Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Sarah
I 've never been a confrontational person. Bakers rarely are. We're the ones who smooth things over, who make everything a little sweeter, a little easier to digest. It's practically in the job description.
But I'm done waiting.
The drive up to Mountain Laurel Lodge takes exactly twelve minutes from town. I know because I've counted every second, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles have gone white. Each turn in the winding mountain road brings me closer to either closure or heartbreak—maybe both—and the butterflies in my stomach have evolved into something more like angry hornets.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter to myself as the lodge comes into view, its familiar rustic elegance normally comforting but now intimidating. "You're a grown woman. Act like it."
I park in the visitor lot, ignoring the voice in my head telling me to turn around, to drive back to town, to the safety of my bakery where flour and sugar follow predictable rules and nothing ever breaks your heart if you follow the recipe.
The morning air is crisp despite the summer warmth, the scent of pine sharp in my lungs as I stride toward the main building. A few guests lounge on the wide porch, enjoying coffee and the mountain view, but I barely notice them. My focus narrows to a single purpose. Finding Connor.
I don't have to look far.
He's emerging from his cabin, one of several set apart from the main lodge for family use. He's freshly showered, his hair still damp.
For a moment, I just watch him. He looks nervous, determined, nothing like the confident mountain guide I'm used to seeing. He hasn't noticed me yet, his attention focused on whatever thoughts are running through his head, his expression more vulnerable than I've ever seen it.
Not like he usually is.
Not like he was with me.
"Connor."
He turns at the sound of my voice, surprise flashing across his face before something else replaces it—wariness, maybe. Or guilt. He stands quickly, wiping his hands on his jeans.
"Sarah." My name sounds careful on his lips, like he's testing the waters. "I was just about to?—"
"Were you?" I cut him off, the anger I've been nursing for days finally finding its voice. "Because from where I'm standing, you've had plenty of time to do whatever you were 'just about to' do."
He takes a step toward me, then seems to think better of it. "I know," he says quietly. "I should have come to the bakery. I was planning to this morning."
"Three days later?" I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed despite being the one who sought this confrontation. "You kissed me, Connor. Then you disappeared. So tell me—was it just pity?"
"What? No." He looks genuinely shocked by the suggestion. "Sarah, that's not?—"
"Then what was it?" I press, needing to hear him say it, whatever 'it' is. "Some kind of obligation? A moment of weakness? Because if that kiss meant nothing to you, I need to know."
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I've seen a hundred times over the years. "It wasn't nothing," he says finally. "It was—" He stops, seeming to struggle with the words, a hesitation that stretches between us like a chasm.
And that moment of hesitation is all I need.
All the confirmation I never wanted. If he had to think about it, search for the right words, then whatever that kiss meant to him, it wasn't what it meant to me. It wasn't everything.
"Never mind," I say, my voice steadier than I feel as the last fragile hope crumbles inside me. "I got my answer."
"Sarah, wait?—"
But I'm already turning away, unable to bear the pity I imagine in his eyes. Three quick steps and I'm moving down the path toward the parking lot, my vision blurring as tears threaten.
I will not cry in front of him. I've given Connor Callahan enough of myself already—my mornings, my thoughts, my heart. He doesn't get my tears too.
"That's not what I—" His voice follows me, but I don't slow down.
* * *
Gravel crunches under my feet as I quicken my pace. The lodge's main building looms ahead, guests still lingering on the porch, oblivious to the small drama unfolding. I'll have to walk past them to reach my car. Perfect. Nothing like an audience for the final act of my humiliation.
I'm halfway across the open area when I hear rapid footsteps behind me.
"Sarah!"
I don't turn around. I can't bear to see the pity in his eyes, or worse, the relief that I'm walking away.
"Sarah, please." His voice is closer now, urgent. "Would you just?—"
"What?" I spin around, the word coming out sharper than I intended. "What more is there to say, Connor?"
I regret turning immediately. Because now I have to look at him—his flushed face, his concerned eyes, his damp hair curling slightly at the temples. Even now, even hurting, I notice these things. I hate that I notice.
But something's different. The hesitation from moments ago is gone, replaced by a determination that stops me in my tracks.
