Chapter 24
Denver
? One Man Band - Old Dominion
Griffin
Girls, Hayes, and Neighs
Wilder: Callie, do you know your house lion is outside chasing the chickens?
Callie: JAXON! You were supposed to be watching him.
Jaxon: I am. He’s doing a great job of catching his dinner.
Jaxon: Anybody up for chicken nuggets?
Callie: Jax. angry face emoji
Jaxon: Fine, I’ll bring him inside.
Me: That cat has you wrapped around his paws, Jaxy.
Jaxon: He’s eating me out of house and home.
Callie: You’re the one who spoils him with new treats all the time.
Me: Have you tattooed his paw print on your ass yet?
Jaxon: No…
Callie: It’s on his chest.
I slide the dutch oven onto the rack and close the door, setting the timer for forty-five minutes.
Leaning back against the counter, my attention automatically moves to the captivating woman on my sofa, knitting another row on her slightly lopsided baby blanket.
Her hair is pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head, and she’s wearing another one of my shirts with her legs curled under her.
Best view in the goddamn world. If I were some kind of artist—photographer or painter—I’d capture every detail of her just like this.
She hasn’t agreed to move in with me yet, but she’s been spending a lot more time here the last couple of weeks.
“You really don’t have to keep doing this,” Angie says, glancing over her shoulder. “I appreciate the effort, but I don’t want to keep wasting your time. I probably hyped it up so much in my mind that nothing will ever come close.”
I eat up the distance between us in several long strides and stand behind the sofa, massaging her shoulders, digging my thumbs into the muscles in her neck and upper back.
“I enjoy it. Makes me feel like I have a purpose. You’re doing all this work carrying the little tater tot.
The least I can do is keep you fed and happy.
It might never be Denver, but at least I did something worthwhile. ”
I’ll find a way to give her Denver.
She closes her eyes and releases a soft moan. “This is a much better use of your time. Little to the left. God. Yessssss,” she whines.
My cock twitches at the sound of her approval.
Fuck. Not now.
I can’t get hard every time she’s around, or we’ll never get past the physical attraction. I need her to see me as more than a way to get off—not that I mind that part. Sex with Angie has always been fucking mind-blowing, but it’s the ordinary moments that I love the most.
“Is this your way of convincing me to move in with you?” she asks.
“Maybe. Is it working?”
“It’s not not working.”
Her phone rings. She picks it up from the coffee table, and after a brief conversation, she stands, tucking it into her pocket. “I have to go. Emergency call-out and Doc’s busy.”
She pops onto her toes and plants a chaste kiss on my lips, stunning me at the simplicity of the gesture. I don’t even get a chance to reciprocate before she’s walking away. “Keep the sourdough warm for when I get back.”
“You’re coming back here?”
She stops near the door, slipping on her shoes. “Do you not want me to?”
“I’d tie you up in my basement if I had to, but I prefer you willing.” I flash a teasing smile. “Let me know when you’re on your way, and I’ll have dinner ready for you.”
The sound of the door opening draws my attention as Wilder strides through the entry. His brow furrows, and he takes a long inhale. He smirks. “Bread again?”
I slip on my oven mitts and fix him with a pointed stare. “If you’re just here to mock me, you can see yourself out.”
He holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I need a favor.”
“Ok. You couldn’t call or text?”
He shrugs. “I was in the neighborhood.”
“We are the neighborhood, dumbass. What do you need?”
“I want to take Olivia out for a date night. Friday. Just the two of us. Would you mind watching the girls?”
The oven timer goes off, and I remove the loaf. “You know I’m always down to hang with my princesses. But tell me why you’re really here.”
He slides into a seat at the island. “Liv kicked me out. Said I’m hovering.”
I chuckle. “You do have a tendency to do that.”
“Fuck you. I don’t wanna hear shit from you, of all people. What’s with the sourdough, anyway?”
“Angie’s been craving it, but only this specific kind from some little shop back in Denver. I can’t seem to get the recipe right.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just call Hoffmann’s and ask them?”
“What’s Hoffmann’s?”
“The cafe. In Denver. Jess and Angie used to meet there for lunch all the time. I swear, Jess ate the same veggie sandwich every day for a month when she was pregnant with Emmy. Angie didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“And you’re too goddamn stubborn to ask.”
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered asking her, but I wanted to figure it out for myself. Maybe I felt like I had something to prove, or maybe I am just a stubborn ass like Wilder claims. I guess two things can be true.
“Twenty-four loaves of sourdough, and you knew this whole fucking time?”
He shrugs, arms crossed. “You never asked.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
I toss my oven mitt at his head, but he catches it.
“You know what?” I say. “I’m with Olivia. You are fucking annoying. Get the hell out of my house.”
He chuckles and tosses it back at me. “I have shit to do anyway. Have fun with your bread.”
As soon as Wilder’s out the door, I pull out my phone. One quick Google search produces the phone number for Hoffmann’s Cafe and Bakery in Denver, Colorado. It’s directly across from Angelina’s old apartment.
