Chapter 33 Piper
Three quiet weeks later, I was elbow-deep in a box of tablecloths when I heard the knock.
"We're closed!" I called without looking up. The charity breakfast was tomorrow, and I had exactly fourteen hours to transform the fire station's community hall into something that didn't look like a glorified garage. No time for last-minute customers.
The knock came again.
"I said we're—" I turned, ready to point at the very obvious CLOSED sign, and froze.
Liam stood outside, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. He wasn’t in his captain's uniform—just jeans and a henley that had seen better days. He raised one hand in an awkward wave, then pointed at the door.
For a second, I considered pretending I hadn't seen him. Maybe I could dive behind the counter maybe.
Very mature, Piper, I thought.
I walked over and unlocked the door. "If you're here to tell me the breakfast is canceled—"
"No. No, nothing like that." He shifted his weight. “I asked Carlos to come help you load everything, but his kid's sick. Had to take him to urgent care. So I…” He stopped. Started over. "Do you need help?"
I stared at him. "You came to help me load?"
"Only if you want. If you'd rather do it yourself, or if you have someone else coming, I can—"
"It's fine." The words came out before I could think about them. Because the truth was, I did need help. My bakery van was parked out back, and I had about two hundred pounds of supplies to load before my back completely gave out. "You can help."
I stepped aside to let him in.
He moved past me, careful not to get too close, and I caught the scent of his detergent. Same brand he'd always used. God, how pathetic was it that I noticed?
"Where do you want me to start?" He stood in the middle of my bakery, looking anywhere but at me.
"The boxes by the counter need to go in the van. Serving trays, warming plates, all the equipment." I grabbed my clipboard, needing something to focus on. "Then there's the banner, tablecloths, centerpieces—"
"You made centerpieces?"
I glanced up. He was looking at the small boxes lined up on the back table, each holding a miniature arrangement of fall flowers around battery-powered candles.
"It's good publicity. People remember the details." I turned back to my list. "The van's out back."
We worked in silence for the first few trips. Him carrying the heavy crates like they weighed nothing, even with his shoulder still obviously bothering him, and me following with lighter boxes, keeping careful distance as we passed in the doorway.
It was easier than I expected. The not talking. We fell into a rhythm, like we'd done this a hundred times before.
Which we had, actually. All those community events when we were together. His station fundraisers. That one disastrous camping trip where we'd had to pack and repack the truck three times in the rain.
"These too?" He pointed at a stack of aprons with the Rise & Shine logo.
"Yeah. Everything with a yellow tag goes."
He nodded and grabbed the stack. His shoulder hitched slightly as he lifted it.
"You okay?"
He glanced back. "Yeah. Physical therapy's going well. Just gets stiff if I don't keep moving." He shifted the stack to his other arm. "These aprons are nice. The logo came out really good."
"Thanks. Had them done last month." I turned back to my checklist, unsure what to do with the compliment.
For a while, the only sounds were the shuffle of boxes and the muted creak of the floorboards. Then, from the back of the van, his voice drifted through the open door. "You know, the town's been talking about this breakfast all week. People are excited."
I paused, pen hovering over my list. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Even the mayor said it was a good idea. Said you’re putting us all to shame with how organized you are."
That pulled a reluctant smile from me. "Guess I just like a good checklist."
When he came back inside, the look on his face softened. Tired, but easy. For one dizzy second, I could almost forget everything that had come between us.
Almost.
He set the last box on the counter. "That the last of it?"
I scanned the clipboard. "Almost. Just the banner and the centerpiece bin. Then I can—"
The heavy storage tote tipped as I tried to lift it, slipping from my hands. Before I could react, he was there—catching it mid-fall, bracing the weight like it was nothing.
For a moment, we were too close. The scent of coffee and detergent, his hand brushing mine. My pulse stuttered.
"Got it," he said softly.
I nodded, forcing a breath. "Thanks."
"Anytime."
It wasn’t much, just a word. But standing there in the half-lit bakery, it felt like something was slowly, quietly shifting back into place.
Except no.
Absolutely not.
Whatever that was, it could stay unshifted. I had tablecloths to iron, dough to prep, and zero interest in catching feelings for a man who’d already broken me once. My heart could rise like bread in the oven all it wanted—but I wasn’t serving it again.