Chapter 5 #2
The morning rush is already going when I arrive. Mark is humming along to music while shaping dough. Chris is in the corner piping frosting onto cupcakes with ridiculous precision. Henry is manning the counter, and charming the regulars like always.
I jump in, and for a while, I manage not to think about anything but baking, customers, and the endless repetition of small tasks that keep the place running.
But Charlotte is coming in today to check on final details for the festival booths. I know her schedule. I know roughly when she likes to grab coffee. I know which table she gravitates toward.
I also know I’m not waiting for her to come to me. Around late morning, once the main rush slows, I pull Henry aside.
“I need to step out for a bit later,” I tell him.
He raises an eyebrow. “Bakery-related?”
“Festival-related,” I say.
“Ah.” He grins. “The festival coordinator.”
“Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You thought it.”
“That’s true,” he admits.
I clean my hands, grab my jacket, and glance at Mark. “Are you good for an hour?”
“We will survive,” he says. “If the oven mutinies, I will text you.”
“Please do not joke about that.”
He laughs, and I head out.
The inn where Charlotte is staying is a few blocks from the bakery. I’ve delivered pastries here for weekend brunch enough times that the walk is automatic.
My stomach tightens the entire way.
I hate this feeling of being vulnerable and off balance, it’s like I’m about to walk into an exam I haven’t studied for.
When I step into the lobby, the inn’s owner, a woman in her fifties named Tessa, gives me a knowing smile.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite baker,” she says.
“Hi, Tessa.”
“Looking for the festival lady?” she asks, way too perceptive.
I rub the back of my neck. “Is she here?”
“Conference room,” Tessa says. “You can go back, she’s alone. People were in and out earlier, but they cleared out twenty minutes ago.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Good luck,” she adds.
Wonderful. No doubt the entire town will be talking come nighttime.
I walk down the short hall and stop outside the conference room door. My heart is beating harder than it should for a simple conversation.
I knock.
“Come in,” Charlotte calls.
I open the door and she’s standing at the far end of the room, surrounded by papers and mockup boards. She has her hair pulled back, glasses perched on her nose, and a pen between her teeth. She looks like she has been in planning mode for hours.
When she sees me, she stops. The pen drops onto the table. “Hi,” she says. Her voice is soft and willowy, and once again, that pull is here, stronger than ever.
“Hey,” I say, my own voice sounds rougher than usual.
“I thought you were at the bakery,” she says.
“I was,” I answer. “I’m supposed to be, but I took a break.”
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I just… needed to talk to you.”
Silence spreads and my stomach clenches. God, I’m not good at this.
“Okay,” she says. “Do you want to sit?”
I look at the table then I look at her. “No,” I say. “I think if I sit, I might not say what I need to say.”
That earns a small smile from her. “Alright. Shoot.”
I shove my hands in my pockets, then pull them out again. I’m too restless.
“About yesterday,” I say.
Her face goes a little pink, I watch as she swallows. “The kiss.”
“Yeah,” I say. “That.”
She nods slowly, her eyes are void of emotion and I don’t like it. “Do you regret it?”
The question lands heavy between us.
“No,” I say immediately. “That’s not… I don’t regret it.”
Her shoulders drop an inch, like she was braced for me to say yes.
“I just…” I scrub a hand over my face. “I haven’t done this in a long time, Charlotte. And I have Maisie to think about. I cannot afford to be careless with this.”
“I know,” she says. “I get that. I don’t take it lightly either.”
She steps around the table, closer now, but she still gives me space.
“I don’t regret it either,” she says. “At all.”
Those last two words hit deep.
I exhale slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay,” she echoes.
“I like you,” I say, the words feeling clumsy and huge at the same time. “More than I planned to. More than I meant to. And faster than I probably should.”
Her eyes soften in a way that makes my pulse stutter.
“I like you too,” she says. “And I like Maisie. A lot.”
I nod. “She likes you, too much, maybe. She asked if I’m going to marry you.”
Charlotte’s eyes widen. “Already?”
“She moves fast,” I say.
“She’s efficient,” Charlotte agrees.
“I know you’re only here for the festival,” I say. “I know this isn't your home. I’m not asking for promises you cannot give. I just… needed to know where you stand. If that kiss was a one-time thing or if you want… more.”
Her expression shifts, and I see the raw fear in her eyes.
“I want more,” she says simply. “If you do.”
The relief that hits me is so strong I nearly sit down.
“I do,” I say. “I want more. I just need to go slow enough that my kid does not end up caught in the fallout if it goes sideways.”
“That is fair,” she says. “And I’m not looking for casual, Liam. I don’t sleep with people I cannot picture having breakfast with. And in your case, that includes a six-year-old who loves sparkles and cookies.”
A strange, unexpected warmth spreads through my chest.
“So we try this?” I ask.
She nods. “We try this.”
“Carefully,” I add.
“Carefully,” she agrees. The silence spreads between us, this time a little awkward. “Now that we have established we both want to kiss again, can we… you know… do that?”
I choke on a laugh. “You’re very direct.”
“You came all the way over here,” she says. “Seems a shame to waste it.”
I take a step closer. “You sure?”
“Yes,” she says. “Very.”
That is all I need. I close the distance and kiss her, and there’s nothing uncertain about it this time.
She comes into me fast, her hands sliding up my chest, gripping my shirt like she wants me closer than physics allows. My hand finds her hip and pulls her in, then moves up her back, feeling every inch of her respond.
She tastes like coffee and sugar, and the sound she makes against my mouth sends heat rushing through me.
I guide her back toward the table. Papers shift under her hands as she braces herself, and I step between her knees without thinking. The heat between us spikes fast, sharp, and way past what I told myself I’d allow.
I pull back an inch, breathing harder than I want her to notice.
“We should stop,” I say.
“Probably,” she whispers, not moving.
I stay where I am for another second, feeling her breath on my lips, then rest my forehead against hers.
“If we keep going, I’m not going to want to leave this room,” I say.
“Is that a bad thing?” she asks softly.
“For my self-control, yes,” I say. “For my ability to function at work, also yes.”
She laughs quietly, and it does nothing to stop the growing tent in my pants.
“Okay,” she says. “Stopping. For now.”
“For now,” I echo.
I step back slowly, giving us both room to breathe.
“Are you coming by the bakery later?” I ask.
She nods. “To go over the booth layout near the main stage.”
“Right,” I say. “Festival stuff.”
Her mouth curves. “Festival stuff and maybe some staring across the counter.”
“I don’t stare,” I lie.
She smiles fully at that. “Sure.”
There is a lightness in my chest I have not felt in a long time.
It is terrifying but it feels good.
“I should get back,” I say.
“Go,” she says with a small smile. “I’ve got festival chaos to wrangle.”
“I’m not worried,” I tell her. “You’ve got it under control.”
“And you?” she asks. “How’s everything on your end?”
I think of Maisie, of the bakery, and of her. “Managing,” I say. “One day at a time.”
She nods. “See you later, Liam.”
“Yeah,” I say as I head to the door. “Later.”
I step out into the hall, my pulse still running ahead of me, and realize something quietly, solidly true.
I don’t know what comes next, but for the first time in a long time, I want to find out.