We're standing in front of the main lodge now, I realize belatedly. The morning crowd has gathered on the wide porch—guests with their coffee cups, staff preparing for the day. And the Callahans. I spot Liam near the entrance, Declan leaning against a post, Evie watching from the top step with undisguised interest.
Great. An audience for whatever gentle letdown Connor has planned.
"I need to go," I mutter, turning again.
"I love you, Sarah Miller."
The words stop me as effectively as a physical barrier. For a moment, I'm certain I've misheard. I turn slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"What did you say?" My voice is barely audible.
Connor stands a few feet away, his hands open at his sides, looking more vulnerable than I've ever seen him. And more certain.
"I love you," he repeats, louder this time. Someone on the porch gasps softly. "I think I have for years. I just didn't know how to see it."
The world narrows to just his face, his eyes, his words. The audience fades away.
"But you hesitated," I say, the hurt still raw. "When I brought up the kiss, you hesitated."
"Because I was trying to find the right words." He takes a step closer. "I've spent two days thinking about what to say to you, how to explain, and I still got it wrong." Another step. "I'm not good at this, Sarah. At feelings. At saying what matters."
"Then why should I believe you now?" The words come out as a whisper, hope and fear warring inside me.
Connor exhales, his expression opening in a way I've rarely seen. No walls, no careful distance. Just him.
"Because every Tuesday for years, I drove out of my way to come to your bakery, when I could have had coffee at the lodge."
Of all the things I expected him to say, this wasn't on the list. "You what?"
"I told myself it was about routine, or those scones," he explains, taking another step closer. "But it was always about seeing you, Sarah. I just didn't let myself admit it until now."
"But... why?" I ask, genuinely confused.
His eyes never leave mine, blue and clear and utterly sincere. "Because being in your bakery, even for those few minutes every week, was the brightest part of my day. I've spent years walking in and out of your life without realizing you were what I was looking for all along."
The admission steals my breath. Connor Callahan—the man who belongs to these mountains, to this lodge, to a family that loves him fiercely—went out of his way every week just to spend a few minutes in my presence. All this time, I thought I was the only one feeling something, but he was drawn to me too, even if he didn't recognize why.
"I've been an idiot," he continues, close enough now that I can see the different shades of blue in his eyes. "Running when I should have been staying. Thinking when I should have been feeling. And taking for granted the one person who's always seen me—really seen me—when I couldn't even see myself."
Tears well in my eyes, blurring his face. I blink them back, unwilling to miss a moment of this. I've spent years memorizing Connor Callahan's expressions, and this one—open, vulnerable, certain—is entirely new.
"I don't need any more time to think, Sarah," he says, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "I don't need to analyze or figure it out. I just need you. If you'll still have me."
The last of my resolve crumbles, years of careful restraint falling away in an instant. Before I can second-guess myself, I'm moving—not away this time, but toward him. Running.
Connor catches me as I launch myself into his arms, his hands steady at my waist as he lifts me slightly. I bury my face against his neck, breathing in the pine and soap scent of him, feeling the solidity of his chest against mine.
"I take it that's a yes?" he murmurs against my hair, his voice unsteady for the first time.
I pull back just enough to see his face, my hands framing his cheeks. "Yes," I whisper, then louder, "Yes."
And then I'm kissing him—not soft and tentative like on my porch, but with all the certainty of someone claiming what's been theirs all along. His arms tighten around me, lifting me higher as he returns the kiss with equal fervor.
Somewhere in the background, I'm vaguely aware of cheers and applause from the porch. Someone—Jameson, probably—lets out a wolf whistle. But it all fades to background noise compared to the thundering of my heart and the feeling of finally, finally being exactly where I belong.
When we eventually break apart, both breathing hard, Connor doesn't set me down. He keeps me close, his forehead pressed to mine, a smile spreading across his face that I've never seen before—unguarded, joyful, a little dazed.
"For the record," I say, my own smile so wide it hurts, "I've been yours for years too. You just needed to notice."
"I'm noticing now," he promises, his eyes never leaving mine. "And I'm not looking away again."
Behind us, life at the lodge continues—guests checking in, staff moving about, the Callahan family beaming with various degrees of smugness. But here in the circle of Connor's arms, with the morning sun warming my shoulders and his heart beating against mine, none of that matters.
What matters is that Connor Callahan loves me. And after all these years of waiting, of watching, of loving him from a distance—I finally get to love him up close.