Chapter 4
four
. . .
Hayes
“Still haven’t told her?” Rhett asks the minute Emmy and Evie have left.
“Nothing to tell.” I shrug, not really wanting to discuss my feelings for Emmy.
“Bullshit, Hayes.” He tosses a broken piece of molding into the trash bin beside him. “We all know that you’ve had feelings for Emmy for years. I still don’t understand why the hell you don’t just tell the woman.”
“We’re just friends.”
“You sure about that? Because you don’t sound very convincing.”
I grit my teeth, more at myself than at him. Rhett’s never been one for subtlety—guy approaches emotional topics with the finesse of a sledgehammer. He steps over a pile of charred wood, wipes his hands on his pants, and levels me with a look that’s half challenge, half pity.
“You hover over her like she’s made of glass.”
“I’m just looking out for her. Making sure she’s okay,” I mutter.
“Always looking out for her.”
I shoot him a glare, but he just smirks—because he’s not wrong.
“She trusts you, you know,” he adds. “More than most people.”
“Which is exactly why I’m not screwing anything up.” I crouch at the base of the wall, inspecting the wiring. “You know how much she’s got on her plate.”
Rhett snorts. “Oh, please. Don’t act like keeping quiet is some noble sacrifice. It’s you being scared.”
My jaw flexes. I thread a new length of wire through the conduit, mostly so I don’t accidentally punch the wall.
“She doesn’t see me that way.”
Rhett lets out a laugh that’s basically a bark.
“Hayes, she looks at you like you’ve hung the goddamn moon.
I’ve never seen her so much as glance at another man that way.
The whole damn town knows that Emmy is your girl.
Why do you think she’s single? Every guy in a fifty-mile radius is afraid to approach her because they’ve heard how feral you can be. ”
“Really? Is that why you asked her out two years ago?”
“Christ,” he hisses. “I didn’t ask her out. We were both going to the same Small Business Convention out of town. I offered for us to car pool. As friends. You wouldn’t be talking to me right now if I had actually asked her out and you know it.”
I grunt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of reacting.
“And that kitchen key?” he goes on, leaning against the counter. “The troll thing?”
I freeze. “What about it?”
“Buddy,” he says, pointing at me with a screwdriver, “you don’t hand someone the lucky charm you’ve carried since fire school unless you’re in deep.”
“It was sentimental,” I say, too quickly. “She gave it to me before I left.”
“Exactly.” Rhett shakes his head. “You carry it every day for over two decades because… friendship?”
I scrub a hand down my face. “You’re exhausting.”
He grins. “And you’re in denial.”
I tighten a wire nut a little too aggressively. “Drop it.”
Rhett studies me for a long beat, the sarcasm fading from his expression. “Look, man… I’m not trying to give you crap. I’m saying this because you act like Emmy is some ticking bomb you’re afraid to get too close to.”
I swallow hard. “She’s not a bomb.”
“Oh, I know.” He crosses his arms. “She’s the opposite. And that’s what scares you.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. My silence says everything.
Rhett sighs. “You’re not gonna lose her if you tell her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yeah,” he says softly, “I do. Because I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”
That lands like a punch to the ribs.
I straighten, wiping my hands on my pants. “We need to finish rewiring this so I can call the inspector to come check it out.”
Rhett claps me on the shoulder. “Fine. Be a coward. Just hurry up, because the sooner we fix this place, the sooner you can go pretend you’re not in love with her at the community center.”
I shoot him a warning look.
He lifts both hands. “Hey, I gave my professional opinion. Now I’ll stick to hardware and broken baseboards.”
But he’s smiling. And annoyingly smug.
I shake my head, turn back to the wiring, and try—unsuccessfully—not to think about Emmy in the borrowed kitchen across town.
Because Rhett wasn’t wrong about one thing:
Loving Emmy isn’t something I’d ever gamble with.
It’s something I’m protecting.
Even if she never knows it.
“You still want to check out the rest of the wiring in this place?” Rhett asks.
“Just what’s back here. The wiring in the front store was all updated and inspected before they moved in.”
Rhett raises a brow. “Oh, really? And how do you know that?”
“Looked up the permits and the inspection report,” I reply, nonchalantly.
He shakes his head and moves a piece of bakery equipment out of the way to get to more wiring. “You’re in deep, bro.”
“Just shut up and focus. I don’t want the cafe to be shut down longer than it needs to be.”
It takes three long and grueling days to make sure all the wiring in the back of the cafe is up to code with Rhett’s help.
By the time I get to the community center late in the day on day three, I can hear the faint clatter of baking pans even through the heavy double doors. Emmy always hums when she’s stressed, and sure enough, I pick up the soft off-key tune before I see her.
