Chapter Nine
Daisy-Mae
The timer on the oven dings. I open the door and breathe in the scent of freshly baked sugar, cinnamon, and dough. Smiling, I set the rolls on the stove and pour my bowl of glaze over the top. The trick is to frost them when they’re piping hot, it gives the very best, gooiest rolls.
I take out two plates and contemplate waking West. He’d fallen asleep on the couch last night and he looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb him. Instead, I’d covered him with a blanket and had taken myself off to bed.
Now, with the baby kicking my insides as if he might stomp his way out to get to the goods, I decide I can’t wait, so I fix both plates and set them down on the kitchen table.
“Jesus. Are you trying to kill me, Daisy-Mae?”
I jump with the roll halfway to my mouth, “Oh my god, you scared the bajeebus outta me.”
“Imagine how I felt when I woke to the smell of freshly baked goods and not a stinking pile of bull shit.” His voice is all husky from sleep, and I’ve never seen a man look so damn gorgeous this early. He really needs to go easy on the rest of us mere mortals. “I’m sorry I fell asleep.”
I shrug. “You looked so peaceful I didn’t have the heart to wake you. Besides, you’re cute when you snore.”
“Right. Just what every man wants to hear, ‘cute’.” West sits in the chair opposite me and eyes the cinnamon roll bigger than his head. “Is this for me?”
“Nope, it’s my second, but there’s cereal in the pantry.”
“Oh, come on, Daisy.” He presses a palm over his heart. “You wouldn’t wound a starving man this way.”
“No. I wouldn’t, but only because my ass can’t afford to get any fatter.”
He rolls his gaze over me with a salacious grin. “Hey, your ass is fiiiine, remember?”
“Uh-huh, that’s totally why my husband left me for his secretary, my fiiiine ass.”
West tucks into his breakfast, and moans as he devours my baked goods, his pink tongue darting out to lick the sticky glaze from his lips and fingers.
Oh my god, what is wrong with me, and who knew eating cinnamon rolls could be so ... erotic?
Heat claws up my neck and cheeks. I clear my throat and quickly stand. “You want coffee? I need coffee.”
“Sure,” he says around another mouthful.
I reach for the mugs, and find I need to stand on my tippy toes now because my belly is so big it bumps the kitchen counter.
Sensing my struggle, West comes up behind me and reaches the mugs without any effort.
He sets them on the counter, and the faint scent of his aftershave washes over me.
God, it should be illegal for a man to smell this good during my pregnancy.
“You know you really need to start asking for help, Dais,” he whispers, his breath stirring my hair.
My nipples bead, and I turn to look at him.
He angles his body toward me, that grin just about undoes me, and I fear I may need to excuse myself to the bathroom to relieve some of this tension. “I ask for help.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Well, maybe I’m just used to doing things by myself.”
“Maybe, but I’m here now.” The teasing in his voice is all gone.
I meet his gaze, his eyes are so blue and serious, and I never noticed the gold flecks in them before.
I wet my lips and swallow hard, but West doesn’t miss a damn thing.
Those eyes track the movement and for a heartbeat, I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me.
Please be about to kiss me.
And then I remember myself. I remember I’m still married to a lousy man who cheated, I remember I’m heavily pregnant with his baby, and I remember that even though West is here, offering to help just as he claimed, I’m on my own.
It’s just me and this little baby, and that’s all I can really trust right now.
I can’t expect a single man—who frankly has no right to look and smell as good as he does—to drop everything to play house with a single pregnant woman who’s been crushing on him since she was a teenager.
“Coffee.” West continues staring at my lips.
“Coffee.” I turn toward the window, because I don’t trust myself when he looks at me like that. The gleaming white picket fence catches my eye. The gleaming, newly mended fence that I’d just told West about the week before.
“West?”
“Yeah, Dais?”
“Why is my fence mended?”
“Er ... I’m not sure,” he says, but that’s a lie, and as a woman accustomed to hearing men lie, I know he’s lying now.
“West?” I glare at him as he pours us both a cup of coffee that I percolated earlier. “Why is my fence mended?”
“Why are you asking me? Maybe Miss Mabel finally hired someone.”
I give him a no-nonsense look and fold my arms over my chest, and he chuckles. The nerve of this man. “Was that someone you?”
“Maybe.” He grins as if he’s trying to hide it, as if I wouldn’t know it was him.
“Why?”
“Because it needed doing. Because I wanna know you’re safe.”
“From Miss Mabel?”
“From anyone who might see a broken fence as an easy way in.”
I huff, but I can’t exactly be mad at him. West’s heart is always in the right place. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve done it together.”
“Why didn’t I ask the pregnant lady who refuses to ask for help?”
“Well, when you put it like that.” I throw my arms around him and pull him into an awkward one-handed hug. West sets the mug down and wraps his arms around me too, squeezing me tentatively. “Thank you. I don’t know where I’d be without you, West.”
“You never have to find out.”
“You’re a good friend.”
He stills and then a sigh rumbles through his chest. It feels nice to hold him, to feel his firm muscles and warmth against me, but I think I’m getting more out of this experience than he is, so eventually, I let go.
I take a step back and grab the coffee cup from the bench, taking a sip even before I’ve added the creamer.
It tastes awful, but I kind of need the reminder that not everything in life is sweet.
Otherwise, I might get swept up in the way West Winchester makes me feel.
I can’t fall for the first man who showed me kindness after my husband whittled me down to nothing. Even though I may want to.
“So, what are we doing today?” West asks.
I glance at him, unsure I’ve heard him right. “You mean you’re not expected back at the ranch?”
“I’m always expected back at the ranch, but aside from fixing your fence, I don’t remember the last time I had a day off. What does a Saturday usually look like for people who aren’t married to their land?”
