34. Chapter 34
thirty-four
Diesel
Waking up next to Sadie became so easy, fast. I would stare at her with the sun filtering through the curtains. Her skin glowed. She looked satisfied even in sleep.
This week had been the best damn vacation I had ever taken—no better destination than the heaven that rested between her thighs.
It was Sunday, and tomorrow I would go back to work. I had been helping Sadie with repairs around the bakery this week, and I could see myself just being her handyman. I could take my PTO more often so I could work on a sweet little honey-do list.
Shit, I was definitely feeling domestic with her. And it felt right.
She stirred beside me, mumbling something about the ovens, and tucked herself deeper into the blankets. My arm automatically tightened around her. I’d been doing that all week—just pulling her closer whenever she drifted away, like my body was worried she’d vanish if I let her out of reach.
The smell of sugar and vanilla still lingered on her skin, even after last night’s shower.
I buried my face in her hair, breathing her in, and wondered what the hell I was going to do come Monday.
Go back to the garage like this week never happened?
Pretend I hadn’t tasted her laugh, her stubborn streak, her soft morning voice saying my name like it belonged to her?
No.
I didn’t want to pretend.
Her lashes fluttered, and she caught me staring. “What?” she murmured, smiling sleepily.
“Just thinking,” I said, brushing my thumb along her cheek.
“About?”
“About how I could get used to this.”
The smile faltered for just a heartbeat, so quick I almost missed it. But I did see it. And I knew, in that instant, that as easy as this felt to me, Sadie might not be ready to believe in “forever.” Not yet.
“Hey.” I tried to get her to look at me. But she got up and busied herself with getting ready.
“Sadie.”
“What, Diesel?” It wasn’t sharp, but there was a weight to it. Something heavy.
Sadie
My brain kept replaying what Jessie had said, like she’d branded it there.
You’re just a shiny new toy. He’ll get tired of you. They always do.
And she was right, wasn’t she?
Sure, this week had been… unreal. Diesel hadn’t flinched when I sang off-key while I cooked, or when I jumped from task to task like my brain couldn’t decide on one thing at a time. He’d just picked up after me, kept things neater than I ever had, and smiled while doing it.
But that kind of patience had to have a limit.
And one day soon, the shine would wear off.
“I just… I need to do my weekly grocery shopping and get supplies. You know—things you probably don’t want me dragging you around for.”
The words dangled there, some warped version of what’s your hurry/here’s your hat.
I was pushing. And maybe I shouldn’t have been. But I needed to know I could survive it if this ended. Needed to believe I wouldn’t drown in grief so deep I’d never surface. And right now, it felt too soon for forever.
Too soon for him to see all of me.
There I go again—being too much.
This time, even I noticed.
“I could come back after,” he said, his voice rough, like he was trying to make it sound casual. “Bring takeout. Watch some movies.”
It made me smile, but the smile trembled under the weight of the tears threatening to fall.
“When I get home, I’ll just be baking. I’ll see you tomorrow, though. You can come over for lunch on your break, and I’ll make you a sandwich. I was thinking about adding sandwiches with fresh-baked bread to the menu. You can be my guinea pig.” I smiled again, knowing it didn’t reach my eyes.
He got dressed in silence, tugging his shirt over his head. “Yeah. Sure.”
The word hit like a slap. I flinched.
“Listen—if you need space, I get it. Just be honest with me.”
His gaze met mine, and it was… different. Guarded. Like I’d just brushed against an old wound of his. Something she had left behind. And that—God—that hurt.
“I just need to get my routine done for the week, or I’ll be thrown off,” I said, stepping close and rising onto my toes to kiss him. “I promise, Daniel.”
I felt the tension in his shoulders loosen at the sound of his name, even as it tasted like guilt on my tongue.