Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Paige
I take the stairs two at a time, barely able to keep the grin off my face. My sneakers squeak faintly against the worn wood, but even that sound feels bright, like it’s part of the moment. My hands are still fidgety from the call with Kelly, the energy buzzing through me like too much caffeine.
It’s official. I have a deal on the place.
In just a few hours, I’ll be sitting down with Kelly and the landlord, pen in hand, signing the contract that makes Sweet Confessions mine. My bakery. My dream. My heart is thudding so hard I swear anyone passing me on the sidewalk can hear it.
I reach the bottom step and glance toward the back of the house.
Through the glass doors, I can see Mom out on the patio, her hair catching the sunlight as it lifts in the breeze coming off the river.
She’s curled into one of the white wicker chairs, a glass of iced tea sweating on the table beside her, the view stretching out in front of her like a painting.
For a second, I just stand there, taking it in. The wide sweep of green lawn, the glitter of sunlight on the water, the way this house always seems to breathe calm into anyone who steps onto that patio.
I slide the door open, the sound of it rumbling along the track making her glance over. She smiles warmly and gestures to the chair across from her.
“Can I join you?” I say, stepping out into the sunshine.
“Always,” she says, and I sink into the seat, the breeze carrying the faint scent of the river and fresh-cut grass.
Mom takes a slow sip of her tea, eyes drifting toward the river like she could sit here all day and never get tired of the view.
“So, how was your morning?”
“Good,” I say, leaning back into the chair. “Busy, but good.”
She tilts her head, smiling. “Busy already? You just got back.”
I laugh lightly. “You know me. I can’t sit still for too long.”
“That’s true,” she says, eyes twinkling. “When you were little, I used to have to bribe you with cookies just to get you to sit through a whole movie.”
I grin at the memory. “And it worked every time.”
She chuckles, looking toward the river again.
“That phone call you just had…” she starts.
Damn. I thought I hid it well.
Can never get anything by Gwen Richards.
“Was it about that interview from the other day?”
I hesitate, my fingers curling around the armrest. Part of me wants to blurt it all out—the deal, the signing, the keys that will soon be mine. But the other part wants to hold it close for just a few more hours, let it be mine alone until it’s official.
“Sort of,” I say finally, keeping my tone light. Not a lie. Not exactly the truth, either.
Her brows lift in curiosity, but she doesn’t press. That’s one of the things I love about her—she knows when to ask and when to wait.
Instead, she smiles and takes another sip of tea. “Well, whatever it was, you’re glowing. I haven’t seen that look on your face since…” She trails off, shaking her head with a soft laugh. “Probably since you got your acceptance letter from Vanderbilt.”
I laugh, though my heart is still thumping with all the things I’m not saying. “Guess it’s been a good day.”
Her smile lingers, warm and knowing. “I like good days. Let’s have more of them.”
“Agreed,” I say.
“It’s good having you home, Paige. The house feels… fuller,” she says wistfully.
I smile, tracing my fingertip along the arm of the wicker chair. “It’s good to be home.”
She glances at me over the rim of her glass. “I know you’ve been busy the last few years, but I’ve missed this. Missed you.”
A little guilt tugs at me, the words warming me and stinging all at once.
“I know,” I admit, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I should’ve come home more. I don’t even have a good excuse… just got caught up in school, work, life.”
She waves a hand, like she’s brushing the words right out of the air. “What matters is you’re here now.” Her eyes soften as she looks at me, the sunlight turning them almost golden. “And we’ve got all the time in the world to make up for it.”
“We sure do.” I stretch my legs out. “You’re stuck with me for a while.”
Mom smiles. “Good. I like the sound of that.”
I nod, keeping my smile glued to my face even as my mind skips ahead to later today—papers to sign, keys in hand, the start of something huge. I almost blurt it out right then, but the words stick in my throat. Not yet. I want to tell them when it’s official.
For now, I just sit back, let the breeze carry the scent of the river, and soak in the feeling of being home.
I wander down the sidewalk, the late afternoon sun warming my shoulders and making the whole street look like something out of a postcard. My steps slow as I pass the storefront that, in just a little while, will be mine.
Sweet Confessions. I can already see the name painted on the glass, the display full of cupcakes, cookies, and pastries that will make people stop in their tracks.
We’re not meeting there, though. Kelly said we’d meet next door, at The Wandering Pint. Apparently, the guy who owns the pub owns the entire building.
I pause in front of the big window, looking in at the empty space that will soon smell like sugar and butter instead of dust. My reflection stares back at me, and I smooth my hands down the front of my outfit.
I didn’t want to go full business-formal—it’s not that kind of meeting—but I didn’t want to look like I just rolled out of bed either. Nice slacks, a business-casual top, and my long, thick hair pulled back so it stays out of my face.
