CHAPTER FOURTEEN
P IPER
Waking up in the muscled arms of a reality TV chef inside my brother’s house was not on my bingo card for this year.
I’m pedaling to Cloud Nine, mind raking through the previous twelve hours.
I can’t even think about how I might have accidentally decorated his shirt with my drool last night.
Probably not the sexiest night he’s ever had with a woman—drying my tears, propping me up, keeping me from catching hypothermia on the back patio.
Then cooking an impromptu bacon-and-eggs breakfast for an actual trained chef? Nerve wracking.
And that doesn’t even cover the very serious feelings I have blossoming in my chest every time I catch a glimpse of his mischievous grin or his warm, brown eyes.
I’ve counted the kitchen-related scars on his forearms and biceps so many times I’m embarrassed to admit that I know exactly how many he has (twelve).
I shouldn’t know these things about my rival and landlord.
Yet I’m collecting these details about Kru like I’m gathering a wildflower bouquet.
I love the way Kru's eyes crinkle when he smiles and how his voice gets all soft and rumbly when he's being gentle. I love that his restaurant is in his dad’s honor.
I love the name he chose for it. I love why he does what he does.
I damn near love Kru himself.
I frown, pedaling harder, as if that might excise the thought from my head.
I can’t love him. I don’t have room for him in my life. My brothers would never accept him. Mom’s in the hospital. This is not the time to fall in love.
I repeat these words like a mantra as I punish myself through cycling like I’m training for the Ironman. But it does nothing to dissolve the conflicting emotions swirling inside me.
The bike ride empties out my brain eventually. But then I get to the shop and see the facade of Ray’s and I’m right back to Square Kru.
I briefly wonder what Kru is doing right now. Did he really go back to sleep? Is he still thinking about that goodbye kiss we shared? Is he plotting more ways to be both sweet and honest with me so I fall even further in love with him?
I hurry inside, eager to get things open for Jerrica to come and take over.
I called her last night to take over since I wasn’t sure what hospital rotations would look like, and she immediately offered to take on more hours indefinitely.
Once Jerrica is all set, I’ll be heading straight to Bayshore Memorial to see Mom.
According to Griffin’s update earlier that morning, Mom is still unconscious but her vitals are stable.
I’ve barely got the espresso machine warmed up when Jerrica comes bouncing in.
She’s perky and friendly, an excellent addition to Cloud Nine.
After we’ve run over the morning tasks, I’m milling around the back room, trying to figure out if I’ve forgotten anything.
Instead of going over my to-do list, my mind is wandering to that little fantasy corner of my brain where I’ve been stashing details for my future business expansion I don’t quite know how to make a reality: the event space.
Jerrica showing up reminded me that I’ll need to hire more wonderful employees like her if I want to expand.
But how? Finding more people like her seems impossible. She’s the daughter of a longtime family friend, so of course she’s amazing.
Piper, this is not the time to be thinking about business expansion. Or hot neighbors for that matter.
Even ridiculously attractive ones with talented hands and a way of making me feel seen.
Jerrica assures me she’s caught up and ready, and she practically pushes me out the door. I hop back on my bike, pedaling across town to Bayshore Memorial.
Mom needs her kids. That's priority number one.
The hospital is quieter this morning than it was last night.
I find my way to the third floor, ICU room 317, and pause outside to brace myself.
Hospitals put me on edge—the antiseptic smell, the beeping machines, the forced cheerfulness of the staff.
But when I push the door open, what I see stops me in my tracks.
Mom's room is full of flowers. Not just any flowers—beautiful, artful arrangements of late summer and early fall blooms. Sunflowers, dahlias, chrysanthemums, all in vibrant oranges, yellows, and deep reds.
They're everywhere—on the windowsill, the bedside table, even a small arrangement on the wheelie table that goes across the bed.
Griffin looks up from his chair by Mom's bed, his expression weary but relieved.
"Asher went a little overboard with the flowers," he says by way of greeting. “He bought a couple himself but also got a few other local business owners to chip in, which snowballed into, well, this.”
I move closer to examine the nearest arrangement. There's a small card tucked into it. I flip it open.
"For our rock. Get better soon. We need you. Love, Asher."
My eldest brother, always the steady one, the one who stepped into dad's shoes when we needed him most. Of course he'd fill Mom's room with color and life.
"Leave it to Asher to turn the place into a botanical garden," I say, feeling a lump form in my throat.
