Chapter 8 #2
I wanted someone who chose me because I was me, not because I made a good addition to their holiday newsletter.
And deep down, I wanted something I’d only ever glimpsed in the way Cade looked at people he cared about.
Not just me, everyone.
Steady. Quiet. Unflinching.
For the first time in my life, I was fully self-reliant. My bakery, my home, my choices. I didn’t owe anyone an explanation.
The golf cart crested a small hill, and the full resort came into view.
Up close, it was larger, grander, and somehow more magical than I remembered.
The massive colonial-style building stretched across the lawn like a graceful queen draped in white.
Tall pillars lined the wraparound porch, and lanterns glowed warmly in the early evening light.
The windows reflected the silver shimmer of the water beyond the pristine manicured lawn, each one framed in perfectly trimmed evergreen garlands.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of lavender, old books, and polished wood. Plush rugs muffled our steps as we followed the concierge through the grand foyer, with its sweeping staircase and chandeliers that looked like cascading crystal rain.
Our suite was on the third floor, and the moment the door opened, I held in a soft, involuntary groan of appreciation.
The suite was stunning. Better than the small room I’d stayed in last time.
There was a shared sitting room that sat between two private bedrooms. It was bright and airy and decorated in coastal creams and pale blues.
There was a fireplace and two overstuffed love seats that looked like they were begging for someone with a good book to sink into them.
The two doors that sat opposite each other—one led to Cade’s room, the other to mine—sat open and welcoming.
Each bedroom had its own ensuite bathroom with shiny white tiles and fluffy white robes.
The bed was so plush that I wanted to swan-dive into it immediately.
There were French doors in place of windows in the bedrooms, and they opened onto private balconies that overlooked the glittering water, where waves lapped gently against the rocks far below.
The breeze carried the sound of distant seabirds and the faint clink of glasses from guests enjoying cocktails out on the decks below.
“Beautiful,” I whispered as I walked out onto the balcony and took several deep breaths. The air was crisp and clean and carried a hint of pine and sea salt. “It doesn’t seem real.”
When was the last time I’d actually enjoyed myself like this? When I’d been here last, I hadn’t appreciated it this much. Maybe because I had been a spoiled child? Maybe because I had yet to work a hard full day of work yet.
“Good,” Cade said, coming up behind me. “That means you’ll actually relax.”
Cade changed at record speed and somehow managed to look freshly showered and unfairly handsome in a simple button-up shirt and jeans.
I needed more cleaning up. After I showered off the day’s covering of flour, sugar, and sweat, I stood in front of the closet where I had hung all my clothes far longer than I wanted to admit.
I stared at the dresses I had brought along.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn them.
Eventually, I reached for a soft spring sundress in a pale lilac.
It had short sleeves and tiny embroidered flowers near the hem.
It made me feel pretty. And I felt as if it was celebrating spring.
I slipped it on and smoothed the fabric over my hips, then dug out the strappy white sandals I’d bought in Paris the last trip I’d taken with my parents.
Up till this point, I’d never had a reason to wear them.
They showed off my legs perfectly and made me feel just a little taller, a little more put together.
I dried and curled my long honey-colored strands into loose waves, letting them fall over my shoulders in soft, shiny ribbons. It took forever, but I wanted the comfort of feeling like I’d tried. Like being here mattered.
I’d never been one of those women who gloried in brand names and expensive items, but I’d always prided myself on picking out tasteful things.
Growing up surrounded by wealth—real, old-money wealth—meant I’d been dressed in designer labels before I could spell my own name.
My mother used to say it was “simply expected” that a Sharpe look a certain way.
Polished. Cultured. Effortlessly elegant.
But even then, I’d never cared about the price tags. I cared about how things felt. The soft drape of quality fabric. The way a well-made dress moved when I walked. The quiet confidence of wearing something chosen because I loved it, not because it made a statement.
Of course, that was before I was cut off, before the credit cards were canceled and the safety net vanished overnight.
These days, every purchase was deliberate.
Practical. Measured against the reality of rent and utilities and the bakery’s expenses.
My closet was a carefully curated mix of old favorites I could never replace and new finds purchased on clearance racks after far too much debating.
But tonight, slipping into that designer lilac sundress, I remembered what it felt like to choose something pretty simply because it brought me joy. Not because it was expensive. Not because anyone expected it. Just…because it felt like the old me.
And that was a luxury all on its own.
My makeup was simple: light-coverage foundation, a hint of blush to fake confidence, mascara to wake up my eyes, and a soft pink gloss that Cade had once said suited me. I’d pretended not to care when he mentioned it, but I’d remembered.
When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, Cade took one look at me and froze, just for a second.
It was quick, so quick that anyone else would’ve missed it, but I’d known him forever.
I saw the flicker of surprise, the warmth that softened his expression, and the way he swallowed like he had to reset his brain.
“Wow,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You, uh… clean up okay.”
I snorted. “Stunning praise from someone who took thirty seconds to transform into a walking magazine ad.”
His grin was immediate, smug, familiar. “What can I say? Natural talent.”
And just like that, the flutter in my chest settled into something warm and steady. Cade being Cade. Me being me.
We explored the grounds while the sun dipped lower.
We took our time strolling through the manicured gardens and stopped at a few of the gazebos to take photos.
Then we wandered along the upper cliffs where the lawn sloped into views so breathtaking they didn’t seem natural.
Cade pointed out a few repairs that he’d done on previous trips, which made me laugh because, even surrounded by luxury, he still saw the world in circuits, wires, decks that needed rebuilding, and other things that needed fixing.
After our walk, we headed to the main dining room and were seating at a table near the fireplace. I hadn’t realized how chilly the night air had gotten until I felt the warmth on my skin.
There was soft jazz playing from a three-person band across the room.
The waitstaff, who seemed to anticipate what you wanted before you did, practically danced around the room, seeing to everyone’s needs.
I ordered citrus-glazed salmon, and Cade ordered a steak bigger than my face.
He grinned at me when he caught me staring at it.
“Want a bite?” he offered.
I did, but didn’t think this was the sort of place where you shared, so I shook my head and enjoyed my meal instead. The salmon was perfect.
After dessert, a dark chocolate pots de crème that nearly made me moan inappropriately, Cade checked the time and stood, brushing a hand lightly against my shoulder.
“I should get to work,” he said softly. “They asked me to do the electrical stuff after eight.”
I nodded, even though I suddenly didn’t want him to go. “Okay. I’ll probably head up and read or something.”
“You should get one of those spa treatments Sarah mentioned,” he murmured, eyes warm. “You deserve every second of special treatment you can get.”
The words curled somewhere deep inside me, soft and dangerous.
He hesitated for a heartbeat, as if there was something else he wanted to say, then he touched my shoulder again lightly.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
He turned and disappeared through the elegant archway toward the stairs.
I watched him go. My heart was thumping far too fast for something that wasn’t supposed to be a date.