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‘And we can dothis any way you want, but I’m glad you trust me. I’m glad you want to do this with me. It feels different with you. Better. Like…’
“Noah!”
Noah snapped back to reality, back to the bakery, to the kitchen with a ball of dough in his hands that was supposed to be bread but was hard as a rock. He glanced behind him at Paxton who looked more confused than annoyed that Noah had been off in his own little world.
“Sorry, Paxton. You okay?” He swiped his hands on his apron, then grabbed the ball of dough and tossed it into the trash before turning to face his employee.
“There’s someone here to see you,” Paxton said, thumbing over his shoulder.
For a moment, Noah’s heart leapt, though he knew it couldn’t be Adriano. Or well, it shouldn’t be. Noah hadn’t stayed as long as he’d wanted at Adriano’s place, but they’d parted with a plan. Adriano was going to spend the day in search of a place he could rent that wouldn’t have the telltale signs of Noah’s apartment, or the bakery, or somewhere on a public rental website. If Noah was going to do this—if he was going to be brave enough to take a step outside of his tiny bubble—he wanted at least a little anonymity. Even if it didn’t last.
“Who is it?”
“Birdie. That fire department guy,” Paxton said with a shrug. He glanced at the baking table and the pieces of dough Noah had separated. “You want me to take over here?”
Noah knew by the way Paxton’s face fell that he hadn’t hidden his grimace well enough. But his mind immediately went back to the last time he had let Paxton help and the wasted batches of cookies that had been little more than charred lumps of coal.
“Why don’t you take lunch?” Noah moved to the sink to wash up, then glanced at the clock and breathed a sigh of relief to see it was almost noon. “I’ll handle the front for a bit.”
Paxton looked like he wanted to argue, but at the resolute set of Noah’s jaw, he shrugged and untied his apron. “It’s not busy anyway.”
And when was it ever? Noah would wager Birdie wasn’t coming in to buy anything. Apart from bread for the French restaurant and bagels for the firehouse, they only occasionally had trickle-in business. Tourist season, with the fall festival and the market opening, meant a few more customers than normal, but not enough.
And he’d seen a drop now that the Lofty Latke was parking in various spots around town. Not that Noah could blame the people for wanting Adam’s bakes. They were better and more diverse. They were trendy—like brie and bacon croissants. They were everything Noah wasn’t and didn’t want to be.
Drying his hands, Noah finally walked out to find the blacksmith bent over the glass display. When the door creaked, Birdie straightened and rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Hey.” He looked good in his Chatham County FD shirt and jeans, his hair tousled by the wind, cheeks a little pink.
Noah raised a brow. “Hi. Is there something I can help with? If you want anything that’s not challah or almond cookies right now, you’re gonna want to find Adam.”
Birdie shook his head, even though he smiled at the mention. “No. I’m not here to buy anything.”
Of course he wasn’t. Noah followed where Birdie’s eyes kept tracking—a row of almond crescent cookies—so he grabbed one and handed it over. “They’re actually not bad,” he insisted when Birdie hesitated.
He was quiet as Birdie took the offering, then smiled a little when the blacksmith let out a groan. “Those are amazing.”
“Bubbe was go big or go home with flavor,” Noah told him with a shrug. He leaned on the counter. “Is there something you wanted? If Fitz sent you about the market booth…”
At that, Birdie’s face fell, and he shook his head. “No, that’s not…” He stopped and let out a heavy breath. “I’m here to say sorry for being such a colossal dick at the market last night.”
Noah blinked at him for a moment. He’d expected a lot of things—most of them involving some sort of favor or baking order—but an apology? “What are you talking about?”
“I upset you. What I said. I’m not sure why. I mean, I think I get it. Fitz mentioned how you came back after your grandma died. I figured that’s why you had to come home, and I didn’t mean to make a joke out of it.”
Noah felt a fresh wave of grief in his belly, a low simmer, nothing like the overwhelming pain he felt when her death was fresh. But it was still a lot. He cleared his throat, then shrugged. “It’s fine.”
“It wassonot fine. I know you never really liked me, but…”
Noah’s head snapped up. “What are you talking about?”
Birdie laughed, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I know that I annoy the hell out of you when I do the bagel run. I tried to be your friend, but I mean…I’m loud and obnoxious, and I get why you’d hate me…”
Noah held up his hand. “That’s not…I don’t hateyou. Everyone hatesme.”
Birdie’s shy smile dropped into a frown. “Uh, literally no one hates you, Noah. Ronan and Fitz talk about you sometimes. I think they worry.” He trailed off with a sigh, shrugging. “I know they gave you a hard time when you were kids.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Noah answered softly.
Birdie laid a hand on the counter. His fingers were thick, not as big as Adriano’s but close. His skin was marred with scars like someone had taken molten metal at the end of a brush and flicked it over him. But it fit. It suited him in a way Noah couldn’t explain. “It obviously mattered when you came back to town and locked yourself in your apartment. I just thought you were…I don’t know…antisocial.”
