I’m scared. Anxious. And I’ve been throwing myself into the bakery build so much that I have little time to concentrate on the life I’m creating. But the familiar flutters in my tummy bring me right back to my reality every time.
I pull in a deep breath. “We’ll just work it out together.” Rubbing my belly, I push the box back under the bed, knowing I need to visit the home wears shop in town to see if they stock blankets and baby clothes, the two things I think I do need more of.
I also need to book a doctor’s appointment now that I’m settled here. I had one initially. When I felt different and wondered why I was so bloated, I visited the local doctor who informed me that one night from months earlier, when my boyfriend at the time said that it felt better without a barrier had resulted in a pregnancy.
So not only was I pregnant, but to everyone’s shock and surprise, I was already thirteen weeks along. I don’t remember the drive home. I barely remember the words when they fell from my mouth as I told my family. But I do remember my father’s face turning red. My mother’s tears of disgust. And that within ten minutes, despite being a twenty-three-year-old woman who can decide her own future, they had planned my life out for me without consultation.
Their plan was that I was to remain hidden at home for the remainder of the pregnancy. The baby would be adopted by my older and married sister who’s been trying to conceive for years. She had plans to fake a pregnant belly. Spend more time at home to be away from people who would take too much notice. They wanted the whole thing to be secret and to pretend that Eden had been pregnant all along. Leaving me with nothing and no one.
I walked into my room that day in complete shock. Stayed like that for weeks until I felt the flutters and knew I needed an alternative. I wanted this baby. I wanted out of the house that felt like a prison and from the life that felt so controlling and constricted it was unhealthy.
Pulling myself up from the floor, I make my way down the stairs from my apartment to the bakery kitchen, knowing I forgot something.
As I hit the bottom and smell smoke, I remember what.
“The dinner rolls!” Frantic, I run around the bakery, grabbing a towel and flinging open the old ovens. Smoke bellows around me, making my eyes water, and I internally scold myself for being so forgetful. Clearly, the timers on the ovens don’t work either. This baby brain I have developed isn’t serving me well at the moment.
I look at the tray of dinner rolls I just pulled from the oven, my eyes now stinging with frustration and defeat. They’re a little brown on the edges; although they look better than the burnt rocks I pulled out earlier. I need to start writing things down. I can’t make mistakes like this.
“Hello?”
My breath catches as I turn quickly at the sound of a voice, my fingers catching on the hot tray.
“Ow!” I pull my hand back quickly, the burn instant.
“Shit.” That same gruff voice comes from over my shoulder as the tray of burnt rolls falls to the floor. Their large hand grabs my wrist, the other fits on the small of my back, and I’m manhandled toward the sink.
“I… I…” My voice is half-breathy and half-panicked, and I can’t get my words out.
While burns in my line of business are common, I know I need to get my hand underwater quickly. Add that to the fact that this baby is pushing right against my diaphragm, limiting my air intake, and I’m panting like I’ve run a marathon.
But all that combined isn’t half of what I'm feeling. Because suddenly, I smell the most masculine scent of a pine cologne, and my hormones take over, my body becoming almost weak against it.
It has me quickly remembering that a strong, unknown male is at my back. Tall, if the way his chest connects with my shoulders is any indication. My skin prickles with the feeling of being touched. His hands are large and warm. It’s been seven months since I've had a man's hands on my body, and even then, it wasn’t memorable. The small human growing inside of me is the only link.
The man turns on the faucet, pulling my hand under it, and I breathe out in relief as the cool water hits my hand and the sting subsides. As does any lingering fear at being manhandled by a stranger right here in my kitchen. He led me to safety; it would be odd for him to now hurt me. Though I remain wary.
“Thank you… I—” I turn to see who’s helping me, wanting to offer my thanks, but I still. At a loss for words all over again.
Brown eyes, hidden by dark eyebrows, look at me from under a deep frown. He hasn’t moved, his body, strong and hard, leaning against my back as he ensures my hand is under the cool water. My eyes widen and heart pounds harder as I realize exactly how close we are.
He’s like Heaven answered all my questions. I've never seen a man like him before. Sure, big, tall, gruff guys are common. But there's something in his eyes. Something that tells me he’s the kind of strong and dependable man you only find once in a lifetime. That thought has my stomach doing somersaults.
Before I get too lost in my hormone-induced fantasyland, the baby kicks, knocking some sense into me. I’m a pregnant woman. I may be single, but I’m no catch. I’m a commitment and shouldn’t even be looking for a man in my state. My mother's words ring in my mind. You’ve ruined yourself. The devil got into your soul, and now you’re filthy.
I swallow roughly as I look up at him. His gaze is roaming over my face, from my eyes to my lips and back again, like he’s making sure I’m okay. Somehow, I feel safe.
“You make a habit of burning yourself?” Okay… there goes my fantasy. He sounds like a complete asshole.
“Part of the job,” I sass back, yet I don’t move from where I’m positioned between him and the sink. I’ve never talked back like this, but this is my bakery, my home, and my protective motherly instincts are already setting in.
His brow pinches slightly. “You should be more careful.”
My anger rises at his condescending tone. I’m so sick of people telling me how I should do things. I thought I left all that back in Williamstown.
“Well, you shouldn’t sneak up on people and scare them.” I quirk an eyebrow, totally shocked by my tone. This is so not me. I’m meek, mild, well mannered. Seems like he’s bringing something else out in me.
“You also shouldn’t leave your front door unlocked. Any asshole could walk in here.”
