I pop the door open, not bothering to wait for one of Ben’s men to treat me like said princess and walk-run toward the front door.
I shove the door open, finding it empty…but mine.
The counters appear sturdy, the floors are worn but clean, and the vibe feels…right.
Open enough for foot traffic, enough natural light to make the whole place feel alive, even in its slightly shabby state.
It’s perfect.
“I know it’s not perfect,” Ben says softly from behind me, like he’s reading my mind, but the opposite. “But I figured you’d want to make it your own.”
I nod, tracing the lines of the counters with my eyes, imagining paint colors, shelving, and racks for baked goods.
“It’s…it’s more than I expected,” I admit, not overwhelmed, just in absolute awe of how this isallmine.
There’s weight here, potential, and I can feel it in my chest. The kind of responsibility that makes my stomach flutter.
“Here.” A small notepad appears in front of me. “All your ideas aren’t going to fit on that small piece of paper.”
That is so sweet.
Softly plucking it from his fingers, careful not to touch him, now I’m overwhelmed.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“The place is yours,” he says softly. “Your kingdom. Have at it, princess.”
I begin to move around the room, imagining where all the tables would go, the bakery display, and how we’d make the best of the space.
It’s not huge, it’s cute.
It’s enough.
It’s all I need.
Ben’s men line the walls, keeping out of my way as I go back into the kitchen, the pantry, and the fridges. I make notes of everything that comes to mind for Lucy, hoping I can bring her by tomorrow so we can brainstorm with the blank canvas we have.
It doesn’t feel real.
“Princess,” I hear Ben call out to me, prompting me to head back to the front to find that he has two breakfast sandwiches lying on one of the counters, some orange juice, and fruit. “Come eat, sweetheart. Then, I promise, I won’t bother you until lunch.”
I hesitate, unsure if I should, but he doesn’t take no for an answer. And I don’t want to fight with him while I’m trying to enjoy just being in the space.
Now, he’s brought breakfast so that I don’t need to leave.
He’s not sweet.
He’s cunning.
Approaching the counter, Ben doesn’t ask for permission when he effortlessly lifts me up in the air and gently places me along the edge of the surface.
He unwraps my sandwich, the smell of eggs and bacon enough to make me forget that Ben is trying to butter me up to give him an heir.
For a bakery and protection for my family.
Current time, I couldn’t tell you if it was fair or not. I’m too excited about plans for this place.
“So,” he starts casually. “How long have you been thinking about a bakery?”
