And the worst part?
She had burned more pastries in the days since the repairs began than she had in her entire time at the bakery.
Mrs. Harrow had even caught her earlier—when William stepped inside to say the roof was finished and to ask, on Mr. Harrow’s behalf, when Mrs. Harrow would be ready to leave for the day, Violet forgot the tarts entirely. The sharp scent of sugar beginning to scorch made her whirl around—just in time to see Mrs. Harrow smiling behind her hand, eyes sparkling with far too much understanding.
Violet had offered to stay behind and finish the last of the bread—shaping loaves, packing baskets—while Mr. and Mrs. Harrow hurried off to visit an elderly aunt.
With the roof complete, William had offered to see them on their way, carrying the parcels Mrs. Harrow had prepared for their visit.
She told herself she was relieved to see him go.
She told herself she believed it.
Violet glanced toward the window just in time to catch a white-hot flash tearing across the sky. A crack of thunder followed, sharp enough to make her jump, her heart skittering. Then the heavens opened, rain hammering against the panes in heavy sheets. She pressed a hand to the glass, watching the storm sweep violently across the village and thinking of Lilytucked safely at her parents’ cottage. They knew she would wait out bad weather at the bakery, and she was grateful for that—at least her daughter wouldn’t have to walk home in this.
Waiting was the only option.
She lit a lamp, then began tidying the counter, humming a faint tune under her breath in a futile attempt to settle her nerves. The melody wavered with every crash of thunder, the quiet of the bakery making each rumble feel as though it vibrated straight through her ribs.
And then—
The door banged open.
A rush of cold, rain-laden air swept in.
William stepped through, soaked to the skin—hair plastered to his forehead, shirt clinging to every line of him, boots dripping onto the floorboards.
Violet spun around, her breath catching hard.
“I thought you left,” she said, sharper than intended.
“I did,” he answered, his breath uneven. “But when the storm broke—I knew you were staying late. I couldn’t… I didn’t want you alone in this.”
His eyes swept over her, checking for any sign of distress.
The care on his face was unmistakable.
Too unmistakable.
Violet felt heat rush to her cheeks—anger, fear, longing.
She could no longer tell the difference.
She stiffened.
“You didn’t need to come back.”
“I know.”
He took a step closer, rain trailing from his sleeves.
“But I couldn’t leave you here without knowing you were safe.”
“I’m fine, William,” she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. “I was just going to wait out the storm and then fetch Lily from my parents’ cottage.”
“Well,” he replied simply, “I’ll wait with you now.”
The words hit her like a jolt.
