Chapter 13

chapter thirteen

Addie

After spending the majority of my life on a bakery schedule, 3:00 a.m. wake-up calls usually aren't so bad. You kind of just get used to waking up when it's still dark outside when you've done it for so long.

Except this morning, I've already snoozed my alarm three times because I can't seem to drag myself out of Grant's ridiculously comfortable bed. Seriously, it feels like I'm enveloped in the warmest, fluffiest cloud imaginable, and the last thing I want to do is leave it. Not only is it the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in, but the sheets smell just like my new husband, and the scent is intoxicatingly maddening.

When my alarm goes off for the fourth time, and I glance over at my phone, seeing the time is now three thirty, making me late… I groan quietly before tossing the covers off.

I can count on one hand how many times I haven't shown up to work at Ever After since I started working there when I was barely a teenager. And most of those were days that I was so sick that I could hardly get out of bed.

So, missing a morning because I'm too tired , even after all the drama of yesterday, isn't happening. It's my responsibility, and that means I have to show up, even when it's hard. I got married yesterday, and I'm still going to work.

Since it's technically still the middle of the night, I quietly tiptoe around the bedroom, shedding off my T-shirt and sleep shorts, careful not to be too loud. The couch is right down the hallway, and I don't want to wake Grant up this early.

Which is a lot easier said than done because it's pitch-black in here, and I have no clue where half of my stuff is. After searching mostly blindly for a few minutes, I find the bag I shoved my uniform in and get it on before heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth and put my hair up.

Once I'm finished, I turn the light off and wrench the bathroom door open, running smack into a warm, hard chest that groans groggily at the collision.

"Shit, Addie?" Grant's raspy, sleep-filled voice fills my ears, and I realize that my hands are splayed on his hard, sculpted chest. Not that I can see a single thing because it's so freakin' dark.

"Yes. Sorry," I squeak, immediately dropping my hands and stumbling backward, inadvertently bumping my hip painfully into the door handle in the process. "Ouch."

Seconds later, the hall light flicks on, and Grant peers down at me, his hair mussed from sleep with only one eye cracked open.

Suddenly, it's harder to breathe, not just because of the pain radiating up my hip from the stupid doorknob but because he's standing in front of me wearing nothing but a tight pair of black boxer briefs that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.

My mouth runs dry. I'm actually in danger of swallowing my tongue.

His briefs hang dangerously low, revealing the two sharp dips of his hips and a dark trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband. I try to count the number of abs on his stomach but then realize how inappropriate it is to be checking out… my husband.

I'm pretty sure I'll never get used to that sentiment, whether it's fake or not.

My cheeks flame as I tear my gaze from his stomach and drag it up to meet his eyes, where he's grinning arrogantly.

"Morning?"

"Morning," I mumble in response as I rub my hip, which is throbbing painfully.

He leans one muscled arm against the doorframe and scrubs his hand down his face with the other before bringing it to thread through his already sleep-disheveled hair.

It dawns on me that he has no clue why I'm awake in the middle of the night, and I'm simply staring at him like I've lost my mind.

I clearly have.

"God, I'm so sorry for waking you up," I say finally when I snap to my senses and stop standing there like I'm mute. "I was trying to be quiet and clearly did a terrible job at it. Sorry."

Grant's laugh is raspy and deep, still heavy from sleep, "Stop apologizing, Addie, but why are you up at 4:00 a.m.?"

"Oh, um, well, because I have to go to the bakery for my shift."

His eyes widen slightly in surprise. "At four in the morning?"

I nod. "Yeah, I'm sorry I didn't mention it last night—it kind of just slipped my mind with everything happening. We have to start baking so we can have everything out for the morning shift. We open at five thirty."

And speaking of… I'm really freakin' late now.

"Technically I was supposed to be there at 3:15, so I really have to go because I'm late, and I'm actually never late, so… um, see you later? I'm sorry again for waking you up. Again," I say in a nervous babble as I duck beneath his arm, attempting to flee before I say anything else to embarrass myself this early in the morning.

I make it to the end of the hallway before he calls my name, and I turn back to face him.

"Since I'm up, what if I came with you?"

"To… Ever After?" My brow furrows in confusion.

He shrugs while nodding. "Yeah. You know, it's been a dream of mine for a long time to… make baked goods."

It's so ridiculous that my laugh flies out before I can even attempt to stop it. I'm pretty sure this man hasn't thought about a baked good in any form except when eating it, but who am I to call him on it?

"Okay, sure, if you want to. But, fair warning, Amos will absolutely put you to work. We have a lot to do before opening," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Cool. I'm good with that." He smirks. "But can I be compensated in beignets?"

Giggling, I roll my eyes. "Sure. After all the work is done."

"Yes, ma'am."

After Grant quickly gets ready, he drives us the ten minutes from his apartment near campus to Ever After and parks behind the building in the employee spot, looking entirely too excited to be working at four thirty in the morning.

