Page 20 of Never Let You Go

That can’t happen.

Her cheeks are rosy, but I’ll chalk that up to the wine.

“What made you want to become a baker?” she asks, surprising me. I haven’t been asked this in a long while. Me being a baker is part of my identity, and on a typical day, no one questions your identity.

I take my seat back at the table. “At first, I was looking for a way out.”

“Out? From where?” she presses.

The wine feels good down my throat and in my veins. “Home.”

She nods. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That bad?”

“In hindsight? Nah. But for an angry teenager, pretty fucking bad. At least in my mind.”

She stays quiet, giving me space to say more or nothing at all. “Then, I realized how food brings people together. And how bread transcends that experience. How by the simple act of making bread with my hands every day, I was making my life better. And the life of all who I shared my bread with.”

My mind goes back to my apprenticeship, which I had all but fled to, and the values I’d discovered there. “After my apprenticeship in France, I stayed with family in Emerald Creek, worked here and there, and had the opportunity to get this space.” I skip the part where that was made possible because of a grant I received from a foundation tied to Red Barn Baking. I’m not proud of the fact that the grant money comes from industrial baking. I always thought they’d helped me out because the founder was from Vermont, supposedly even from Emerald Creek, and maybe that was their way of making some things right in this world.

But mainly, I can’t ever have my apprentice know that in order for me to keep the grant, she must pass the French baking exam. I can’t put that kind of pressure on Alexandra—on anyone. It wouldn’t be fair. My finances shouldn’t be the apprentice’s problem. An apprenticeship is about discovering a trade, an art, and oneself. It’s not a financial transaction. And the apprentice should always feel free to walk away if they discover this is not their path. If she knew what’s a stake for me, she’d lose her freedom to leave.

I don’t believe in tying people down.

We polished the bottle and our glasses are empty. And although I want this evening to drag on, it’s not the right thing to do. There’s also the matter of me having just a few hours of sleep ahead of me.

I stand and she follows suit. “Let’s make a baker out of you, Pierce. And I’ll be damned if you spend one day in a fucking office.”

“Mm,” she says, doubtful.

“Mark my words.” I smile. “Not a day in a fucking office.” This time I chuckle to myself. There’s something about this girl. I don’t know what it is yet, but she doesn’t belong in a cage in a city. “You’ll have the day off tomorrow. Get settled in. Grace will show you around.”

five

Alexandra

My room under the eaves is so comfy and the town is so quiet (literally, not a noise all night), that I sleep like a log until my alarm rings. I stretch, turn the alarm off, and sit on my bed.

Thank god Christopher gave me the day off to settle in. I don’t know how I’m going to be working with him, for him, for months without jumping his bones. I could hear him toss and turn in his bedroom when I went to bed, and my imagination filled in all the blanks with unusual creativity. If I hadn’t been so tired, it would have distracted me enough to stay awake.

Dinner was emotionally intense for me. I’m not used to deep conversations, unless I’ve had one too many drinks with Sarah. Or if life just got too heavy and I give myself a pep talk and head back to my therapist.

Something stirred inside me last night. Sure, there’s that man. Tall, dark, and handsome. A puddle for his daughter. Serving me his home cooked meal and pouring me wine. Those sexy vibes after dinner. I’m not going to discard that.

But there was more. A feeling of being home. Since Mom died, I haven’t had that. Even if Barbara did everything she could to give me the kindness Rita didn’t, it was never like that. Simple. Truthful.

Last night, sitting in this homey, unpretentious kitchen, Skye and Christopher both opened their hearts, their insecurities to me, a perfect stranger. As if to say, Here’s who we are. How about you?

And this morning, I’m not sure who I am anymore. And that’s frigging scary, because this girl needs to keep her eye on the ball and become a baker.

So she can sit in an office and…

I know, I know. Dammit. I’ll need to dig deeper into how Red Barn makes their bread and treats all of their employees, not just those at headquarters. It’ll be my responsibility soon, and that’s something I know nothing about on the grand scale. My position in marketing didn’t prepare me for that. I’ll need more info.

Christopher seems to be the kind of person, the kind of friend I would need to help me navigate the situation I’m in. I can tell he’s had his share of troubles—he told me so himself—and he seems to have found his way. He’s someone who would be precious to brainstorm ideas and solutions with.

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