Chapter 8 Garrick
GARRICK
Ihear the heavy footsteps coming toward the front door. No need to glance up from the sourdough I'm shaping to know it's Liam. What I'm not expecting is the wave of vanilla and honey that follows him through the door. Sweet and warm with something new.
I glance up. Liam's bouncing on his feet like a damn golden retriever, amber eyes bright with whatever stupid scheme he's cooking up.
Violet trails behind him, one hand clutching her worn jacket, looking hopeful and wary at the same time.
Her dark hair's messed up. Animal hairs all over her sweater.
"Hell no." I grunt before either of them can speak, turning back to my dough. Don't even bother making eye contact. "Whatever you're about to ask, the answer is no."
Liam laughs, the sound grating on my last nerve. He moves closer to the counter, leaning against it like he owns the place. "You don't even know what I'm going to..."
I knead the sourdough harder, flour dusting my forearms. "You have the same look you had when you talked me into that three-legged cat. And the baseball team sponsorship."
"Those worked out fine." Liam waves a dismissive hand, then reaches out to drag Violet closer by her elbow like she's a damn show-and-tell project.
"The cat trashed my kitchen curtains before I found it a new home. The baseball team broke my front window." I press harder into the dough, probably working it too much now. "Minor setbacks my ass."
"This is different. It's brilliant."
"No." I look up, catching his eyes with my best fuck-off stare. The one that makes customers shut up about my prices. "Whatever scheme you've got, I'm not interested."
Liam straightens, undeterred. Bastard. "Just hear me out. Five minutes."
"No." I repeat, but some of the heat's gone out of it. Because Violet's moved slightly to the side, her blue eyes fixed on me, and her scent's starting to carry something careful. Guarded.
Makes my alpha side want to know what she's thinking. Which is bullshit.
Violet shifts her weight, wrapping her arms around herself. "He has an idea. I don't know what it is, but apparently you're involved."
An omega off suppressants is trouble I don't need. But instead I'm noticing how her sweetness fits with the bakery smells. Like she belongs here. Makes no damn sense.
Liam pushes off the counter, pacing toward the window before turning back. "Look, it's simple. Violet needs work. Money. A place to stay. Car repairs. You need customers. The whole town needs an economic boost. This solves everyone's problems."
I stare at him, then shift my gaze to her, then back to him. My hands still working the dough in steady motions. "How the hell does any of that involve me?"
"Because Violet's a writer." Liam gestures toward her with both hands. "She does freelance marketing and web content. She knows how to bring people into businesses. Make places sound good to tourists."
My hands stop moving on the dough. Shit. I know where this is going.
"You want her to write about my bakery."
Liam nods, taking a step closer. "About all of us. Bakery, Xaden's restaurant, my clinic, Tom's garage. The whole town. Feature articles, travel pieces, marketing that brings in tourists."
Violet's scent shifts. Warms up with actual interest despite the uncertain set of her shoulders. She uncrosses her arms, hands moving to her pockets instead.
"The idea is to create content that drives tourism while highlighting local businesses. Sustainable marketing that benefits everyone." Her voice is quiet but steady.
I look between them, my brain working through this despite wanting to refuse. I go back to the dough, shaping it more carefully now. Thinking.
"Businesses pay her for this?"
"Exactly." Liam snaps his fingers, energy practically vibrating off him. "She gets income, businesses get exposure, town gets development. Win-win."
I work the dough in silence for a moment, turning it, folding it. "How long you been writing?"
Violet straightens slightly, taking a small step forward. "Five years of freelance work before..." She trails off, then continues. "I specialized in small business marketing. Feature articles, web content, social media strategy."
"And you think you can make this town interesting to tourists?" I dust flour off my hands, finally giving her my full attention.
"I think this town is already interesting." There's steel in her voice now, her chin lifting slightly. "It just needs someone to tell its story properly."
I grunt. Not disagreeing, exactly. Just processing. I reach for my water bottle, taking a drink while I think.
"Problem is, how do we know it'll work? Town's been dying for years. What makes you think some articles will change that?"
Liam jumps back in, moving to stand beside Violet. "She'd need to prove it. Build a portfolio. Show that her writing actually drives results."
"With whose business?" I set the water bottle down harder than necessary.
"That's where you come in." Liam crosses his arms, looking far too pleased with himself. "Rise & Shine is already popular. Any increase would be easy to measure. Plus, you've got a compelling story."
"Don't." I point a flour-covered finger at him in warning.
But he ignores me, walking in a small circle as he talks. "Former corporate baker turns small-town artisan. Creates magic with flour and sugar. Feeds half the town."
"I feed people because they pay me. Not out of the goodness of my heart." I turn back to the dough, starting to shape it into rounds.
Violet moves closer to the counter, her voice quiet but clear. "You gave Mrs. Arbrahamson free bread for a month when her husband was in the hospital."
I freeze, my hands stilling on the dough. Slowly, I look up at her. "How do you know about that?"
She holds my gaze, not backing down. "Small town. People talk. They also talk about how you taught Frank Stern to bake after his wife died. And how you always have day-old pastries ready for the church food bank."
Damn small-town gossips.
"Those are just... practical decisions." I mutter, going back to shaping. "Can't let food go to waste."
"Right." Violet's tone carries the hint of a smile. "Very practical."
Liam's grinning like he just won something, rocking back on his heels. "So you'll do it?"
I look at the dough in my hands. At Violet's hopeful expression. At Liam's smug face. I set the shaped dough aside, wiping my hands on my apron.