Silently cursing my ineptitude, I dial the number and wait for someone to pick up. The line clicks over, and a croaky male voice comes across the line. “Hoffmann’s Cafe and Bakery. Bernie speaking.”
“Yes, hi. Name’s Griffin. I’m hoping you can help me with something.”
“I’ll sure do my best.”
“My wife, Angelina, used to live in Denver. She’s pregnant with our first baby, and she’s been craving your sourdough specifically.”
“Angelina? Do you mean Doctor Rossi?”
“That’s her.”
“Haven’t seen her in years. Saved my dog Chester once. How is she doing?”
I feel a swell of pride that Angie could’ve left such an impression on a stranger that he’d remember her even after all this time. That’s my wife. If anybody knows the kind of lasting impression Angelina Rossi leaves behind, it’s me.
“She’s good. Better if I could get the recipe for that sourdough she loves.”
“Anything for the Doc,” he says. “S’far as I remember, she used to order the avocado BLT. Comes on two slices of our signature red fife sourdough. You got a pen and paper to write this down?”
“Uh. Yeah. Sure. Just one second.” I rifle through the junk drawer until I find one of Emmy’s loose crayons and a return envelope for a utility bill. “Got it.”
Bernie rattles off ingredients and measurements, followed by a set of instructions I’ve become intimately familiar with over the last several weeks. The only major difference to the recipe is the red fife flour and sea salt.
I was so close.
I thank Bernie for the help, promising to pass along his congratulations and best wishes to my wife.
Sliding my phone into my back pocket, I stare at the untouched loaf of bread cooling on the counter. It’s almost offensive now that I have the right recipe.
First thing tomorrow, I’m going down to the market, and I’m finally going to give her a taste of Denver.
Angelina
My house smells like sourdough again. Griffin was already here when I returned home from work, and there’s another BLT waiting for me—like he timed its preparation with my estimated arrival. He looks so hopeful, and I don't have it in me to tell him I’m getting over this particular craving.
Griffin watches me with rapt attention as I bite into it. When the first taste of soft, tangy bread hits my tongue, everything hits me at once—overwhelming joy, long-awaited satisfaction, and a bittersweet pang of sadness.
It’s like I’m sitting across from Jess in our regular booth near the cafe windows, watching people come and go as she fills me in on all the hot gossip at work. I can almost hear her voice, smell the fresh bread and pastries swirling around me.
“How is it?” Griffin asks.
Tears well in my eyes, and my throat closes up. “It’s Denver.”
He wraps me in a tight hug, and I breathe him in, letting his strength hold me together when I’m so close to falling apart. Pregnancy hormones are potent as hell. I’ve cried more in the last three months than I have in three years.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against the side of my head.
“It’s Denver.” Maybe if I keep saying it, this feeling won’t be swept away with the ticking of the clock. Time is cruel and unforgiving. It often takes more than it gives, and it isn’t in the habit of returning what you’ve lost.
Grief has a funny way of finding you when you least expect it. One minute, you’re singing along to a song on the radio at the top of your lungs, and the next, you’re crying over a sourdough BLT made with so much love and care it nearly suffocates you.
It seems my grief has only amplified these last few months. With each new milestone, I grow more detached from my past. I long to sit in that cafe and tell Jess about all of it—the wedding, the pregnancy—but I can’t. I’ll never get back the time we’ll never have together.
Laughter bubbles out of me as sadness wanes, and reality sets in. I just lost it over a sandwich. Albeit a very good one.
I shift away from Griffin and swipe at my damp cheeks. “How’d you figure it out?”
He sits up a little straighter and puffs out his chest as pride blooms across his features. “Called Bernie. He sends his best wishes to you and the baby.”
I gape at him. “You called Bernie. As in… Bernie Hoffmann?”
“One and the same. Nice guy.”
“How do you know about—” Realization dawns. There’s only one other person who would know the name of our favorite restaurant. “Wilder told you, didn’t he?”
Griffin nods, biting into his sandwich. “Damn. It really is good.”
“Ok, Sourdough Daddy. Is this going to be your whole personality now?”
The regret is instantaneous, but it’s too late to walk it back.
He grins.
That smile does unholy things to my body. Death by spontaneous orgasm caused by a Griffin Hayes smile.
This man.
My husband.
He spent two and a half months trying to make the perfect sourdough because I told him, in passing, I was craving it. He could’ve given up after the first failure, but he kept his promise.
He gave me Denver.
We’ve been splitting our time between my place and his.
I have to admit, I’m starting to feel more at home out on the ranch.
This place holds a lot of unwelcome memories for me.
My entire relationship with Tyler existed within these four walls, and now it’s just one more bitter reminder of his abandonment.
Maybe it’s time for a clean slate.
Part of me is still wary of jumping into things too quickly, but Griffin’s as immovable as an ancient redwood, rooted and steady.
Griffin gave me Denver—a taste of my past and the memories that came with it. I don’t have much to offer him beyond my messy, imperfect future. Maybe that would be enough.
I run my hand along my growing bump.
Maybe we could be enough.