I laugh. “Oh, it’s all excitement, all the time.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Uh-huh. I always start my weekend with breakfast, a shower, and then a trip to Memphis to fight my way through the local SaveCo for baking supplies.”
“I’ve never been to SaveCo.”
I stare incredulously. “Are you joking?”
“Nope.” He leans against my countertop, sipping his coffee. “In case you forgot, it’s just me all alone at that house, and every meal is pretty much served at Mama’s.”
I smile sadly as I nurse my cup. “Sometimes, I’m envious of the Winchester clan.”
“Why?”
“Because no matter what, you all have each other.”
“You have us too, Dais. I know you had it rough growing up, and Eddie didn’t make your life any easier, but you’re family too, and you’re welcome at our table any time.”
“Come on, it’s not like Mama Winchester needs another mouth to feed, especially not when I’m eating for two.”
“Are you kidding? Her favorite thing is mouths to feed. You need never feel unwelcome at her table, Daisy.”
“Maybe I’ll join you one day then, but I’d still feel like I was making more work for her.”
“Well, dessert goes over real well in the Winchester household, just saying.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you’d just take it all for yourself?” I say, watching him tuck into another plateful of cinnamon rolls.
“You’re right. Better to bring two.” He finishes his plate as I savor my coffee. I miss the caffeinated stuff. “So, when are we headed out?”
“To where?”
“SaveCo.”
I roll my eyes. “You do not want to go to SaveCo with me.”
“Hell, yes, I do. I might need ... things.”
I give him a wan look. “What kind of things do they have there, West?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs and hits me again with that golden boy smile. “But I’m sure I need ’em.”
***
“West. You’re not supposed to eat all of the samples.”
He frowns with three toothpicks of sausages hovering by his mouth. “Why do they give them out then?”
“To entice shoppers to buy the sausages they’re sampling.”
“Well, I’m just trying to be sure. But these are delicious.”
I laugh as he tosses the toothpicks in the trash beside the sausage station. The woman handing out the samples says, “You’re welcome to as many as you like, darlin’.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He gives me a “told you so” smug smile and loads up the trolley with a dozen packs. “I see why you like it here. This place is great.”
I just shake my head and keep moving through the aisles towards the baking goods.
West gently shifts me out of the way when I try to lift an entire pound bag of flour.
He does the same with the sugar. In fact, every time I reach for anything, he takes over and places it in the buggy before I can, and then he insists on pushing the buggy too.
Once all my supplies are collected, I stop at the clothing section and hold up an adorable Halloween-themed infant onesie. I admire it and set it back down on the table with the other folded baby clothes.
“You don’t like it?”
I smile tightly. “It’s not that.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t need it, West.”
“But you want it.”
I press my lips together and ball my fists, because as cute as that onesie is, I can’t afford it. I shop at SaveCo because I need to buy in bulk for my orders from both the Buttermilk café and my porch pickup. I mean, who can even afford eggs these days?
Without the extra money I make on baked goods, I wouldn’t have a roof over my head.
And while baby clothes will be a necessity soon, I can get through a few more weeks without needing them, and I can definitely do without a cute holiday themed onesie my baby might not even get to wear.
But how do I tell West that without him feeling like he needs to sweep in and save the day? “I can’t afford it.”
West frowns, picks up the article in question and throws three different onesies into the buggy. “I can.”
“West.”
“It’s a gift.”
“You’ve done enough,” I shout, and then feel heat claw into my cheeks. Shit. Shit. Shit. This is not how I wanted this day to end. “I’m not charity.”
His face falls and a line forms between his brow. “Charity?”
God damn it. Now my throat is thick, and tears are springing to my eyes. “Not that I’m not grateful, I am. I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done and I’m so happy to call you a friend but ... I don’t ... this isn’t ... fuck, now I’m crying in my favorite place.”
“I’ve never heard you swear,” he says, almost as if it’s an afterthought. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“I just ... I don’t want you to think I’m using you.”
“I’ve never once thought that. I wouldn’t think that, Dais.”
I nod and sniff back my tears. “I know, because that’s the kind of person you are. You give everything of yourself.”
He pulls me against his chest, and god damn does it feel like my new favorite place on earth. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“No, they really don’t. Most people go through life giving so little of themselves you wonder how they sleep at night.” I sniff and glance up at him. “But not you.”
“Shit, don’t let my siblings hear you say that. I’ll never fucking hear the end of it.”
“I think everyone thinks more highly of you than you do of yourself, West.” He gently swipes his thumb under my eyes, collecting my tears.
It would be so easy to fall in love with West Winchester, which is exactly why I have to try to distance myself from him.
West deserves a love of his own, a child of his own, a first-time mother and bride, and that is not me.
I can never cross that line with him, because I already gave my heart to a man who shredded it into a million pieces.
It’s not fair to hand him the leftovers and ask him to love what’s left.
“Such a lovely, couple.” An elderly woman stops her buggy alongside ours, and for a moment, I get caught up in the way I feel about that word applied to West and me, and then I shut it down before my heart can get ideas.
“Oh, we’re just friends,” I say too quickly, but I don’t miss the way his throat bobs in my peripheral.
“I’m sorry, I just thought—”
“No, ma’am, you thought wrong,” I say and set the onesies back on the table, then I push my buggy away before either of them can say anything more.
“Excuse us, ma’am,” West grumps and follows me, but I stay aloof for the remainder of our shop, and feign being tired the second he helps me unload the groceries.
Putting some distance between us is for the best, but when I’m sitting on my couch alone hours later staring at the empty spot West occupied last night, the distance between us feels so wrong.