As Griffin grabs his things, he pauses and looks at me, taking a few steps closer that have my heart beating faster.
“Do you have any more cinnamon rolls?”
“You liked them?” My grin is instant. I love it when people eat the food I make. I try to put so much love and attention into every roll, every bun.
“They were like nothing else I’ve eaten before.”
Shifting over to where I left some goods to cool this morning, I tell him, “Here… I don’t have any cinnamon rolls, but I made some fresh cheese pies this morning.” I quickly put some in a container. They look a little different to how they normally do, but I hope they taste great, nonetheless. “Please… take these. It’s not much, but I’m so grateful for all your help. I wish I could offer you more.” My words rush out as I thrust the container toward him.
His face softens a little. “Are these as good as your cinnamon rolls?”
“I hope so…” I cringe, because I really don’t know.
“I’ll be back in a few days. Here’s my number… in case you need anything.” He passes me his business card, and I take it. It’s thick. Glossy. Luxurious, almost. He takes the container, and as he does, his fingers graze my own. Prickles coat my skin, and my breath hitches.
He looks at where our hands connect, his scowl still etched across his face, and I blow out my breath. He’s magnetic. And I’m pregnant. I pull my hand away quickly, like I’ve been burned. These stupid thoughts about my grumpy yet very good-looking builder are ridiculous.
“Thank you…” I roll his card over in my hands, gently, careful not to bend it.
He clears his throat and turns to walk out, his toolbox in one hand and my container in another. My eyes drop to his ass, filling out his jeans just right, making my heart race, the flush across my cheeks and chest instant. I’m going straight to hell, just like my mother said.
“Griffin!”
He halts, turning immediately and looking straight at me. I pause. For too long. My chest feels like it’s heaving for breath as he watches me closely. All words leave my brain when he takes a step toward me, his eyes pure molten.
“Ahhh, safe travels…” Inwardly, I cringe at myself. His jaw pops, yet he gives me a small nod before he walks out, and I sigh. Scrubbing my face, I wonder if I could be any more foolish.
With him now gone, I pull on my apron and get to work cleaning out the front to make the shop sparkling for opening day. I push Griffin and his sexy scowl to the back of my mind, but I’m already planning to make an extra batch of cinnamon rolls for when he returns in a few days.
As I get busy, I hear a knock at the front door. I quickly wipe my hands and rush out.
“Hello?” I greet a woman who’s standing at the entrance. “I’m sorry. We’re not open yet.”
She gives me a kind smile. “I know, but I saw the help wanted sign in the window, and I wanted to drop off my details.”
Gleeful surprise takes over me. “Oh, of course. Come in.” I open the door and invite her in, excited to talk with her. I’ve had that sign up for weeks now, and she’s the first person to apply.
“As you can see, I’m still getting things organized. Hopefully I’ll be open in a few weeks.”
“Of course.” She nods and looks back at me.
I wipe my dusty hands off on my apron. “I’m Savannah, owner of Betty’s Bakery.”
“I’m Melissa Thorton.” She smiles, and we shake hands.
“So can you tell me a bit about yourself? Your experience?” I haven’t hired staff before, so I’m not sure what to ask. But I need someone part-time to help out when I have the baby and during busy periods.
“Oh, well, I’ve lived in the area most of my life. My husband and I live farther out of town. I’ve been a housewife for many years and would like to start some work to bring in a bit of extra money. I cook at home, I bake, so I’m familiar with kitchens and baking in general, and when I was in town last week, I saw your sign and spoke to my husband, and… here I am.” She seems nice. Friendly, personable. She’d be great on the register serving customers.
Being local, she’d know people from around here too, which would be beneficial.
“I don’t need anyone with lots of experience or anything. The job would be casual, helping me out, serving customers and restocking the products. I’ll need someone here when I run errands and have appointments, that kind of thing,” I rush out, excited that someone actually applied.
She nods eagerly. “I’m happy to help out wherever’s needed. The hours also work well for me. I don’t have any other commitments that would prohibit me from coming in whenever you need.”
This feels right. Feels good. Like another piece is slipping into place.
“Great! Well, how about we start in a week? You can help me set up the front, and we can go through the register system together because that confuses me more than anything. That way, we can see if it all works out before opening day.”