I push the doors open and there she is.
In the borrowed industrial kitchen, sleeves pushed up, cheeks flushed pink from the ovens, blonde hair in a messy bun that’s losing battles on all sides. The sunshine of this town. And she doesn’t even know it.
Evie is leaning against a prep table, scrolling her phone and occasionally offering loud, chaotic commentary on whatever Emmy is doing.
Emmy whirls when she hears the door. “Hayes! You shouldn’t be doing repairs and checking on me. You should be—sleeping. Or eating. Or literally anything else.”
Evie mutters, “Looks like he’s planning on eating.” She points at the paper bag in my hand. “Please tell me that’s food.”
“It’s food,” I say, handing it off.
She snatches it greedily, opens it, and beams. “Bless you, fireman.”
I lift a brow. “Uhm. You’re welcome?”
“Yeah, yeah,,” she says, waving me off. Then, with zero shame, she adds, “Also, I need to leave.”
Emmy straightens. “Already? Evie, we’ve barely started. And it’s extremely rude to grab Hayes’s food and leave.”
I check my watch and look at the boxes of baked goods lined up and stacked on the counter against the far wall. If this is ‘barely started,’ I fear what she’s got left.
“Technically, not my food. That bag is Evie’s.”
Emmy gives me a warning glare for defending Evie that makes my cheeks heat.
Evie smiles at me. “Thank you.” She slides her phone into her pocket. “Anyway, I happen to have a life outside of Dockside Cafe.” She wiggles her brows. “I’m meeting up with Gideon to see the historical home tour tonight.”
“Gideon from the bait shop?” Emmy asks, her eyes wide in shock.
“Don’t look so surprised. He has a dog,” Evie says defensively. “A very good dog. And he asked nicely.” She grabs her scarf. “Plus, someone needs to keep you from drowning in dough, and Hayes looks like he’s vibrating with the urge to do exactly that.”
I blink then scrunch my brows. “I’m not vibrating.”
Evie pats my chest on her way out. “Sweetheart, you’re a human whisk.”
Emmy groans. I bite back a laugh.
“Text me if you need me,” Evie says, halfway out the door. “Actually, no. Only text if something is on fire.” She points dramatically at me. “And you—don’t let her stress bake herself into a coma.”
Then she’s gone, the door swinging shut behind her, leaving both of us stunned quiet in her wake.
After a beat, Emmy exhales shakily. “Sorry about her.”
“I like her,” I say. “She’s protective.”
“She’s exhausting,” Emmy corrects—but she’s smiling, soft and fond.
I step closer. She’s surrounded by baking sheets, half-prepped pastries, bowls of dough in different stages of life.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Yes. Just…behind. And overwhelmed. And trying not to think about the fact that Dockside smells like burnt toast and broken dreams.”
My chest tightens. “Hey. You’re gonna catch up. You always do.”
She bites her lip, looking at all the orders stacked on the sheet tray. “Not alone.”
“You’re not alone,” I say quietly. “You’ve never been.”
Her eyes flick up to mine for a second—so quick I almost miss it—but the look of appreciation and admiration knocks the wind out of me all the same.
I clear my throat, roll up my sleeves, and survey the kitchen. “All right. Put me to work.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Em,” I interrupt gently. “You need help. And I know how to help.”
She hesitates and stares at me suspiciously. “When’s the last time you baked something?”
Ignoring her, I thumb through the stack of orders she has sitting on the metal workspace and pull out one that I know I can handle. “Ha. Here’s one I can handle. Six dozen chocolate chip cookies for Mistletoe Bay Elementary School’s entire kindergarten class.”
“Hayes,” she gasps and not going to lie, the sound goes straight to my dick. I could blame it on Rhett for all the bullshit he was spewing earlier but the truth is, it’s not the first time Emmy has had that effect on me.
“You can’t bake a dozen, let alone six. You don’t even know the recipe!”
“Emmy, you’ve been using the same recipe since we were kids. Passed down from your Pappy, who taught us both. I’ve been baking his cookies for the guys at the firehouse since I graduated from the fire academy.”
“But…” she pauses and her voice drops to a whisper, “you always order a few dozen of mine. I thought…”
I can’t help it, I move closer to her and trace my thumb across her chin.
“That I forgot how? Nah.” I shake my head.
“Truth is, I take yours with me and the guys when we go feed the hungry around the holidays. The folks at the shelter love them. It’s for a good cause and they deserve a sweet treat in their lives.
If there are any left over, I selfishly save them for myself.
There usually aren’t many left over though,” I chuckle.