Chapter 5 #2
My head shoots up, and I step into the kitchen, seeing the walls now with their second coat and a few specks of white paint covering Griffin.
“You painted?” Not only is the front practically done, but the walls in my kitchen are finished, the back door fixed, the smoke alarms new. Oh, these damn hormones.
“I’ve ordered a new counter here. It should arrive in a few days. I have to travel for work, but I’ll come back when it arrives and install it.”
I can’t talk. I’m shocked. Eyes watering, my throat feels thick with emotion.
I knew it wouldn’t take him long, but this is amazing.
I hold on to the old counter, feeling slightly dizzy.
Overwhelmed. Completely taken aback. I’m sure Tanner is paying him well, but no one has ever helped me out so much.
“I… I don’t know what to say.” My words come out breathy, and he gives me a curious look.
“There’re also a few new cupboards required in here, too. That spot over there, I thought I could build you some shelves for your flour and whatnot.” He points to the area I had reserved for the baby. My heart skips a beat. He wants to build me shelves?
“Oh, that needs to stay empty.”
Bringing his gaze back to me, he seems curious.
He hasn’t looked at my belly once, and I know I hide it well in these flowing dresses, especially as the doctor didn’t even see it.
But Griffin has been here for the past two days and hasn’t mentioned anything, so I assume he either knows and doesn't care or has no idea.
“Empty?” he asks.
“I have some other plans for that area.” I should tell him.
But I’m hesitant. Within weeks, a new little baby will arrive and my life will change again.
But right now, I like feeling like me. The girl who finally stepped out from under her family’s rules, who chose this baby and this life.
I’m scared that once everything changes again, I’ll lose the parts of myself I only just found.
“How long have you been a builder?” I ask to change the subject. His work is good. Clean, thorough, high quality. My grandpa would be impressed.
“All my life.”
I wonder exactly how long that may be. He’s older than me, that’s for sure. By at least a decade or two. He has thick dark hair, but there’s a small sprinkle of gray at his temples. Not much, but up close, I see them. He also looks like a man with experience.
“Makes sense.” I nod to myself.
“What does?” His eyes hold mine. He’s a little guarded, almost like he wants to connect with me but can’t for some reason.
“You did all this in less than a day. I’ve been building for about… a minute, and it would’ve taken me at least a week.” I roll my lips, trying to lighten the mood, and I think I succeed when I see his lips quirk at the sides. It was small. A millimeter at most, but it happened.
“Who taught you to build?” He’s humoring me, so I go with it. I’m enjoying talking with someone other than myself for a change. Being here on my own can be a little lonely sometimes.
“My grandpa. Every Sunday after church, I’d go to my grandparents’ house. He taught me to hammer a nail, chop wood, change the oil in my car…”
“Sounds like a solid guy.” Griffin nods in approval.
“Afterward, I’d go inside, and my grandma would teach me how to bake.”
He nods slowly in understanding. “Betty?”
I smile. “Yeah. I named the bakery after her.”
“It’s a good name. Is she coming to see it?”
My smile falters. “No. They died. About a year ago now.” The memory burns my eyes.
They were the only ones ever in my corner.
I was never the black sheep of the family, but I certainly wasn’t the favorite.
I had great grades throughout school, and I always did every chore and everything that was asked of me at home.
But I asked too many questions. I was always inquisitive, wanting to know why things were the way they were.
Why the people coming to the church food pantry were not blessed by God with more?
Why were girls and boys not treated the same?
I loved books, often reading outside of the approved books which opened even more questions for me.
I was seen as troublesome. As not being submissive enough.
Throughout the years it was almost like all the love my parents had went into my older sister since she toed the line so well.
So much so, there wasn’t any left for me.
My grandparents were the only ones to show me any kindness.
No wonder I spent most weekends with them.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I take a breath and shake off the emotion. “So where do you travel to?”
“This week, I’m heading to Sundown Valley over near Sonoma.”
My eyebrows rise. “Sonoma? Wow, that sounds amazing. I haven’t traveled much. I hardly ever left my small hometown.”
“It’s a beautiful part of the country. You should go sometime.”
I sigh. “Yeah. It'll be a dream,” I say absentmindedly. Because traveling is on my bucket list, but with my life now laid out for me, with a new business and a new baby, travel isn’t going to happen for a long time.
Checking the time, he grabs his toolbelt off the counter. “I need to go. I fly out later tonight.”
“Oh… oh, of course…” I pull myself together. He has a life, Savannah. One that doesn’t involve talking to you.
As Griffin grabs his things, he pauses and looks at me, taking a few steps closer that have my heart beating faster.
“Do you have any more cinnamon rolls?”
“You liked them?” My grin is instant. I love it when people eat the food I make. I try to put so much love and attention into every roll, every bun.
“They were like nothing else I’ve eaten before.”
Shifting over to where I left some goods to cool this morning, I tell him, “Here… I don’t have any cinnamon rolls, but I made some fresh cheese pies this morning.
