“We won’t keep you long,” Annabelle says, her eyes soft with concern. “We wanted to check on you. See how you and the baby are doing this week.”
“I’m okay. My due date is closing in on me now, though, so I’m getting nervous.”
“You’re still carrying high,” Victoria says. “I think you’ve got a little time.”
“Just remember to rest,” Annabelle adds.
I nod, even though resting feels like a luxury I can’t afford.
“I brought you some soaps. They’re lavender, so they’re relaxing…” Annabelle offers me a small box, the fragrance hitting my nose immediately. It smells divine.
“And chamomile and lemon, straight from the distillery garden and made into a tea in case you want a warm cup before bed.” Daisy passes over a few boxes, and my eyes sting for a moment at their generosity.
“Thank you all so much…” I’m almost overwhelmed with gratitude. “You’ve been so kind.”
“Of course. Please call us if you need anything. We can’t wait to see you opening day.” Daisy smiles, leaning in to give me a hug.
“We’ll be the ones buying all the cinnamon rolls… Unless Griffin eats them all first.” Victoria laughs, and as we say goodbye and they step out into the afternoon sun, the shop falls quiet again.
Too quiet.
I stand there for a moment, their gifts still warm in my hands, and all I can think about is him. Griffin.
I shouldn’t be thinking about him this much. I’m about to give birth, and I’m opening a business, trying to rebuild my life from the ground up. I don’t have space for… whatever these feelings are. But my fingers are already drifting toward my apron pocket, brushing over the edge of his business card like it’s a secret I’m not supposed to touch.
Maybe I should message him. To check in. Just to say thank you again. Just to… hear from him.
My heart gives a ridiculous little kick, stronger than the baby’s, and before I can talk myself out of it, I pull out my phone. Once I add his number to my contacts, my thumb hovers over his name.
Don’t do it, the sensible part of me whispers.
But the part of me that remembers the way he looked at me—steady, warm, like he saw more than I meant to show—wins out. If I want to be the woman I know I can be, then I need to leave the girl I was behind. That starts with confidence. Doing the hard things. Like moving to a new town, opening a new business, using a new name and maybe, just maybe, texting a guy first.
I type a message, then delete it. Then type another.
“It’s a message, Savannah. Nothing more,” I mutter to myself before my fingers start typing.
Hey. Just wanted to say thank you again for all your help with the shop. It’s really coming together, and I couldn’t have done it so fast or so well without you.
I stare at it for a second, then hit send before I chicken out. The reply comes faster than I expect.
You don’t have to thank me. But I’m glad it’s looking good. How are you holding up?
Another flutter moves through my chest this time.
I’m okay. Tired. Nervous. Excited. All of it, I guess.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.
You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.
My breath catches. I shouldn’t read into that. I shouldn’t.
I’m trying not to.
The dots appear again, then vanish. Then my phone starts ringing. His name lights up the screen, and my heart thumps once, hard. I hesitate, just long enough to feel ridiculous, then answer.
“Hey,” I say softly.