I'm not surprised that he takes this unexpected early morning wake-up call in stride because it seems to be who he is… taking anything that's thrown his way with a smile and no complaint.

"This place is cute," he says as I open the back door with my key and walk into the small office in the back.

The building itself is way older than I am, but it's charming and has been in my mom's family for nearly a hundred years. There are so many pieces of her scattered within the walls that when I'm here, I truly feel like she's still here with me.

"I'm really proud of it. My mom made sure that every inch of this place had her touch. From the front case to the napkins. And we've kept it all because it was her legacy. Plus, these recipes have been my family's secret recipe since the beginning," I tell him, grabbing us both an apron from the rack and handing one to him.

Brent tried his hardest to take control and change everything, modernize it. Take away the small-town charm, the little touches that my mom worked so hard for, but the changes he made weren't… well received by our customers, so he ended up leaving things the way they should be.

Thank god for small miracles.

Grant lifts the dark green apron over his head, then secures it behind his waist. "You should be proud, Addie. It's your mom's legacy, and from the looks of it… you've done an incredible job of keeping it that way. Now, put me to work. These hands were made for more than just baseball. They were made for dough ."

He shoots me a wink and lifts his massive hands, which I am sure were made for many things that I refuse to let myself think about.

It's been less than twenty-four hours since we got married. Since the kiss… and the plan, and I haven't stopped thinking about it.

How much I loved it and how I really, really shouldn't be thinking about that. It makes this arrangement between us that much more dangerous.

"Okay, let's go." I lead him into the kitchen, and of course, the moment we walk in, Amos looks up from the rack of apple fritters he's standing over, a look of amusement on his face.

I already know that I'll never hear the end of it. Of course, one of the only days I have ever shown up late, I show up with my… with Grant in tow. Not to mention, I haven't exactly had the chance to drop the bomb on them that our fake marriage is not going to seem very fake. Most of the time.

"Well, good mornin', cher. And… her new beau," he says, eyeing Grant.

I narrow my gaze at Amos, telling him to cut it out until Grant turns, and then I quickly put on a wide smile to cover the fact that I'm silently yelling at Amos with my eyes.

"Good morning. Grant… asked to come to work with me today because apparently, he has a hidden love for baking, so here we are."

Grant smirks. "It's true. I'm a man of many talents that are just waiting to be mastered. I've always wanted to learn to bake."

"Oh, well, you've come to the right place, then," Amos says, gesturing toward me with a flourish of his hand. "Addie's the real talent in here, and don't let her tell you anything different. You'll be learning from the best."

He's the best baker here, but I know there's no use arguing with him.

While Grant's with Amos, talking to him about prep, I walk over to the massive refrigerator and lift out a pan of chilled dough that's going to be cut into our signature beignets and carry it back to the prep table.

It never fails—no matter how many we make for the breakfast crowd, they always sell out. So, I try to get as much done as I can before the doors open at five thirty.

"That's a massive piece of dough." Grant's deep baritone comes from behind me, a soft caress to the shell of my ear, causing me to jump in surprise. I was so lost in thought and my routine that I didn't even hear him walk up.

I can feel the warm rumble of his chuckle against my skin, and I do everything in my power not to shiver, to show him that I'm affected by something so simple.

Maybe it's just cold in here.

Clearing my throat, I nod, turning to face him. "Uh, yeah, we make literally hundreds of these every morning, so it takes a lot of dough."

"What can I do?" I notice that he's rubbing his hand along the back of his neck, like there's an ache there, and my brow furrows.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I think I might have a crick in my neck from sleeping on it wrong or something." He rolls his neck on his shoulders before shrugging. "I'll be fine. Put me to work, woman. I need to learn the ropes."

Guilt tugs at my stomach. I feel terrible that he's sacrificing comfort just so I can have his bed, and even worse that I woke him up in the middle of the night just to put him to work at the bakery.

"Grant, you should totally go home and get some sleep. I feel horrible for waking you up when you're already sleeping uncomfortably on the couch because of me." I chew my lip. "I'll get Amos to drop me off at class later."

He shakes his head adamantly. "Hell no. If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be, ArtGirl. I want to be here. I wanna help you make the best damn beignets in the city, so… tell me where to start?"

I try not to smile at what he's saying, but it feels impossible.

Finally, I nod and gesture to the dough in front of us, then start to explain the simple but time-consuming process of rolling it out to the perfect thickness and cutting the dough into beignets that we then drop into the fryer.

Grant listens intently and follows along as I show him each of the steps, a look of sheer determination written on his face.

I set the large roller down in front of him and sprinkle some flour along the prep counter. "Now, you try."

Before I can move out of the way, he steps behind me, bracing his hands along the counter on each side of me. I can feel the heat of his hard body behind me surrounding every inch of me as his massive hands cover the handles of the roller, and carefully, slowly, he begins to roll the dough out. His movement is slow and precise as he attempts the measured thickness, like he's nervous he's going to break the dough.

