Back when I was young, it was almost the norm. Not that it hurt any less, but the number of kids who were damaged from adults not providing them with the necessities of life was a situation I grew up in and know all too well. But seeing it still happen… Seeing society become bigger and better, yet still not providing for the kids of this country, leaves me hurt, angry, and bitter. One half of me wants to cry, while the other wants to hit something.
This is why I never get close. Never stay in one place for long. Never commit. Not just to women, but to people. Tanner’s the only man I’ve known for longer than I remember. Even then, I keep some distance. Even if just geographically.
But there’s something about this woman that has me questioning everything I’ve ever done, and that almost frightens me more than anything else.
I suck in a breath and try to pull myself together, forcing myself to turn the ignition and drive. When I detour and drive past the bakery, as expected, the lights are still on, and I see her shadow moving about in the kitchen. The sight eases my pain a little, with a newfound respect for my local baker. Resilience is a hard muscle to build, but one I have a feeling she has had a lot of experience using.
I turn quickly and head to my place before I do something stupid, like go and knock on her door.
I’m her builder. She’s almost a new mom. It needs to be that simple.
7
Savannah
I chew the tip of my pencil, my eyes homed in. Three down, five letters: “Something that slips away.” Time? Maybe. Or sleep? I stare at the empty boxes as if they might fill themselves, going almost cross-eyed since I barely slept last night, my growing middle making getting comfortable harder.
I sip my coffee and stall. Oh my God, my taste is coming back. It took a week since seeing the doctor and being on the new vitamins, but I breathe out a sigh of relief, grateful that I can now taste something other than metallic bitterness. My eyes prick with tears. It’s nothing to cry over, but the waterworks are almost an hourly occurrence this week.
As I wipe my eyes, Griffin walks into the kitchen with what looks like a piece of stainless steel.
“What’s wrong?” He nearly balks. He’s been here since this morning. His scowl is deeper today than I’ve ever seen it, and he’s barely said two words to me.
“Oh, it’s nothing… it’s just… a crossword.” I lift the local paper as a poor excuse to cover my tears. He looks at me like he doesn’t believe me, then puts his tools down and walks over, peering over my shoulder.
“Youth.”
I frown, look back at the puzzle. Sure enough, youth fits.
“You do crosswords?” I’m surprised. He doesn’t seem like the crossword type. I used to do them sometimes with my grandpa, an activity I still try to do regularly, particularly when I want to feel closer to him.
“They help quiet my brain.” He steps back to his tools and resumes his tasks. I watch him, trying to work him out. He is a puzzle, this man, one I think no one else has managed to solve.
“Oh, before I forget, I got you a key cut.” I pass the new key over to him. “I know you start early, and while I’m usually up, I thought a key would help you access the bakery at any time. I don’t want to hold you up on your other jobs…”
I think this is what people usually do. And I trust him. Tanner Whiteman wouldn’t just get anyone to help me. This I’ve come to learn.
“I’ll keep it safe.” He pockets the key as I slide off the stool, wanting to eat something to test my taste buds. “I think I got my taste back.” I smile, and it’s then I see it. His eyes drop down to my belly. He knows. “I can finally try one.”
Stepping over to the cinnamon buns I baked this morning, I grab one, excited as they're still warm, and take a bite. I start to chew, then pause. The taste, the texture, it’s all wrong. I look at Griffin, my mouth full, my eyes wide before I grab a napkin and spit it out.
“You’ve been eating this?” I’m horrified. It tastes like cardboard. Dry, not sweet at all.
He shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Oh my God, why? They're disgusting!” I throw out the one in my hand and then proceed to throw the entire tray in the trash.
“They’re fine.”
I look at him quickly, confused.
“They are far from fine. No, no, noooo, my grandma would be rolling in her grave.” I slap my hand on my forehead, and I see his lips curve a little, his eyes not leaving me.
“With laughter?” He rolls his lips a little, and I can’t help but grin.
“Yes, she would. Probably sitting up there, having a glass of sherry, taking great delight in my bakery mishaps… I’m so sorry you had to endure that. I swear, I’m not trying to kill you with my food.” I cringe, because I gave a whole batch to Tanner a few days ago too.
“I’m sure if you were, I’d be dead already. You seem like the kind of woman who knows what she wants and is doing her best to get it.”
