Chapter 1 #2
Sex was something I’d only experienced alone, with a silicone toy I ordered online and hid in the back of my closet. Something that helped me dream of a time when it might be real, with someone real. Someone who could give me the love I’d been longing for my whole life.
There were men in this café. Real-life men in flannel or leathers, not the fictional kind from my books.
I could feel them in my periphery, and sense them without looking directly.
Wide shoulders. Beards, muscles and tattoos.
The kind of men who worked with their hands and looked like they could protect you from anything.
As long as they were polite and didn't make me feel small, I’d be happy. As long as they bought my cupcakes and cinnamon rolls and treated me like a person instead of a problem, I’d be fine.
Because if there was one thing I knew in this life, one thing I was absolutely certain of, it was that I loved to bake.
I loved creating warmth with flour and sugar and butter.
I loved the alchemy of combining simple ingredients and transforming them into something magical.
I loved making people feel safe and satisfied and cared for, even if only for the few minutes it took to eat a warm cinnamon roll or a perfectly frosted cupcake.
I wanted them to take one bite of my baking and feel like this world we lived in really was a good place. A place worth believing in.
That was what I wanted too. To feel like I was in a good place. A place I could call home. A place where I belonged.
I stepped forward, joining the line behind a man so massive I couldn’t see around him.
I was staring at the skull on the back of his jacket and the words SOUTHSIDE SKULLS NOMAD stitched above and below it.
Some kind of biker, I guessed. He was tall, easily six-five or six-six, and wide enough that he blocked my view of the entire counter.
Built like the side of a barn, all solid muscle and presence.
The kind of man you didn't bump into accidentally because you'd just bounce off him like a tennis ball.
His voice rolled through the air like distant thunder when he spoke, low and rich and deep.
The kind of voice that settled in your chest and stayed there, reverberating.
But his tone was kind when he talked to the women behind the counter.
Gentle, even, with a warmth that surprised me given his intimidating size.
He laughed at something the copper-haired lady said, and the sound did something strange to my chest. It made it tighten and flutter at the same time. A rumble I felt more than heard, vibrating through the floorboards.
They handed him a to-go coffee cup and a cinnamon twist wrapped in wax paper, and just as he reached for his wallet, his phone dinged. He shifted the pastry onto the lid of his cup, balancing it carefully, and turned to leave with the phone pressed to his ear.
I still hadn't seen his face. He’d turned away, already heading for the door, and all I caught was a glimpse of dark hair and broad shoulders disappearing into the morning sunlight.
But the two ladies behind the counter giggled like high school girls as he walked out, nudging each other and whispering something I couldn't hear.
So yeah. I was guessing he was hot. Really hot, based on their reaction.
"What can I get you, love?" the copper-haired lady asked, turning toward me with a kind smile that reached her eyes.
"Oh, I'm Tilly," I said, and my voice caught in my throat. It came out smaller than I meant it to, barely more than a whisper.
"Hi, Tilly," the other lady said warmly. "What would you like? Coffee? Tea? We've got fresh cinnamon rolls that just came out of the oven."
"Um, no. Nothing right now," I mumbled, and I could feel myself shrinking again. My shoulders curling inward, making myself smaller and quieter.
I shook that off, rolling my shoulders back again. I didn't drive three thousand miles to disappear. I stood straighter and lifted my chin.
"I'm Tilly," I said again, louder this time. "The new owner. I was looking for Marnie and Pearl?"
The copper-haired lady gasped, her hand flying to her chest. She clapped her hands together with delight. "Oh my God, you're her. Pearl, we've got a beauty taking over The Sweet Spot.”
"That we do, Marnie," Pearl said with a proud nod, beaming at me like I’d already done something wonderful just by showing up. "An absolute sweetheart."
The blood rushed to my cheeks so fast I felt dizzy. I was sure my face matched the maraschino cherries sitting on top of the cupcakes in the glass display case. Bright red and obvious.
They were being kind. So genuinely, effortlessly kind it almost broke me.
My lips started to tremble. My throat tightened painfully, like there was a fist squeezing it. I wanted to say something, anything, to thank them or respond appropriately, but I couldn't get the words out past the emotion clogging my airway.
Tears stung behind my eyes, hot and insistent. My hands balled into fists at my sides, thumbs digging into my palms hard enough to hurt. My gaze dropped to the floor, to the scuffed wooden planks beneath my feet.
This was too much.
The dream I’d been carrying. The hope I’d been nursing like a fragile flame. The years of telling myself I just needed a chance, just one opportunity to prove myself.
And now I was here, standing in my own bakery, in a town that might actually want me. And I didn't know how to receive it.
Love, kindness, and belonging. It all felt like too much. Like a language I was never taught, words I didn't know how to speak or understand.
Before I could fall apart completely… before the tears spilled over and I made a fool of myself on my first day, they were at my side. One on each arm, warm and solid and real. Wrapping me in a hug that smelled like fresh baking, cinnamon and vanilla and sugar and everything good in the world.
"It's okay, sweetheart," Pearl whispered, her hand rubbing gentle circles on my back.
"You're alright," Marnie added, squeezing my shoulder. "We've got you."
And I let them hold me.
Because maybe they were right. Maybe everything really was going to be alright.
Maybe I’d finally found the place where I belonged.