I tug it down self-consciously, hyperaware of how my body has changed. The swell of my breasts strains against the fabric, fuller now with pregnancy.
I catch Maggie’s gaze and realize she’s not looking at my body. She’s looking at my face with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.
“I’ve been watching you these past three months,” she begins, her hands folded on the desk. “Your skill, your dedication, the way customers respond to you. You have a gift, Charlie. Not just for baking, but for making people feel welcome.”
My throat tightens. I’m not used to praise that doesn’t come with conditions attached.
“I’m in my fifties,” Jennifer continues. “I’ve been running this bakery for thirty years, and I’m tired. I want to travel, spend time with my grandchildren, actually enjoy the life I’ve built.” She leans forward. “I want you to become co-manager. With the eventual possibility of partnership.”
The words don’t make sense at first. I stare at her, my mind struggling to process what she’s offering. “I…what?”
“I’m thinking about succession planning. Someone who could eventually take over the business.” Her eyes hold mine. “I see that person in you, Charlie. If you want it.”
My hands shake as they move to my belly, seeking comfort in the solid reality of the baby growing there.
This is everything I’ve wanted.
Independence. Purpose. A career doing something I love. A future that doesn’t depend on working off a debt or hiding in shadows.
“I’m pregnant,” I whisper, like she hasn’t noticed.
Jennifer’s smile widens. “I can see that. Which is why I’m offering co-manager first. You’ll have flexibility, time to adjust to motherhood. But when you’re ready, the partnership is there.”
Tears burn my eyes. “Why me?”
“Because you create beauty without even trying. Because you care about the work, not just the paycheck. Because I see myself in you thirty years ago, desperate for someone to believe I was worth the investment.” She slides a folder across the desk. “Think about it. Talk to your…family. Let me know.”
That evening, I find them in Adrian’s quarters. Marcus leans against the desk, his tattooed arms crossed over his chest, the saints and sinners inked into his olive skin seeming to writhe in the lamplight. Adrian sits in his chair, still wearing his cassock from evening prayers, every button fastened. Elijah perches on the edge of the bed, his golden hair catching the light.
They all turn when I enter, and the way they look at me makes my breath catch.
Adrian’s gray eyes track the swell of my belly, then rise to my face with an intensity that makes heat pool low in my body despite the exhaustion weighing on me.
Marcus’s gaze drops to my breasts, and I watch his jaw clench as he forces himself to look away.
Elijah’s crystalline blue eyes hold mine with that knowing look that says he sees exactly what the others are thinking.
“Jennifer offered me co-manager,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “With eventual partnership.”
The silence that follows is heavy with emotion. Then Marcus crosses to me, his hands finding my hips, careful of my rounded stomach. “That’s incredible,querida.” His accent thickens with pride. “You deserve this.”
“Do I?” My voice cracks. “I’m five months pregnant. I’m living in a church apartment. I’m in love with three men who aren’t supposed to want me.”
“You’re brilliant,” Adrian says, standing and moving closer. His hand rises toward my face, then drops. Even now, even with the Bishop’s blessing, he fights himself. “You’re talented and strong and exactly the kind of person who should run a bakery.”
“I’m scared,” I admit. “What if I fail? What if I can’t handle motherhood and a career?”
“Then we help you,” Elijah says softly. “That’s what family does.”
The word makes my chest tight with emotions I’m still learning to name. Family. Not the kind that leaves, but the kind that stays.
“Teach me,” Adrian says suddenly. “To make your grandmother’s cinnamon rolls. I want to learn.”
The request surprises me, but I nod. We move to the church’s kitchen, and I guide him through the process.
My hands cover his as I show him how to knead the dough, and the contact sends electricity shooting through me despite the domesticity of the moment.
His body is warm and solid behind me, and I’m hyperaware of every point where we touch.
