Chapter 6 Tabitha
Chapter six
Tabitha
In the distance, the church bells chime eight times. The sound is so familiar I barely register it anymore, but Rory’s head cocks to one side, as if he’s cataloging the unfamiliar sound.
He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, completely at ease in my space, and I shouldn’t like how natural this feels. Shouldn’t let myself welcome the company of another person in my quiet morning. But God, it’s nice not to be alone.
When the grinding’s done, I pour the grounds into the filter.
Then, I add extra water to the electric kettle and flip it on.
Rory doesn’t hover, just watches with the same focused intensity he probably brings to reading greens.
And I find I don’t mind being the subject of his attention.
Especially, when my view includes his sexy six-pack abs and sculpted shoulders.
My phone buzzes on the counter. I glance at it while waiting for the water.
A notification on the Starlight Bay Community Page: State of emergency remains in effect. All roads closed until further notice. Town offices, schools, and non-essential businesses to remain closed.
My stomach drops.
Storytime with Santa is the day after tomorrow. If the roads don’t clear by then…
“Everything okay?”
I look up to find Rory watching me, concern creasing his brow.
“Fine.” I shove the phone into the pocket on my robe, relieved when the kettle water boils.
“You sure?”
I pour the steaming water over the grounds in slow, careful circles. “It’s nothing important.”
The lie tastes bitter, but I force brightness into my voice.
Chances are, even with Starlight Bay shut down, this caddy will be gone by tomorrow.
Rory seems like a resourceful guy, the kind who'd find a way to get the heck out of Dodge when he wants to. No point in involving him in problems he won’t be around to help solve.
The water drips through the filter, dark and aromatic. When it finishes, I pour the brew into two Christmas mugs and hand him one.
After adding a glug of half and half to mine, I see he prefers his black.
“This is really good,” he says after the first sip, surprise coloring his tone.
I take my own sip, letting the familiar taste center me. “Looks like you’re not going to make it to the country club this morning, after all.”
He heaves a sigh. “I came to town so Hays and I wouldn’t have to meet virtually, but it looks like that’s our only option.”
He looks out the window at the wall of white, resignation in his posture.
“Welcome to New England winter.” I move to the fridge, pulling out the foil-wrapped plate of cinnamon rolls I baked yesterday. “I hope it clears up by the time you’re supposed to fly out.”
Something flickers across his face, but it’s gone before I can read it.
“What can I do?” he asks, restless energy practically vibrating off him.
I glance up, surprised. “You want to help?”
“I’m not completely useless.” There’s a defensive edge to his voice that makes me smile despite everything.
“Okay.” I hand him the plate. “Unwrap these and put them on the baking sheet by the stove. I’ll get the oven going.”
We move around each other in the tight space, me setting the oven to warm, him carefully unwrapping the cinnamon rolls. When I reach past him, my chest presses against his back for one heart-stopping second. He goes rigid, his hands stilling on the foil.
Heat floods through me, and I step back quickly, busying myself with getting plates down from the cabinet. The one he fixed that now opens and closes perfectly.
Don’t get used to this, I remind myself. He’s temporary.
“These look amazing,” Rory says, sliding the pan into the oven. “Did you make them?”
“Yesterday. It’s my Aunt Mae’s recipe.” I set the timer, leaning against the counter. “They’re better warmed up.”
“Better than what I usually have.” He takes another sip of coffee. “My mornings are usually grabbing whatever’s fastest—protein bar, banana, bagel from the clubhouse.”
“The glamorous life of a pro caddy,” I say, but there’s no bite to it.
“Something like that.” He looks at me over the rim of his mug. “Though I have to admit, this beats hotel coffee by a mile.”
The warmth in his voice makes something flutter in my chest. “Glad you approve.” I glance out the window. “Speaking of Aunt Mae, I need to check on my aunt this morning, after breakfast.”
“In this?” He look incredulous.
“She’s eighty-two and lives alone.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, defensive. “I’m not leaving her to fend for herself during a nor’easter. It’s only a few blocks.”
“I’m not saying don’t go.” He carefully sets down his mug. “I’m saying wait until after my call with Hays, so I can go with you.”
My arms cross automatically. “I’ll be fine. I can certainly handle trudging through some snow.”
I’ve been handling things myself for seven years. Since before Aunt Mae’s stroke, really. Since my parents died, and it became just the two of us.
“I’m sure you can.” There’s no condescension in his voice, just certainty. “But there’s no reason to go alone when I’m here.”
“Your call—”
“I’ll push it back.” The words are immediate, decisive. “We can go first thing.”
Something in my chest loosens. I study him for a long moment, this man who fixed my cabinet without being asked, who’s offering to trudge through a blizzard for an old woman he barely knows, who keeps showing up in ways I didn’t know I needed.
It would be so easy to let him in. To stop bracing for the inevitable goodbye. But that’s exactly why I can’t.
“After your call will work,” I say finally, my shoulders relaxing. “I checked on her yesterday on my way to Leah’s for dinner.”
“Deal.”
The timer dings. I pull out the rolls, the smell of cinnamon and brown sugar filling the small kitchen. The glaze has caramelized perfectly.
I plate one for each of us and grab some sliced fruit from the fridge. We slide onto the stools at the counter, close but not touching, comfortable in a way that terrifies me.
“These are incredible,” Rory says after his first bite, genuine appreciation in his voice. “Seriously. I can’t remember the last time I had a real homemade breakfast.”
The compliment warms me more than it should. “Well, I’m glad you’re getting to enjoy it then. Protein bars and bananas don’t really compare.”
“Not even close.” He’s already reaching for his second roll. “This is… This is really nice. Thank you.”
There’s something in his tone, something almost wistful, that tightens my throat. As if he’s tasting more than just cinnamon rolls. As if he’s tasting what a real home feels like.
“Family recipe,” I say, keeping my voice light even as my chest aches. “Aunt Mae taught me when I was twelve. After my parents died, baking together became our thing. That and the bookstore, of course.”
I don’t know why I added that last part. Don’t know why I’m offering a glimpse at my past to a man who didn’t ask.
He’s looking at me with that unmistakable intensity again, as if he’s trying to figure something out.
As if I’m a puzzle he can’t quite solve.
I break eye contact first, taking another bite of my roll, though my appetite has vanished, and reach for the old peg game I often play by myself while I eat.
He’s temporary, I remind myself firmly. Don’t get attached. Don’t start imagining what it would be like if he stayed. Because he won’t. Globetrotters like Rory don’t choose small towns and bookstores and women who can’t leave. They just don’t.