Chapter 3
Savannah
A frown pulls at my lips as I look at the measly box of baby items I have stored under my bed.
I’ve been buying bits and pieces for months, not sure exactly what I’ll need.
The small expecting mother’s handbook taking over the Bible in the top drawer of my bedside table has been my only nightly read for months. But each page I read is overwhelming.
I’m scared. Anxious. And I’ve been throwing myself into the bakery build so much that I have little time to concentrate on the life I’m creating. But the familiar flutters in my tummy bring me right back to my reality every time.
I pull in a deep breath. “We’ll just work it out together.” Rubbing my belly, I push the box back under the bed, knowing I need to visit the home wears shop in town to see if they stock blankets and baby clothes, the two things I think I do need more of.
I also need to book a doctor’s appointment now that I’m settled here.
I had one initially. When I felt different and wondered why I was so bloated, I visited the local doctor who informed me that one night from months earlier, when my boyfriend at the time said that it felt better without a barrier had resulted in a pregnancy.
So not only was I pregnant, but to everyone’s shock and surprise, I was already thirteen weeks along.
I don’t remember the drive home. I barely remember the words when they fell from my mouth as I told my family.
But I do remember my father’s face turning red.
My mother’s tears of disgust. And that within ten minutes, despite being a twenty-three-year-old woman who can decide her own future, they had planned my life out for me without consultation.
Their plan was that I was to remain hidden at home for the remainder of the pregnancy.
The baby would be adopted by my older and married sister who’s been trying to conceive for years.
She had plans to fake a pregnant belly. Spend more time at home to be away from people who would take too much notice.
They wanted the whole thing to be secret and to pretend that Eden had been pregnant all along. Leaving me with nothing and no one.
I walked into my room that day in complete shock. Stayed like that for weeks until I felt the flutters and knew I needed an alternative. I wanted this baby. I wanted out of the house that felt like a prison and from the life that felt so controlling and constricted it was unhealthy.
Pulling myself up from the floor, I make my way down the stairs from my apartment to the bakery kitchen, knowing I forgot something.
As I hit the bottom and smell smoke, I remember what.
“The dinner rolls!” Frantic, I run around the bakery, grabbing a towel and flinging open the old ovens.
Smoke bellows around me, making my eyes water, and I internally scold myself for being so forgetful.
Clearly, the timers on the ovens don’t work either.
This baby brain I have developed isn’t serving me well at the moment.
I look at the tray of dinner rolls I just pulled from the oven, my eyes now stinging with frustration and defeat. They’re a little brown on the edges; although they look better than the burnt rocks I pulled out earlier. I need to start writing things down. I can’t make mistakes like this.
“Hello?”
My breath catches as I turn quickly at the sound of a voice, my fingers catching on the hot tray.
“Ow!” I pull my hand back quickly, the burn instant.
“Shit.” That same gruff voice comes from over my shoulder as the tray of burnt rolls falls to the floor. Their large hand grabs my wrist, the other fits on the small of my back, and I’m manhandled toward the sink.
“I… I…” My voice is half-breathy and half-panicked, and I can’t get my words out.
While burns in my line of business are common, I know I need to get my hand underwater quickly. Add that to the fact that this baby is pushing right against my diaphragm, limiting my air intake, and I’m panting like I’ve run a marathon.
But all that combined isn’t half of what I'm feeling. Because suddenly, I smell the most masculine scent of a pine cologne, and my hormones take over, my body becoming almost weak against it.
It has me quickly remembering that a strong, unknown male is at my back.
Tall, if the way his chest connects with my shoulders is any indication.
My skin prickles with the feeling of being touched.
His hands are large and warm. It’s been seven months since I've had a man's hands on my body, and even then, it wasn’t memorable.
The small human growing inside of me is the only link.
The man turns on the faucet, pulling my hand under it, and I breathe out in relief as the cool water hits my hand and the sting subsides.
As does any lingering fear at being manhandled by a stranger right here in my kitchen.
He led me to safety; it would be odd for him to now hurt me. Though I remain wary.
“Thank you… I—” I turn to see who’s helping me, wanting to offer my thanks, but I still. At a loss for words all over again.
Brown eyes, hidden by dark eyebrows, look at me from under a deep frown. He hasn’t moved, his body, strong and hard, leaning against my back as he ensures my hand is under the cool water. My eyes widen and heart pounds harder as I realize exactly how close we are.
He’s like Heaven answered all my questions.
I've never seen a man like him before. Sure, big, tall, gruff guys are common.
But there's something in his eyes. Something that tells me he’s the kind of strong and dependable man you only find once in a lifetime.
That thought has my stomach doing somersaults.
Before I get too lost in my hormone-induced fantasyland, the baby kicks, knocking some sense into me.
I’m a pregnant woman. I may be single, but I’m no catch.
I’m a commitment and shouldn’t even be looking for a man in my state.
My mother's words ring in my mind. You’ve ruined yourself.
The devil got into your soul, and now you’re filthy.
I swallow roughly as I look up at him. His gaze is roaming over my face, from my eyes to my lips and back again, like he’s making sure I’m okay. Somehow, I feel safe.
“You make a habit of burning yourself?” Okay… there goes my fantasy. He sounds like a complete asshole.
“Part of the job,” I sass back, yet I don’t move from where I’m positioned between him and the sink. I’ve never talked back like this, but this is my bakery, my home, and my protective motherly instincts are already setting in.
His brow pinches slightly. “You should be more careful.”
My anger rises at his condescending tone. I’m so sick of people telling me how I should do things. I thought I left all that back in Williamstown.
“Well, you shouldn’t sneak up on people and scare them.” I quirk an eyebrow, totally shocked by my tone. This is so not me. I’m meek, mild, well mannered. Seems like he’s bringing something else out in me.
