“Looks like one did,” flies past my lips next, and my eyes widen. I bite my tongue not immediately apologizing.
He blinks quickly a few times, like he’s coming back to himself. Clearing his throat, he steps back, giving me some space, yet my skin feels cold without him close. For some reason, I hate it.
“My name is Griffin. I’m a builder. Tanner Whiteman sent me over to see if I can help you with your carpentry.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, like he’s as thrown off as I am. But then his eyes drop to my body before snapping back to my face. I don’t know what he’s looking at. I’m a mess. A long, flowing dress that hides my bump and almost hits the floor. My hair pulled back into a top knot. Not a scrap of makeup on.
But God, you could cut glass on his jaw and that five o'clock shadow is really doing something to my insides.
I’m quiet, distracted by how attractive I find this man, but then my brain connects the puzzle pieces. Shoot. This is awkward.
“Oh… Oh. Yes, Tanner did come by a few days ago.” Is it hot in here? Did I leave the oven on? I can’t remember the last time I was this flustered. “Oh my gosh!” From the corner of my eye, I see smoke leaking through the oven, and I run back to it and fling open the large oven door. Panic kicks in as I grab the tray of burnt croissants and start fanning the billowing smoke. Running to the small window, I whip it open, the screech of it almost deafening, and Griffin runs to the back door to do the same, but as he does, the screen comes off its hinges and falls to the ground outside, and I cringe.
“You’ll be needing a new back door.” Griffin's voice is tight. Angry, almost. Like this is the last place he wants to be. Like me and my bakery are a mere annoyance.
“I can fix it,” I grit out. I hate being a burden to someone. Hate having people in my space who don’t want to be here. Sure, Tanner was nice to offer, but I don’t want to be a charity case.
“Your hand?” Griffin’s frown is pinned to the red welt throbbing on my palm, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. He takes a step toward me before he pauses, like he thinks better of it. My heart trips over itself, not used to any care or attention from anyone, let alone a stranger.
“The downside of being a baker.” I throw the towel on the counter, where my flour and butter still reside. Today was meant to be productive. Testing the new equipment and ingredients and baking goods that I could deliver to the diner down the street as a small gesture of goodwill. Apparently, that isn’t working out. “This is the third batch I’ve burned already today. At least I now know the ovens aren't working as they should be.”
“Or your smoke alarm.” Griffin assesses my kitchen. I look up at the faint smoke still lingering at the ceiling and, sure enough, the smoke alarms aren’t blaring as they should be.
“Another thing to add to my list.” I scrub my face, trying not to feel overwhelmed that my list is getting longer and longer every day.
“Are you living upstairs?” he asks, his tone a bit softer.
I look back at Griffin, who's eyeing the staircase leading up to what is my current home. The small studio above the bakery is one of the reasons I took this building. I could have a business and a home all in one, making baking with a baby so much easier.
I nod. “Yes.”
He’s back to being serious. “Then the fire alarms need to be fixed today.”
I swallow past a lump in my throat as his gaze moves around the room. Is he worried about my safety? I mean, there’s no fire escape, so I’d need to jump out of the upstairs window if there was a fire. That jump would not be painless.
I watch him taking it all in, seeing his mind turning over, and I wonder what he thinks. Does he see the potential like I do?
“You’ll need some new cupboards in here. A longer counter to work on. Stainless steel would be best, I think.”
I glance at where my ingredients and materials are all gathered on top of each other, the space nowhere near enough to roll out the right sized batch of my famous chocolate chip cookies. But while the top-of-the-line bakeries all have stainless-steel counters, it’s way too expensive for my budget.
“Oh, laminate will be fine.”
He looks back at me. His face seems to be in a permanent scowl. I wonder if that old wives’ tale is true, never frown when the wind changes or it will stay like that.
By the looks of this man, it potentially is. I’m almost tempted to ask when it happened and how strong the wind was. But my mom always said to mind my manners because God is always watching.
He nods to himself. “I’ll get you stainless steel.” I don’t miss it as his jaw clenches a little under his stubble.
I have no idea what it is about Griffin that has my stomach in knots and lungs empty. But he’s authoritative, brooding, and mysterious, mixed with a kindness that appears to be buried under a grumpy, dominant, rugged exterior. He’s extremely magnetic to someone like me, who’s opposite in every way.
Forcing my eyes off him, I look over to the side, where I plan to put the baby's things once it arrives. The baby. The little life in my stomach. The reason I can’t be swooning over a very alpha male who stands right in front of me in my kitchen, wearing jeans that look like they fit all too well and a shirt that, for some reason, I want to unbutton.
“Out front is the priority… I mean, if that’s okay?” I feel myself retreating. The years of subordination that have been drilled into me from my parents is what I revert to time and time again.
I can’t afford a total renovation. My dream bakery will be one that’s built over time, not all at once. I’ll make do with what I have out here. But I need the front to be fixed, that’s what people will see. I swallow down my embarrassment at not having this all done already.
His eyes drape over me again, like he’s trying to figure me out.
“I have some time now. My tools are in my truck. I’ll get started on the back door, because if you live upstairs, then security is important. Then I’ll change your smoke alarms.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, seemingly ignoring my statement about focusing on the front, before he pushes off the doorway and strides out the front of the shop.
