Chapter 4
Griffin
I fixed the back door, then went to Bob’s hardware and picked up new smoke alarms that are now all fitted and tested. I ripped up the front counter and sanded back some timber, ready to build some cupboards for her to display her baked goods in the shop front.
I’ve also measured and ordered a new stainless-steel workbench, something that has cupboards underneath for storage that will allow her to work freely.
She thinks it will be laminate, which tells me that she’s clearly on a budget.
But I saw her eyes light up a little when I mentioned stainless, so that’s what I’ll make her.
I’ve been laser-focused all afternoon, trying to get as much done as possible.
Because if I don’t focus on work, I’ll be focusing on her.
She’s here on her own, that much is obvious.
No one else has come by to check in, no one has called.
We’ve worked in relative silence, yet I notice no ring on her finger and no mention of a partner, business or romantic.
I’ve watched her move around the space, fixing this or that.
She’s graceful, reminding me of my mother.
Memories swirl, which isn’t a good thing.
My mother was one of the only shining lights of the past I think of.
Even if I only had her for a short time, every memory I have after her is nothing but dark and traumatic.
Nothing I want to revisit, especially not today.
So I look back at the new local baker and take my fill.
Sweet baby Jesus, she’s beautiful. Round, soft, feminine. Wearing some kind of floaty summer dress that’s alluring and sexy as hell. God, the thoughts I have of pulling up that material and sliding my hands up her thighs has my throat thick.
But it sure as hell isn’t OHSA friendly.
Not with the big ovens she has here. If I didn’t think it would piss her off, I’d tell her to go change.
Not because I don’t love what she’s wearing, but because she needs to be safe.
Here, all on her own. The damn smoke alarms weren’t even working.
The entire thing pisses me off. My scowl is well dented on my face and has been all afternoon.
I wasn’t sure what I was walking into when I came to Betty’s Bakery today. I wanted to assess things, do as much as I can while I have the time, and then walk out. A favor to Tanner, that’s all it is. But when I saw her… all I could think of was Tanner who?
She’s been in the kitchen for the entire afternoon. Baking. Burning. A mixture of smoke and sweet pastries wafting through the air. The kind of home-cooked smell that I haven’t experienced… ever.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. It has been since I arrived, yet I’ve ignored every call. Something I never do.
“Ahhh, Griffin?”
I look up at the sound of her sweet voice, her sparkling blue eyes twinkling as she walks toward me hesitantly with a plate of pastries.
I stand to say something in response, but my heart is pounding so powerfully I can’t think straight.
When we first met earlier, she was full of sass and confidence.
Now, she’s more reserved and has barely spoken to me since I started working, approaching me like she isn’t allowed to.
I know I act and look like an asshole, but a woman scared to approach me is new.
“Can you do me a favor?” She stops in front of me, and her cheeks tint a little. “I mean, you already are, so I feel bad asking. I just…”
“What do you need?” I force my eyes to stay on hers and not flick down to her chest. I’m a breasts guy. Always have been. And the way hers are sitting round, perky, and full has me feeling a certain way. A way I shouldn’t be feeling. Fuck, it’s been too long since I felt the love of a good woman.
“Can you… taste test these for me?” I sure as hell want to taste something. I frown at my own thoughts. I need to get it together.
Her eyes are almost pleading, like she really needs my help.
“Do you need a second opinion?” I ask, sounding rougher than I’d like.
“Yeah… I know these recipes by heart. I’ve baked ever since I was little, but my memory isn’t good these days, and I’m sure I’m forgetting something.
Maybe it’s me. It doesn’t help that my taste buds are off, too.
They have been for a while, so I can’t taste what ingredient I’m missing…
” That confuses me. Not sure what would cause a baker to lose their sense of taste, but I don’t pretend to know much about women, and I sure as hell don’t know anything about this one.
Despite my best efforts to create distance, I find myself nodding before I reach out and grab a cinnamon roll. It’s still warm. The smell of the spice hits me as I lift it to my mouth.
