Drive Me Wild (Bellamy Creek #1)(78)

The unanswerable questions tortured me endlessly.

Thankfully, I had work to distract me, and I threw myself into making a fresh start with everything I had.

The coffee shop opened at seven, and I’d arrive by six, turn on the oven, throw on my apron, put my hair up with a bandana, and get to work. Frannie’s kitchen actually had windows, which was amazing because many kitchens can feel like dungeons.

The morning routine, performed like a ballet while the sun came up, was comforting to me. First, I’d pull the yeast doughs from the cooler. While they were proofing, I’d start the scones. Frannie and I had discussed the menu and decided on two batches of sweet and one savory each day.

While the scones were in the oven, I’d fill the case up front with items made the day before—cakes, shortbread, galette, strata. At this point, I’d often enjoy a quick cup of coffee, inhaling the scent of baking scones and my favorite dark roast with a little cream. Frannie would arrive by seven to greet customers, and I loved hearing them ask who the new baker was and compliment my pastries.

The break didn’t last long, though, because there were cookies to bake, dough to make, questions to answer about specific ingredients because of allergies, and the occasional introduction to a happy customer who wanted to meet me. I was always hustling to keep the cases filled and rarely got a lunch break, but that was okay. Being busy meant less time for my mind to wander toward Bellamy Creek.

By three o’clock, I’d be dead on my feet, and Frannie would try to shoo me home. “Go,” she’d say. “You open, I close. Remember?”

But I didn’t mind staying to help her close up, and we often ended up having one last cup of coffee and chatting at the long marble counter.

I really did love the job, and I was so grateful to Frannie for giving me the opportunity.

But that tug on my heart refused to leave me be.

If only it wasn’t trying to pull me back where I wasn’t wanted.





One afternoon a week after I’d arrived, Frannie poked her head into the kitchen just after closing and smiled. “Hey. You have a visitor.”

“I do?” Immediately I thought of Griffin—he knew where the coffee shop was, after all—but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Still, I brushed some flour from my apron and tightened the bandana knot on the top of my head.

But when I walked out, it was Cheyenne I saw.

“Hey stranger,” she said with a grin.

“Cheyenne!” Excited to see her, I flew around the counter and hugged her. “What a great surprise! It’s so good to see you.”

“You too. How are you?”

“I’m good. Busy.”

“Frannie said things are going well here.”

“She’s amazingly talented,” said Frannie, who was wiping down the glass cases.

My cheeks warmed, and I tucked my hands into my apron pockets. “I really love it here. The shop is great, the people are so nice, and Frannie’s family has been wonderful.”

“She’s like an honorary Sawyer sister already,” joked Frannie. “My dad can’t get enough of her southern comfort strata. I think he’s been in here every day this week for lunch!”

Cheyenne smiled. “That’s wonderful.”

“How’s your family?” I asked.

“Well, my mother still isn’t speaking to me, and Griffin isn’t speaking much to anybody.”

“Why isn’t your mother speaking to you?” asked Frannie.

“Because I aided and abetted the escape of her future daughter-in-law, AKA the mother of her future grandchildren.”

“Griffin isn’t speaking to anybody?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about the news. I went back and forth between wanting him to be as heartbroken as I was and hoping he was doing okay.

“Nope. And when he does, he’s grouchy as a bear.” Cheyenne dropped onto a counter stool. “The damn fool is lost without you, but he’s too stubborn to admit it.”

“Men,” said Frannie with vehemence, rubbing at a stubborn smudge on the glass. “What’s Griffin’s problem exactly?”

“His last relationship ended badly,” I said, hoping I wasn’t betraying a confidence. “And he sort of made up his mind at that juncture of his life that being alone suited him better.”

“But everybody has baggage,” Frannie said. “Right?”

“Griff also gets a lot of pressure from our mom to ‘find a nice girl and settle down,’” added Cheyenne, hooking her fingers into air quotes. “And there is nothing that makes my brother angrier than being told what to do. He’s got an independent streak a mile long, always has. Frankly, I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did in the military.”

“I think he liked the military for what it taught him about self-discipline,” I said.

“He needed it.” Cheyenne laughed. “All that adrenaline was too much for one small town when he was young. But it’s amazing to me the way you understand him, Blair. It’s so obvious how good you are together.”

I shrugged helplessly. “Not much I can do if he doesn’t feel the way I feel.”

“But he does.” Cheyenne banged her palm on the marble. “That’s what kills me—he does. I can see it. My mother sees it. The whole town sees it!”