"I have conditions."
"Of course you do." Liam mutters, but he's still grinning.
I turn to face Violet directly, leaning back against the counter. "I want approval over anything before it goes public. And if this brings in a bunch of food bloggers with cameras, I reserve the right to ban them."
She nods immediately. "Fair enough. Professional standards require fact-checking anyway."
"And no interviews during morning rush. I don't have time to explain my process when I'm trying to fill orders."
"Absolutely. I'm here to observe your natural routine, not disrupt it." She takes another small step forward, more confident now.
"And if you're going to be here regularly, you need proper winter clothes. That jacket won't last five minutes in a real mountain storm."
Violet blinks in surprise, her hand automatically going to the thin fabric of her jacket. Liam's grin widens to truly insufferable proportions.
"I... okay," Violet manages. "Though I should mention my clothing budget is pretty limited right now."
I push off the counter, moving toward the sink to wash my hands. "We'll figure something out."
"Excellent." Liam claps his hands together. "I'll leave you two to work out details. Violet, why don't you grab some of those chocolate brownies? Writing is hungry work."
He gestures toward the display case.
Only then do I notice the day-old pastries. Chocolate brownies, blueberry muffins, a few leftover cinnamon rolls from this morning.
Violet moves toward the case, her steps careful, casual. But I catch the way her eyes linger on the brownies. The slight increase in honey notes that indicates genuine craving.
I dry my hands and walk over to open the case before she can ask. "Take whatever you want. They're just going to go stale otherwise."
Not entirely true. But watching her face light up as she carefully selects two brownies and a blueberry muffin is worth the small lie.
"Thank you." The genuine gratitude in her voice causes something warm to unfurl in my chest.
I close the case, stepping back. "Just business."
But we both know it's not entirely true.
She wraps the pastries in napkins with careful precision. Like someone who's learned not to take abundance for granted. Then she walks toward the narrow staircase, her footsteps soft on the old wood floors. She pauses at the bottom, turning to look back at me.
"I'll start working on some preliminary ideas tonight. Maybe draft a few different approaches so you can see what direction appeals to you."
I'm already back at my workstation, starting on a new batch. "You don't have to..."
She shakes her head, one hand on the banister. "I want to. This is the first opportunity I've had in months to do work I actually care about. I'm not going to waste it."
The determination in her voice hits me harder than it should.
"Good." I manage, not looking up from the flour I'm measuring.
She nods and starts up the stairs, her footsteps creaking on each step. Halfway up, she pauses, turning.
"Garrick?"
I look up. "Yeah?"
"Thank you. For agreeing. I know you didn't want to."
"Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen me during deadline pressure."
But she just smiles. Then continues climbing the stairs, disappearing from view.
The soft click of the apartment door echoes through the bakery, leaving me with Liam and the lingering traces of her vanilla-honey scent.
Liam's still leaning against the counter, watching me with that knowing look.
"She's going to be okay." He comments quietly.
I measure out salt, adding it to the bowl. "I know."
"And you're going to survive this too."
"Never claimed I wouldn't." I start mixing, my hands working on autopilot.
Liam snorts, pushing off the counter to pace toward the window. "Right. Because nothing says 'completely under control' like agreeing to let her write about you after saying no five times."
I look down at the mixture in the bowl. He's right, damn him.
"This is why I don't want complications." I mutter, reaching for the water.
Liam turns from the window, walking back toward me. "This is why you need complications. You've been hiding behind your routines for three years. Maybe it's time to let someone in."
"She's not staying." I pour water into the mixture, watching it absorb. "Once her car's fixed and she's saved money, she'll move on to Texas."
"Or maybe she'll find reasons to stay." Liam leans against the counter again, his tone shifting to something more serious.
There's something in his voice that makes me look at him more closely. "What aren't you telling me?"
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Her cousin in Dallas. The one she's supposedly going to stay with? Lost her job last month. Has two kids and can't afford to take in a houseguest."
The information settles heavy in my chest. My hands still in the dough. "She has nowhere to go."
"Nowhere concrete. Which is why this writing opportunity could be exactly what she needs. A chance to build something solid instead of just getting by." Liam straightens, checking his watch.
I process this, my hands resuming their work automatically. Try to reconcile it with my mental image of Violet as a temporary problem.
"Why are you telling me this?" I ask, shaping the dough into a ball.
Liam meets my eyes. "Because you care about her. More than you want to admit. And because she's going to need stability, not someone constantly trying to push her away."
Before I can respond, the apartment door upstairs opens. Soft sound of Violet's footsteps on the ceiling above us, then on the stairs.
She appears at the top of the staircase with her laptop tucked under one arm, a notebook in her other hand.
"I'm going to set up in the corner booth, if that's okay." She calls down, already starting to descend. "The light is better there, and I can observe without being in the way."
"Fine." I call back, though my voice comes out rough.
She walks across the bakery floor, her steps quiet but purposeful. Settles into the corner booth, spreading out her laptop and notebook with focused efficiency. The late afternoon sun catches in her blonde hair. Her scent carries determination mixed with that warm vanilla and honey.
Liam heads for the door, pausing to look back at both of us. "I'll leave you two to it. Violet, let me know if you need anything."
He leaves, the bell above the door chiming.
As I start mixing a fresh batch of sourdough, I catch myself glancing at the corner booth. Violet's bent over her laptop, fingers already flying across the keys, completely absorbed in her work.
And if Liam's smug prediction comes true, he's never going to let me hear the end of this.