Not telling her that cinnamon rolls are my all-time favorite food, I take a bite. But this one… No, this one is shit.
It’s dry, tasteless, and it’s like chewing cardboard. Her eyes widen as she watches me, so I force myself to keep chewing, my jaw working double time to get through it before I swallow, feeling it move like a rock down my throat.
“Tastes great,” I lie, and it was worth it as her shoulders lower and a small smile brightens her face.
“Really? I’ve been cooking them forever, a recipe my grandma taught me.
But I haven’t been able to test the taste of them for weeks.
I have a constant metallic taste in my mouth lately, and I’m using all new brands of ingredients that I haven’t used before.
Plus, the mixers and ovens are all new to me, so I wasn’t sure if they needed more or less cooking time.
” She shrugs and then yawns, and as she does, her chest lifts and lowers teasingly.
I shove the remaining roll in my mouth, forcing myself to concentrate on chewing and thinking about all the work I need to do. Anything to get my mind off her.
“You from town?” I start to finish up what I was working on, my attempt at small talk something I don’t often do.
“Williamstown, the next town over. But they already have so many bakeries, so competition is fierce over there.”
I nod, having only been to Williamstown a few times, so I see the appeal of Whispers.
“What about you? Local?”
I huff a little, because I don’t know the answer.
“Not born here. Not raised here. But I seem to aways be here,” I tell her honestly.
“Whispers seems to attract good people.” As she looks at me pointedly, my eyes meet hers.
“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”
She offers me a small smile, one that you wouldn’t think could penetrate my hardened chest, yet it does.
As she tries to stifle another yawn, I lift my gaze above her head to the clock on the wall.
It’s getting late. I could keep going for hours.
I’m used to working around the clock. But something tells me this woman needs to rest. She’s beautiful but I can tell she’s weary.
“Tired?”
“Oh, sorry… I’ve been awake since five, and it’s catching up with me. I don’t sleep very well anymore.”
I frown. “Five a.m.?” I thought I was the only one up at that hour.
“Yeah, life of a baker!” She laughs lightly, shrugging her shoulders, and I nod. It makes sense.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. Early then.”
“Thank you, Griffin. Truly.” She looks around at what I’ve already achieved, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say her eyes are glassy. Women and tears, the two things I don’t do well with, so I grab my things and focus on heading out.
She shuffles closer as I start to edge toward the door. “Oh, before you leave, I know Tanner said he was paying you, but I want to as well.”
“I’m not accepting your money.” I won't even accept Tanner’s. I’m here. I’m capable. The constant work keeps my mind busy.
“I can pay in other ways,” she says with a smile.
My eyebrows hit my hairline.
Seeing my reaction, her words rush out. “Oh, I mean with pastries…” Her cheeks tint bright pink, and I grit my teeth, mentally telling my dick to stand down.
I remain silent as I look at the container she stretches out to me, filled with cinnamon rolls, and my throat dries. I’m not sure I can stomach it. But when I grab the container, her smile hits me straight in the chest.
“Oh, and here. I popped in an extra cupcake for later.”
I nod because I have no words. I secretly hope the cupcake tastes better, but I doubt it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I confirm, and she follows me to the door. Seeing this woman standing here on her own, in what’s effectively a worksite, has me feeling protective. “Lock up after I leave.”
She nods. “I will.” There’s something in her gaze that makes it hard to take another step away.
Snapping out of it, I head outside and load my truck. But unable to help myself, I pause and look back at her, where she’s still standing at the shop entrance, like a woman I sure as hell shouldn’t be looking at like I am.
I wait and watch as she closes the door, and once I hear the click of the lock, I jump into my truck and start the drive to my new place on Billionaire Boulevard.
The drive is quiet as I snake through the streets, my eyes moving from the road in front of me to the container next to me. Before I can think about it, I open it and shovel the dry and overly salted pastries into my mouth for the entire drive and force myself to like every single one of them.
Stomach be damned.