“You also shouldn’t leave your front door unlocked. Any asshole could walk in here.”
“Looks like one did,” flies past my lips next, and my eyes widen. I bite my tongue not immediately apologizing.
He blinks quickly a few times, like he’s coming back to himself. Clearing his throat, he steps back, giving me some space, yet my skin feels cold without him close. For some reason, I hate it.
“My name is Griffin. I’m a builder. Tanner Whiteman sent me over to see if I can help you with your carpentry.
” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, like he’s as thrown off as I am.
But then his eyes drop to my body before snapping back to my face.
I don’t know what he’s looking at. I’m a mess.
A long, flowing dress that hides my bump and almost hits the floor.
My hair pulled back into a top knot. Not a scrap of makeup on.
But God, you could cut glass on his jaw and that five o'clock shadow is really doing something to my insides.
I’m quiet, distracted by how attractive I find this man, but then my brain connects the puzzle pieces. Shoot. This is awkward.
“Oh… Oh. Yes, Tanner did come by a few days ago.” Is it hot in here?
Did I leave the oven on? I can’t remember the last time I was this flustered.
“Oh my gosh!” From the corner of my eye, I see smoke leaking through the oven, and I run back to it and fling open the large oven door.
Panic kicks in as I grab the tray of burnt croissants and start fanning the billowing smoke.
Running to the small window, I whip it open, the screech of it almost deafening, and Griffin runs to the back door to do the same, but as he does, the screen comes off its hinges and falls to the ground outside, and I cringe.
“You’ll be needing a new back door.” Griffin's voice is tight. Angry, almost. Like this is the last place he wants to be. Like me and my bakery are a mere annoyance.
“I can fix it,” I grit out. I hate being a burden to someone. Hate having people in my space who don’t want to be here. Sure, Tanner was nice to offer, but I don’t want to be a charity case.
“Your hand?” Griffin’s frown is pinned to the red welt throbbing on my palm, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. He takes a step toward me before he pauses, like he thinks better of it. My heart trips over itself, not used to any care or attention from anyone, let alone a stranger.
“The downside of being a baker.” I throw the towel on the counter, where my flour and butter still reside.
Today was meant to be productive. Testing the new equipment and ingredients and baking goods that I could deliver to the diner down the street as a small gesture of goodwill.
Apparently, that isn’t working out. “This is the third batch I’ve burned already today.
At least I now know the ovens aren't working as they should be.”
“Or your smoke alarm.” Griffin assesses my kitchen. I look up at the faint smoke still lingering at the ceiling and, sure enough, the smoke alarms aren’t blaring as they should be.
“Another thing to add to my list.” I scrub my face, trying not to feel overwhelmed that my list is getting longer and longer every day.
“Are you living upstairs?” he asks, his tone a bit softer.
I look back at Griffin, who's eyeing the staircase leading up to what is my current home. The small studio above the bakery is one of the reasons I took this building. I could have a business and a home all in one, making baking with a baby so much easier.
I nod. “Yes.”
He’s back to being serious. “Then the fire alarms need to be fixed today.”
I swallow past a lump in my throat as his gaze moves around the room. Is he worried about my safety? I mean, there’s no fire escape, so I’d need to jump out of the upstairs window if there was a fire. That jump would not be painless.
I watch him taking it all in, seeing his mind turning over, and I wonder what he thinks. Does he see the potential like I do?
“You’ll need some new cupboards in here. A longer counter to work on. Stainless steel would be best, I think.”
I glance at where my ingredients and materials are all gathered on top of each other, the space nowhere near enough to roll out the right sized batch of my famous chocolate chip cookies. But while the top-of-the-line bakeries all have stainless-steel counters, it’s way too expensive for my budget.
“Oh, laminate will be fine.”
He looks back at me. His face seems to be in a permanent scowl. I wonder if that old wives’ tale is true, never frown when the wind changes or it will stay like that.
By the looks of this man, it potentially is. I’m almost tempted to ask when it happened and how strong the wind was. But my mom always said to mind my manners because God is always watching.
He nods to himself. “I’ll get you stainless steel.” I don’t miss it as his jaw clenches a little under his stubble.
I have no idea what it is about Griffin that has my stomach in knots and lungs empty. But he’s authoritative, brooding, and mysterious, mixed with a kindness that appears to be buried under a grumpy, dominant, rugged exterior. He’s extremely magnetic to someone like me, who’s opposite in every way.
Forcing my eyes off him, I look over to the side, where I plan to put the baby's things once it arrives. The baby. The little life in my stomach. The reason I can’t be swooning over a very alpha male who stands right in front of me in my kitchen, wearing jeans that look like they fit all too well and a shirt that, for some reason, I want to unbutton.
“Out front is the priority… I mean, if that’s okay?” I feel myself retreating. The years of subordination that have been drilled into me from my parents is what I revert to time and time again.
I can’t afford a total renovation. My dream bakery will be one that’s built over time, not all at once. I’ll make do with what I have out here. But I need the front to be fixed, that’s what people will see. I swallow down my embarrassment at not having this all done already.
His eyes drape over me again, like he’s trying to figure me out.
“I have some time now. My tools are in my truck. I’ll get started on the back door, because if you live upstairs, then security is important.
Then I’ll change your smoke alarms.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, seemingly ignoring my statement about focusing on the front, before he pushes off the doorway and strides out the front of the shop.
I suck in a breath, roll my head on my neck, and try to calm my insides. My hips hurt, my back aches, and I now need a cool drink of water. Not only did a man just swan in and offer to fix everything, but he left me feeling a certain way. A way I haven’t felt in a long, long time. Or maybe ever.
Damn hormones.