“Sleep, sweetness.” His voice rumbles, and I remain facing him as I close my eyes, our hands still entwined, the two of us having a more restful sleep. Just in time before opening day.
15
Savannah
There was a line out the door this morning, and even though it’s almost lunchtime, it isn’t dissipating.
“That’s a perfect combination,” I hear Melissa say to the next customer while I whirl around her, restocking the cabinets, my cupcakes going fast. I have new batches made; I just haven’t had time to ice them yet.
“Have a great day!” she sing-songs and the register chimes. I’m overwhelmed, but in the best possible way.
“Hey, we’re almost out of dinner rolls and the cupcakes are a winner today,” Melissa whispers to me, clearly as excited as I am that we’re both run off our feet.
“I have some almost ready. I just need to sort out the cabinets,” I murmur to her, knowing I need to get busy in the kitchen, yet there’s a million different things I need to be doing out here. I spot the paper bags our products go in, the pile almost gone.
“Morning… Excuse me… Pardon me, ma’am…”
That voice. Low, gravelly, unmistakable.
I snap upright so fast I nearly drop the tray in my hands. And there he is, the man who slept beside me last night, pushing his way through the crowd like a storm rolling into a cupcake shop.
“Griffin!”
He takes in the chaos, the line, the scent of cinnamon and sugar, and his eyebrows lift. “Wow. This is… impressive.”
Pride blooms in my chest instantly and embarrassingly warm. “It’s great, but I need to ice more cupcakes, I have to sort these cabinets, I need to find more paper bags…” The words tumble out of me in one breath, my panic showing.
“I can ice,” he says, dead serious.
I blink. “You what?”
“I can ice. You taught me how last night.” He reaches past me, grabbing a spare apron off the hook. His body brushes mine, solid, warm, steady, and for a second, I swear my knees wobble. “Where are they?”
He’s already tying the apron around his waist. The apron is… Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
Blue gingham. Frills. Tiny. It looks like it was made for a Disney princess, not a six-foot-something lumberjack of a man.
“Aren’t you busy? Aren’t you heading to the distillery today?” I ignore the way my heart somersaults.
“Tanner can wait.” He says it like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t rearrange his entire day because I look overwhelmed.
There are maybe three people in this town who can tell Tanner Whiteman to wait. Griffin is one of them.
“In the back,” I finally answer.
“I’m on it.” He disappears into the kitchen, and I stand there for a beat too long, staring after him like a lovesick idiot.
Melissa snaps me back to reality. “Found those bags yet? Also, pies are running low…”
“Right! Yes. Bags. Pies.” But my eyes betray me, flicking toward the kitchen in time to see Griffin reappear, picking up a piping bag filled with pink frosting. Pink. Frosting. In those hands.
The dainty vanilla cupcakes look like toys in his grip. The apron is ridiculous. He doesn’t even notice. He’s too focused on helping me.
And something in my chest squeezes so tight it’s almost hard to breathe.
He shouldn’t look good like this. He shouldn’t look… so right in my space. He shouldn’t make me feel steadier just by being here.
But he does.
