"Same for me," Piper adds. "That patty melt yesterday was incredible."
"Rosie will be thrilled to hear it," Jenna says, scribbling on her notepad. "Be right back."
As she walks away, Piper leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. "So, pot roast dinner with your mom, should I be nervous?"
"Terrified," I say. "She is going to interrogate you about your entire life story."
"I can handle interrogation."
"She is also going to ask about your intentions."
Piper laughs. "My intentions?"
"Yes, your intentions with me, with Maddie, and with the bakery. And knowing her, she will want to know your life story as a whole."
"Your mom sounds thorough."
"She is a force of nature," I say. "But she means well."
"I look forward to it," Piper says, and she sounds like she means it.
Jenna returns with our food, and we eat while talking about everything and nothing. She tells me about growing up in five different states because her dad was in the military. I tell her about growing up in Valentine and never wanting to leave.
"You never wanted to see what else was out there?" she asks.
"I did," I admit. "When I was younger. But then I realized everything I needed was here. And after my wife died, leaving felt impossible. This town held me together when I couldn’t hold myself together."
She reaches across the table and touches my hand. "That is a beautiful way to describe home."
"What about you?" I ask. "Do you have a place that feels like home?"
She hesitates. "Not really. I've always been the person who leaves. I think part of me is afraid that if I stay somewhere too long, I'll get stuck."
"Or maybe you’ll finally get to stop running," I suggest gently.
Her eyes meet mine, and something vulnerable flickers across her face. "Maybe."
We finish lunch, and I pay despite her protests again. As we walk back to the bakery, the afternoon sun warm on our faces, I realize something that should terrify me but somehow doesn't.
I'm falling for this woman, and for the first time in years, that doesn't feel like the end of something.
It feels like the beginning.
Chapter 4
Piper
The next morning,I walk back into Spice Spice Baby with a camera bag over my shoulder and enough caffeine in my bloodstream to power a small festival. The bakery is already buzzing with customers, and the warm smell of maple scones makes me want to throw away my schedule and start eating my way through the display case like a feral raccoon.
But I've got work to do. And not just any work, today is the day I film Dylan working on the festival showpiece without turning into a swoony puddle of unprofessional hormones.
I take a deep breath and pull out my tripod. I've filmed firefighters, chefs, artists, and once a cowboy calendar shoot that got me a thousand new followers overnight. I can handle one absurdly attractive single dad with forearms sculpted by the frosting gods.
Dylan is already at the decorating station with his sleeves rolled up. He pipes frosting across the middle tier of the festival cake with perfect focus, completely unaware that the sun streaming through the window hits him in a way that should be illegal.
I check my lighting and move toward him with a smile.
"Morning," I say. "Ready for your close-up?"