” I quickly put some in a container. They look a little different to how they normally do, but I hope they taste great, nonetheless.
“Please… take these. It’s not much, but I’m so grateful for all your help.
I wish I could offer you more.” My words rush out as I thrust the container toward him.
His face softens a little. “Are these as good as your cinnamon rolls?”
“I hope so…” I cringe, because I really don’t know.
“I’ll be back in a few days. Here’s my number… in case you need anything.” He passes me his business card, and I take it. It’s thick. Glossy. Luxurious, almost. He takes the container, and as he does, his fingers graze my own. Prickles coat my skin, and my breath hitches.
He looks at where our hands connect, his scowl still etched across his face, and I blow out my breath. He’s magnetic. And I’m pregnant. I pull my hand away quickly, like I’ve been burned. These stupid thoughts about my grumpy yet very good-looking builder are ridiculous.
“Thank you…” I roll his card over in my hands, gently, careful not to bend it.
He clears his throat and turns to walk out, his toolbox in one hand and my container in another. My eyes drop to his ass, filling out his jeans just right, making my heart race, the flush across my cheeks and chest instant. I’m going straight to hell, just like my mother said.
“Griffin!”
He halts, turning immediately and looking straight at me. I pause. For too long. My chest feels like it’s heaving for breath as he watches me closely. All words leave my brain when he takes a step toward me, his eyes pure molten.
“Ahhh, safe travels…” Inwardly, I cringe at myself. His jaw pops, yet he gives me a small nod before he walks out, and I sigh. Scrubbing my face, I wonder if I could be any more foolish.
With him now gone, I pull on my apron and get to work cleaning out the front to make the shop sparkling for opening day. I push Griffin and his sexy scowl to the back of my mind, but I’m already planning to make an extra batch of cinnamon rolls for when he returns in a few days.
As I get busy, I hear a knock at the front door. I quickly wipe my hands and rush out.
“Hello?” I greet a woman who’s standing at the entrance. “I’m sorry. We’re not open yet.”
She gives me a kind smile. “I know, but I saw the help wanted sign in the window, and I wanted to drop off my details.”
Gleeful surprise takes over me. “Oh, of course. Come in.” I open the door and invite her in, excited to talk with her. I’ve had that sign up for weeks now, and she’s the first person to apply.
“As you can see, I’m still getting things organized. Hopefully I’ll be open in a few weeks.”
“Of course.” She nods and looks back at me.
I wipe my dusty hands off on my apron. “I’m Savannah, owner of Betty’s Bakery.”
“I’m Melissa Thorton.” She smiles, and we shake hands.
“So can you tell me a bit about yourself? Your experience?” I haven’t hired staff before, so I’m not sure what to ask. But I need someone part-time to help out when I have the baby and during busy periods.
“Oh, well, I’ve lived in the area most of my life.
My husband and I live farther out of town.
I’ve been a housewife for many years and would like to start some work to bring in a bit of extra money.
I cook at home, I bake, so I’m familiar with kitchens and baking in general, and when I was in town last week, I saw your sign and spoke to my husband, and…
here I am.” She seems nice. Friendly, personable.
She’d be great on the register serving customers.
Being local, she’d know people from around here too, which would be beneficial.
“I don’t need anyone with lots of experience or anything. The job would be casual, helping me out, serving customers and restocking the products. I’ll need someone here when I run errands and have appointments, that kind of thing,” I rush out, excited that someone actually applied.
She nods eagerly. “I’m happy to help out wherever’s needed. The hours also work well for me. I don’t have any other commitments that would prohibit me from coming in whenever you need.”
This feels right. Feels good. Like another piece is slipping into place.
“Great! Well, how about we start in a week? You can help me set up the front, and we can go through the register system together because that confuses me more than anything. That way, we can see if it all works out before opening day.”
“Oh, fantastic. I’m looking forward to getting out of the house a little more and seeing all the locals around town.”
“Perfect. Well, I’ll call you to set up the first day.” With a grin, I walk her back to the door.
“Thanks so much,” she gushes, clearly happy to have a job.
“Thank you! I’m so glad you stopped in.” I watch her head out and down the street, glancing back to wave, before I close and lock the door.
Leaning back against the door, I take in the space. It’s all coming together—the bakery, the business, this new life I’m building. I rub my belly, the skin pulling a little tighter each day. I need to get everything open before the baby comes. I need the income. I need the stability.
I walked away from my family with nothing but my small inheritance, and they’ve made their disappointment loud and clear.
My sister was already buying baby clothes and picking out names for the child she thought I was going to give her, yet neither she nor my mother ever listened when I said I wanted to keep the baby.
When I packed my bags and left home and reinforced that I was not giving them what they wanted, their shock quickly turned to anger.
So when this baby is born, I know I’ll have a fight on my hands. And I need to be ready. I need to prove, to them and to myself, that I can do this. I can work. I can run a business. I can provide for my child.