benny didn’t hesitate. “Hell yeah, you can.”
Seth grinned down at his blanket, immediately bolstered by the vote of confidence.
Hell yeah, he could.
Seth knew there were those who would consider the early call time a real downside to his profession. Most people—especially young people—didn’t want to wake up at three thirty in the morning to start their day.
But Seth didn’t actually mind it. It was kind of soothing, to be going out into the world while everyone else was still asleep. He still loved chatting with people—loved sharing food and gossip—but he also loved this fresh start to each day all on his own.
He didn’t know if that made him an introverted extrovert or an extroverted introvert or just a person like any other, with different wants and different moods depending on the time of day.
But he did love it, getting into his car at quarter to four, with everything quiet and still around him. Today it was gray but not rainy, and the air smelled like forest and damp earth.
Seth’s gloomy mood from the day before was gone, washed away during the night. He was ready to start anew, ready to bear the slow and bumpy grind to starting his own business.
Everything stayed that way—quiet and still and peaceful—until Seth arrived at the back entrance of his bakery, the one that led into his kitchen.
There was a young man standing there, right in front of the door, in a collared shearling-lined jacket and faded jeans. His dark hair was parted more or less in the center and was long enough to tuck behind his ears, and he had dark brows to match his dark eyes, and a startlingly pretty face.
Seth stopped where he was, about three feet from the door. He was 90 percent sure this was the guy who’d knocked him over in the rain. Even though Seth hadn’t gotten a detailed picture of his features, the impression was somehow the same.
Which maybe should have been freaking Seth out more than it was, but the guy looked so…normal. Younger and hotter than a random assailant had any right to be, but…yeah, more or less normal.
“Hello,” Seth said calmly, clutching the keys to the bakery in his fist. “We’re not open yet.”