Chapter 11
Jonah
Three weeks into living with Chloe —really living with her, sharing my bed, waking up tangled together— and I still can’t believe she’s real.
“Don’t go,” she mumbles, half-asleep. “Stay.”
“I have to start the bread.” But I don’t move yet. Can’t move when she’s warm and soft against me.
“Five more minutes.” She presses closer, her face buried in my chest. “Please?”
I should say no. Should stick to my schedule. The sourdough won’t wait, and I have three dozen orders to fill before the bakery opens.
Instead, I pull her tighter and kiss the top of her head. “Five minutes.”
She hums contentedly, and I lie there in the dark, listening to her breathe, thinking about how much has changed.
My bed doesn’t feel empty anymore. My house doesn’t feel too quiet. The twins don’t ask when Chloe’s leaving, because they know she’s not.
She’s ours now. Completely.
“Okay,” Chloe says after exactly five minutes, like she was counting. “Go make the treats for the people. But when you come home for lunch, I want a real kiss. Not one of those quick ones you do when the twins are watching.”
“Deal.” I kiss her. a real kiss, the kind that makes her sigh. Then force myself to get up. It’s hard… a lot of things are hard. I adjust my cock and she giggles.
But she’s asleep again before I’m dressed.
The bakery is cold and dark when I arrive, but it feels different now. Less lonely. Because I know in an hour and a half, Chloe will show up with two coffees and that sleepy smile, and we’ll work side by side while the rest of the world wakes up.
It’s become our routine. Our time.
I’m pulling the first batch of sourdough from the oven when the back door opens.
“Morning, handsome,” Chloe says, and even at 5:45 a.m., she looks beautiful. Her hair’s in a messy bun, she’s wearing my old bakery t-shirt with her jeans, and she’s carrying our morning coffees like she’s been doing this forever. Her’s with cream, mine black.
“Morning, gorgeous.” I take the coffee she offers, kissing her over the cups. “You didn’t have to come today. Don’t you have parent-teacher conferences?”
“This afternoon. I wanted to see you first.” She sets down her coffee and washes her hands. “What are we making?”
“Cinnamon rolls. The twins requested them for breakfast last night.”
“Our girls have excellent taste.” She ties on an apron —the one I bought her last week that says “I knead you” with a little heart— and I have to take a moment to just look at her.
Our girls. She says it so naturally now. Like Ava and Mia have always been hers.
Like we’ve always been hers.
“What?” she asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing. Just— I love you.”
Her smile is radiant. “I love you too. Now teach me how to make these cinnamon rolls before I burn something.”
We work together in the quiet pre-dawn, and it’s easy now. She knows where everything is, knows how I like things organized, anticipates what I need before I ask. We move around each other like dancers who’ve been practicing this routine for years instead of weeks.
“So,” Chloe says as she’s rolling out dough, “I have something to tell you.”
My hands still on the butter I’m melting. “Good something or bad something?”
“Good. Really good.” She looks up at me, eyes bright. “Principal Morrison called yesterday. There’s a permanent second-grade position opening up next fall. Mrs. Chen is retiring.”
“Mrs. Chen? Your second-grade teacher?”
“The one who made me want to teach in the first place.” Chloe’s voice is soft with emotion. “It feels like... I don’t know. Like everything’s coming full circle.”
I move around the counter to pull her into my arms, not caring that we’re both covered in flour. “You’re going to get it. That job is yours.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Because you’re incredible. Those kids love you. Their parents love you. You were made for this, Chloe.”
She buries her face in my chest. “What if I mess it up?”
“You won’t.” I tilt her chin up, making her look at me. “But even if you did —which you won’t— I’d be here. The twins would be here. We’re not going anywhere.”
“I know. I just—” She takes a breath. “My whole life, I’ve been chasing this dream of being a teacher. A real teacher, with my own classroom. And now it’s actually happening, and I’m terrified.”
“That’s how you know it matters.” I kiss her forehead. “The things worth having are always a little scary.”
“Is that why you were terrified when you kissed me that first time?”
“I was terrified because I knew you were going to change everything.” I rest my forehead against hers. “And you did. In the best way.”
She kisses me, slow and sweet, and the cinnamon rolls are forgotten for a long moment.
When we finally break apart, she’s smiling again. “Okay. Enough feelings. Let’s finish these rolls before the twins stage a revolt.”
We work in comfortable silence, but I catch her humming under her breath. Some song I don’t recognize. But I realize this is what happiness sounds like.
By the time we finish, the sun is starting to rise, painting the bakery in shades of gold and pink. Chloe plates the warm cinnamon rolls while I clean up, and when she comes to stand beside me at the sink, she leans her head on my shoulder.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
“For what?”
“For this. For letting me be part of your mornings. Your life. Everything.” She looks up at me. “I know I kind of forced my way in that first day, but—”
“You didn’t force anything. You walked in and made everything better.” I dry my hands, turning to face her fully. “I was barely surviving, honestly, I was struggling, before you. Now I’m actually living.”
Her eyes are suspiciously shiny. “Stop making me cry at six in the morning.” She bats me with a flour covered hand and a magical cloud floats between us.
“Never.” I pull her close, and she fits perfectly against me. Like she was made to be here.
My phone buzzes with a reminder— time to open the bakery, start the day, get back to being responsible.
But I hold her for another minute, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with cinnamon, vanilla, and orange, and think about how three months ago I was convinced I’d never feel this way again.
Never trust someone enough to let them in.
Never love someone enough to risk getting hurt.
Never believe that happy endings were real.
But Chloe’s here, in my arms, in my bakery, in my life.
And I believe now.
I believe in all of it.