Griffin nods. "He said the room was too depressing. Too clinical." He gestures to the largest arrangement. "That one's from all of us, technically, but Asher picked it out."
I sink into the chair next to him, my eyes on Mom's sleeping form. She looks smaller somehow, vulnerable in a way I'm not used to. But the oxygen mask has been replaced with a nasal cannula, which I take as a good sign.
"Any word on what caused the fire?" I ask, reaching for Mom's hand. Her skin is warm and soft, betraying nothing of the bandages around her legs covering the burns.
Griffin shakes his head. "Police are investigating. They think it might have started in the basement, but they're not sure if it was electrical or…" He trails off, his jaw tightening.
"Or what?"
"Or deliberate."
The word hangs in the air between us.
"Who would want to burn down the Bayshore Bakery?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Griffin shrugs. "It's prime real estate right on the waterfront. Developers have been trying to get their hands on it for years. At least that’s what Dane is saying."
Almost all of downtown Bayshore features various grand old buildings, almost all of them with a lake view.
They’ve been rehabbed and converted into a wide variety of businesses—the bakery, of course, but the other historical buildings feature a heart clinic run by Dominic Daly, The Daily Grind coffee shop, and Hazel Homes, Hazel Daly’s realty outpost.
"We have to be prepared for the building to be a total loss," Griffin continues. "Jett went by this morning, and it’s burned right down to the foundation. The brick walls are still standing, but barely."
A lump forms in my throat. The building that housed the Bayshore Bakery was old, built back in the early 1800s when Bayshore itself was founded. The loss stings. Not just for us, but for the community.
We sit in silence for a while, both lost in our own thoughts. Then the door opens, and a nurse walks in.
"Oh my," she says, taking in all the flowers. "Someone's popular."
She moves around the room efficiently, checking Mom's vitals and making notes on her chart. "Her oxygen levels are looking much better this morning. Doctor will be by soon to evaluate her breathing and decide if we can take her off supplemental oxygen."
"When do you think she'll wake up?" I ask.
"Hard to say. The sedatives are wearing off, so it could be anytime. Just keep talking to her—hearing familiar voices often helps."
After she leaves, Griffin stands and stretches. "Now that you’re here, I'm going to grab some coffee and something to eat. Want anything?"
"No, I'm good. Thanks." I don’t dare tell him that Kru was inside his kitchen this morning and that I fed my nemesis from Griff’s own fridge.
When he's gone, I lean closer to Mom, taking her hand again.
"Hey, Mom. It's Piper. You've got to wake up soon.
You need to see all these flowers. The room looks like a botanical garden.
" I swallow hard, fighting back tears. "Everyone's here for you.
All the boys and Bella. She brought Jackson Bedd—can you believe it?
You gotta wake up so you can meet him. He's so nice and regular, just like Bella said.”
I keep talking, telling her about the shop, about the Best of Bayshore competition, about anything I can think of. I leave out the part about spending the night with Kru.
The door opens again, and Griffin returns with coffee and a sad-looking hospital cafeteria sandwich.
"Nutritious," I say, eyeing the plastic-wrapped triangles dubiously.
"Beggars can't be choosers. Besides, Dane's bringing real food when he comes in for his shift. Apparently he's stopping by that new brunch place on his way."
I squint at Griff’s sandwich as he unwraps it, which is somehow both dry and soggy at the same time. “Mmm. Let me know how it is."
He takes a bite and grimaces. "Like eating moist cardboard."
"Don’t say that word,” I hiss.
He grins evilly as he chews. “Moist.”
I roll my eyes, sinking into my chair. There’s no escaping brothers, even when you’re all adults.
We sit in silence for a while, both of us watching Mom's chest rise and fall with each breath. The doctor stops by, confirming what the nurse told us—she's stable, but nobody is positive when she’ll wake up. It’s just wait and see for now.
About an hour later, Dane arrives, a takeout bag from Annie's Brunch tucked under his arm.
"How is she?" he asks, nodding toward Mom.
"Same," Griffin says. "Stable.”
Dane sets the food down and goes to Mom's side, taking her hand. "Hey, Mom. Brought you some blueberry pancakes. You need to wake up and eat them before your vulture-spawn gets to them."
I snicker. “Griff’s extra hungry because he only had two thousand calories for breakfast so far.”
Griff narrows his eyes, leaning in close to me. “Moist .”