I take a slow breath, my pulse jumping with a mix of nerves and excitement. This is it.
I step away from the window and make my way toward the pub entrance.
The door is propped open, letting out a warm mix of scents—grilled burgers, fried something that smells amazing, and the faint bite of hops.
The sound of low conversation wanders out from inside, mingled with clinking glasses and the muted thump of music.
The Wandering Pint feels bigger than it looks from the street, light streaming in through tall front windows and glancing off the polished oak bar.
The walls are lined with deep green booths, and neat little tables fill the rest of the space in a way that feels comfortable yet spacious.
A few people glance up as I walk in, but no one lingers long enough to make me self-conscious.
Many of the tables are full, but it’s nowhere near as busy as I’ve seen it in the past few days. This must be the lull before the storm of dinner hits.
Kelly spots me first, waving from a table near the front. She’s all sunshine and smiles, standing to greet me. “Paige! Perfect timing.”
Relief flickers through me at the sight of her, even though we just spoke earlier today. “Hey,” I say, sliding into the seat she gestures toward.
Kelly sits back down across from me, her smile still bright enough to cut through the flicker of nerves twisting in my stomach.
Up close, she’s even more put together than usual—blonde hair swept back into a sleek ponytail, a deep green blouse that makes her hazel eyes pop, and a gold necklace that catches the light every time she moves.
She has that polished, approachable energy that makes you think she could sell you a house and make you feel like it was your own idea.
“Big day,” she says, flipping open her leather folder, the kind with neat little tabs and perfectly organized papers. “How are you feeling?”
“A little nervous,” I admit, smoothing my hands over my knees. “Excited, but… nervous.”
Kelly’s smile softens into something more reassuring. “That’s normal. But you have nothing to worry about, Paige. The lease is solid, you’ve got a great concept, and frankly, the space has been begging for someone like you.”
Her tone makes me want to believe it’s all that simple, but there’s still that jittery hum under my skin. “And the owner?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but failing.
She waves a hand lightly, leaning back in her chair. “Don’t let Ben intimidate you. He can come off a little surly at first—it’s just his personality. Nothing personal. Once he warms up, he’s fine.”
I nod, chewing on that. “Surly” isn’t exactly what I want from my new next-door neighbor and landlord, but it’s better than a dozen other adjectives might have been.
Kelly grins like she can read my mind. “Trust me. He’s all bark.” She glances toward the door, then back at me. “Besides, I’ll be right here the whole time.”
Some of the tension in my shoulders eases. Still, I clasp my hands together in my lap and try not to think about how much I want this meeting to go perfectly.
I nod, glancing toward the door like he might appear any second. The conversation from the other tables feels louder now, the clink of silverware and muted laughter filling in the spaces where my thoughts would normally settle. I shift in my seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs.
Kelly catches the movement and leans in a little.
“Deep breaths,” she says in that calm, practiced tone that probably soothes jittery buyers and sellers on a daily basis.
“This is just a conversation. You’ve already impressed me, and I’ve known him for years.
He respects people who know what they want. ”
That’s good, I think, because I know exactly what I want. Still, my stomach is doing that fluttery thing it hasn’t done since oral presentations in college. I take one of those deep breaths she mentioned, let it out slowly, and straighten my posture.
Kelly flips through a couple of pages in her folder, tucking one neatly back into place. “We’ll go through the basics again with him—rent, maintenance, utilities. Easy stuff. And if you have questions, ask. He likes direct.”
I open my mouth to reply, but the door behind the bar swings open, letting in a wash of cooler air from the kitchen. My pulse jumps without my permission. Kelly’s eyes flick over my shoulder, and the corners of her mouth curve.
“Speak of the devil,” she murmurs.
I’m almost afraid to look.
I force myself to turn in my seat, staring at the ground because it feels safer somehow.
Long legs in worn jeans, the faded denim stretching over strong thighs. My gaze moves up to a denim button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the fabric pulling slightly across his chest and shoulders like it was made to fit him and him alone.
Then there’s the scruff along his jaw, the kind of deliberate roughness that makes a man look like he’s either been working hard or just doesn’t care to be too polished.
Finally, my eyes reach his face. Blond hair, a little longer on top, catching the light from the windows. And blue eyes—clear, steady—watching me like they’re taking in every detail.
My mouth goes dry.
Kelly’s words from earlier become clear as glass in my mind. Don’t let Ben intimidate you.
But I didn’t give it a second thought.
I am now, though.
Because this isn’t just any Ben.
No. This is my Ben.
Ben Hoffman.
And just like that, my pulse isn’t fluttering anymore—it’s pounding.