Page 117 of Never Let You Go

Despite our small argument last night—or is it because of it?—I still come downstairs shortly after four the next morning. Christopher isn’t in the bakery, and I feel a cold draft coming in from the kitchen. The side door is open, and the garden lights are on. “Daisy! Shoo!” Christopher shouts under his breath.

What is he d—?

Ohmygod. There’s a cow in the back garden. A big, black, cow. Staring Christopher down.

I slip on the boots I always leave by the door and wrap my arms around my chest against the cold. I take a tentative step out, careful to stay behind Christopher.

The cow shakes its head at me and exhales loudly, steam coming out of its nostrils. I stifle a yelp.

Christopher chuckles. “Babe, it’s Daisy.”

“Babe,” I snap back sarcastically, “we haven’t been properly introduced.”

Christopher looks back at me, an are-you-for-real look on his face. He reaches for my hand and pulls me into his side, a large grin on his face. “Alexandra, this is Daisy, the Kings’ one and only Angus. Daisy, this is Alexandra. My girl.”

His girl? All the air in my lungs wooshes out while my lady parts fire up. Up until now, I thought of myself as a progressive woman. The kind who doesn’t take kindly to being called a man’s girl.

I’m reconsidering.

“What’s an Angus?” I ask.

“It’s a breed of cow. They’re raised for their meat. Best steak you’ll ever have. Hunter’s take on Daisy’s escapes is that she resents the farm’s jerseys, who are raised for milk, while her kind are raised for meat. Headed for the slaughterhouse.”

“Awww! Poor baby,” I say and the huge, black animal tilts its head my way. “That’s so sad!”

“Babe. They gave her a name. She ain’t going to the slaughterhouse,” he says, kissing my hair.

“So what’s she doing in our garden?”

He gives me a squeeze at my involuntary use of the word our. “Having breakfast.”

“Wh—?”

He points to the potted snowdrops and crocuses I’d placed in the garden. Only the pots are left. The blooms are all gone.

“Daisy!” I huff.

“Okay,” he says, patting my ass as he turns us around. “You’ve met Daisy. Time to get to work.”

“Are you going to let Hunter know where she is? So he can pick her up?”

“Nah. There’s no picking up Daisy. She’ll find her way back. Surprised you haven’t met her already.”

“I’d heard of her. Never believed it till I saw her.”

“Believe everything you hear about Emerald Creek, beautiful. This place is fucking nuts in the best possible ways.”

We share a cup of coffee, and then Christopher gets his groove on and starts baking while I stay on the sidelines, refilling glasses of water and cups of coffee, taking photos and videos. Silently cheering him on.

At six, my formal workday starts. As I do nearly every day, I meet Isaac at the task board. He blows a low whistle. “Wow, that is really the fast track. You’re making puff pastry.” He gives me an encouraging slap on the back. “Good luck,” he says as Christopher walks in and starts to demonstrate how to make pâte feuilletée, the famous flaky dough.

“Alexandra, everything clear?” Christopher’s voice startles me. I’ve been daydreaming about how he called me his girl. About our lovemaking last night. About our argument, also last night. I’ve been letting my mind wander to a lot of things except pâte feuilletée.

My eyes jump to meet his. “I—I might need—Maybe Isaac can walk me through this, again?”

He shut his eyes briefly. “Scrap the puff pastry for today. Make three kilograms of brioche dough instead. I’ll swing by later to check on the yield and your shaping technique.”

I open my mouth to tell him I’ve never made brioche dough before, but he’s already gone, and my eyes fall on Kiara looking at me with undisguised amusement. “Why does the boss have his panties in a tizzy? What did you do to him?”

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