7. Annie
Chapter seven
Annie
The first thing I notice when I wake is the quiet. It’s not the absence of noise—there’s the low hum of the refrigerators, the creak of the old building settling, the faint tick of the wall clock. But inside me, in the places that usually spin and scatter and scheme, there’s stillness.
And the reason is sitting less than five feet away on a stool in my bakery kitchen, drinking coffee from one of my mugs like he’s been doing it his whole life.
He’s rumpled, hair a mess, shirt hanging open over his chest, eyes dark and watchful as he stares into his cup. He looks dangerous and safe at the same time. Like the man who wrecked me last night and the man who might steady me forever.
My thighs ache. My lips are swollen. My whole body hums with the memory of him inside me, rough and relentless, making me feel wanted in a way I’ve never felt before.
I should be flustered. Embarrassed. Planning a quick escape into business-as-usual. But all I feel is this soft, overwhelming warmth that I don’t know how to hold.
“You’re staring,” he says without looking up.
“You’re drinking out of my favorite mug,” I shoot back, pushing off the counter I’d curled up on. My bare feet are cold against the tile.
He lifts the mug like a toast. “Guess it’s mine now.”
I shake my head, trying to laugh, but it catches somewhere in my throat. “You okay?”
He sets the mug down and meets my eyes. “Yeah. You?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
But the air between us is fragile. Not awkward, exactly. More like standing on a frozen lake, listening for cracks.
I step closer, arms crossed, needing to ask the thing that’s been lodged in my chest since last summer. “Why did you pull away? After we kissed the first time.”
His jaw tightens. He looks down, thumb running over the curve of the mug handle. “Annie—”
“No.” I shake my head, heart thudding. “Don’t deflect. You kissed me back. I felt it. Then you disappeared. For months. Like I’d imagined the whole thing.”
His silence stretches long enough that I want to scream. Finally, he exhales hard. “Because I thought you deserved better.”
The words hit like a stone, but not in the way I expected.
“Better than what?” I ask softly. “Better than you?”
He stands, restless, pacing the narrow stretch of floor.
His hands rake through his hair. He looks bigger in this space, shoulders filling the dim light.
“Better than a man who walked away from his entire life because he couldn’t stand to look at the pieces anymore.
Better than someone who quit the firehouse after the last call gutted him so bad he couldn’t breathe without remembering. ”
My chest aches. I knew he carried something heavy, but I’ve never heard him put words to it.
“Cal—”
He cuts me off with a sharp shake of his head.
“I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t talk. Every time someone looked at me, I felt like they saw a coward.
And then you—” He stops, turns, eyes blazing.
“You with your smile and your muffins and your damn stubborn sweetness. You made me feel like maybe I could breathe again. I hated it, Annie, because I didn’t trust it. I didn’t trust me not to ruin you.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “So you left me wondering if I’d imagined everything instead?”
His face twists. “I thought it was kinder.”
“Kinder?” My voice cracks. “Do you know how many nights I replayed that kiss? Wondering if I’d made it up? Wondering if I was pathetic for wanting more?”
His fists are at his side. “You weren’t pathetic. I wanted more, too. God, Annie, I wanted it so bad it scared me.”
I step closer, my hand brushing his chest. His heart pounds under my palm. “Then why now? Why last night? Why are you here with me this morning instead of back in your cabin pretending none of this matters?”
He closes his eyes, jaw working. When he opens them again, they’re stripped bare. “Because I realized the only thing worse than letting you in was losing you again.”
The truth slams through me, shaking something loose I didn’t know I’d been holding.
He cups my face, rough palms gentle against my skin.
“I don’t want to hide from you anymore. I don’t want to waste another second pretending you’re not the only thing that’s felt right since I walked away from everything else.
” His voice breaks. “Annie, I’ve been half in love with you since the day you shoved a cinnamon roll at me and told me to smile more. ”
Tears sting my eyes, hot and relentless. I laugh through them, shaky. “And do you?”
“What?”
“Smile more.”
A ghost of a smile pulls at his mouth. “Only with you.”
I can’t hold it in anymore. The words tumble out, raw and certain. “I love you, Cal.”
His breath stutters. For a heartbeat, I think he’ll bolt. Then his arms are around me, crushing me against him, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that’s tender and desperate and everything.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests on mine. “I love you too,” he says hoarsely. “More than I should. More than I ever thought I could again.”
My tears spill over, soaking his shirt. “Then don’t ever walk away again.”
His arms tighten. “I won’t. You’re it for me, Annie. The only one.”
We don’t move for a long time. Just stand there, holding on like the world might end if we let go.
Eventually, he kisses the corner of my eye, the edge of my smile, every place the tears fell. He touches me like I’m fragile, even though I know he sees I’m not.
I tug him back to the counter and push a mug of fresh coffee into his hand. “You’re staying,” I say, not asking.
“Yeah,” he answers, no hesitation.
I start mixing dough, and he lingers close, leaning against the counter, watching me. I toss him a bowl. “You’re helping.”
He raises a brow but doesn’t argue, rolling up his sleeves and sliding in beside me. His big hands are clumsy with the flour, but he follows my lead. I guide his fingers through the motion, our hands dusted white, our arms brushing.
We laugh when he drops too much cinnamon in the bowl. We bump hips, flirt softly, kiss between steps.
It feels like more than a morning in a bakery. It feels like the start of something we can build.
Something permanent.
Later, when the dough is rising and the timers are set, we curl up on the small couch upstairs. His arm is heavy around me, his chest warm against my back.
“You really love me?” he murmurs into my hair, like he still can’t believe it.
“More than muffins,” I whisper.
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my neck. “That’s serious.”
“It is.”
His arms tighten. “I’m not letting you go.”
“You’d better not,” I tease, but my heart is steady, certain.
Because this man, this grumpy, stubborn, moody, broken, beautiful man, just gave me the most beautiful gift. His heart.