"Like this?" he asks from behind me, his breath warm along the sensitive spot near my ear.

Nodding, I place my trembling hand over his, showing him the amount of pressure, and help him with it. The hardest part about rolling out dough is finding the perfect amount of pressure to get the dough just right.

My heart begins to race at the contact, but I swallow down my nerves and repeat the motion with him. I have to keep reminding myself that the only way to seem convincing is to stop being so nervous around him. I have to stop freaking out when we touch. It won't seem real to those watching if I keep making it painfully obvious that I'm so nervous.

It's just easier said than done.

"You're a natural," I admit, lifting my gaze. "It's almost like muscle memory once you get it down. I think I could probably do it in my sleep at this point."

I've been officially working at Ever After since I was thirteen. But even before then, I'd spent countless hours here as a child watching everyone bake. At first, it was simply so I could spend more time with Amos and Earl when he was around. And because I desperately wanted to be anywhere but with Brent and Tad. And oddly enough, even though Brent seems desperate to own the bakery, he rarely spends any time here.

But once I started working here, I realized how much I liked to be a part of things, contributing to my family's business. And I loved creating something that made people happy, even if it wasn't my art.

As I get busy with my own prep, I feel Grant's gaze lingering on me, even though he never stops rolling his dough, and my stomach flips from his attention.

I realize in this moment how much I like the way that he looks at me. All my life, I've felt invisible, but with Grant… I don't feel that way. I feel like he sees me. All of me.

"I think you might be the most creative person I've ever met, Addie. This might not be oil painting or charcoal, but it's still an art form that you're incredible at," he rasps, causing my pulse to race wildly.

It seems to be something that happens pretty regularly when I'm around him. It's both unnerving and exciting in a way that I've never experienced. Is this normal?

My throat works as my shoulder dips slightly, and I plaster on a small smile. "It's just something I've always done. Art's just the way I express myself. I wouldn't really say that making beignets is an expression of myself. But I do like making something others enjoy."

The air around us seems to grow thicker as something I can't place hangs between us. Whatever it is causes my stomach to flutter as our gazes linger.

Finally, he speaks, his tone soft yet firm all at once. "Still seems like an expression of you to me. I have a feeling everything you touch turns to art, Addie."

"Addie, how is the first round looking?" Amos interrupts from behind us, causing us both to jump, the moment between us broken.

I suck in a shaky breath and whip to face him. "Uh, we're about to drop them now."

His brow shoots up as a knowing expression passes over his face, causing his lips to curl up into a grin. "Just wanted to check. We're opening in thirty minutes."

Crap. I've been so caught up in Grant that time has gotten away from me. Seems to be an ongoing occurrence this morning.

"Those are looking good, Grant. You might be a natural baker like our Addie," he adds with a smirk before turning and leaving us alone in the kitchen.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to distract you," Grant says seriously once Amos is out of earshot. "I think I can handle this if you want to work on something else. We can knock it all out."

I nod, stepping back and putting distance between us in hopes that it will calm the fluttering in my stomach.

"Yeah, I'll work on frying these once you finish cutting them all out."

With a lazy grin and a wink, he focuses on his task as I busy myself with getting everything else prepped and ready to go in the case and then start frying up the beignets.

Before I know it, we've got several pans of puffed beignets ready to be powdered and then put out for the morning rush.

"My favorite part," I say with a wicked grin as I pull out the large bag of powdered sugar. "I've got a bit of a sweet tooth. I guess that's expected when you work in a bakery?" I add when his brows tug together in confusion.

Handing him the sifter, I open the bag and pour a little into it, then close my hand over his and guide it over the beignets, showing him how to shake the sifter to spread the sugar evenly over our creations.

Once we've done a few together, I grab my own sifter and begin working on another pan. Together, we knock them out in only a few minutes. While I have been admittedly distracted with him here, we still work together well, and he's actually been a lot of help today.

"Wow. Baking is absolutely fascinating," Grant exclaims genuinely once we're done.

I giggle. "Is it though?"

He nods with a lazy grin. "Definitely, even though it seems like a lot of work. There's so much to learn. I think I might have to come back a few more times, maybe more—you know, to soak in all of it."

I bite back a grin. "Mhmm. Yeah, definitely not something you can learn in a single day. Takes a lot of practice. Consistency."

His laugh settles around me, warming my insides, and when he pushes himself off the counter, leaning forward close to me, my breath hitches slightly.

"You've got…" He trails off, reaching up with his thumb and swiping the pad of it tenderly along my cheek. "Something here."

When he pulls his thumb back and I see the smudge of powdered sugar on the tip, my cheeks flush.

Of course I'd end up with powdered sugar all over my face.

Blinking slowly, I shake my head in humiliation, hoping he doesn't see my blush. "Thanks. I… That is embarrassing."

"Nah," he replies, his eyes never leaving mine as he brings his thumb to his lips and sucks the sugar off the tip in a way that is entirely too hot. "Guess you're not the only one with a sweet tooth , ArtGirl."