Page 47 of Building What's Meant to Be

“It’s a nice day, perfect for a ride on the bike.”

“What about the car?”

“I ought to get gas and we don’t have time. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“The last time I was on a motorcycle was with Sylvester Bulheimer aka ‘The Bull,’ a Hollywood bad boy who, it turns out, did not do his own motorcycle stunts because he didn’t know how to ride the thing. Found that out on Sunset Boulevard.”

Aiden’s voice is deep confidence when he says, “I promise I’m licensed and know how to ride.”

I shift from foot to foot. It’s not like I have much of a choice.

“Ready?” he asks again.

“As ready as I’ll never be,” I mutter as I sling my leg over the saddle and settle in behind him.

As if I’ve done this a thousand times, I wrap my arms around Aiden’s chest. I can feel my pulse pressing against his as he accelerates and slides smoothly onto the street. But I’ve never felt this way before—the way my belly swoops each time we make contact. Like I don’t know how to breathe or speak or think straight.

His body seems to hum under mine like he feels it too. We’re quiet because of the roar of the motorcycle, but it’s like our bodies communicate soundlessly. The way I lean into him when he goes faster down a long straight road. The way he supports me as he turns onto another street.

Aiden Fuller has me twisted around him in the best of ways. I wish I minded more. Too bad I’m on a man-cation.

When we pull up in front of Sweethearts, I try to get off the motorcycle as gracefully as possible, wishingGogawas a thing so I was a bit more flexible. I stand there for a long moment as if waiting for the tension between us to snap or... Do I take it with me? Leave it behind? Was I imagining it?

“Good luck on your first day.” Aiden leaves me another one of his dangerous winks.

I give a weak wave as the sign hanging in the door to Sweetheart’s flips toOpen.Rhondy, formidable and intimidating at any hour, but especially before coffee, greets me with the kind of smile teachers give on the first day of school.

“Welcome to Sweethearts Bakery and Café. You sometimes hear people ask if they have a favorite child. I only have one so the answer is easy. But between you and me, the Starlight Diner and Sweethearts are my bonus babies.” Her smile is warm, affectionate. When she turns her gaze on me, I see a mama bear word of caution.

Reading between the lines, she’s telling me I’m the babysitter and she’d better not get a call that her kid is in the hospital with a broken limb. Or that I burned the house down.

Message received.

Still standing under the white light-up sign with hearts and black script that says Sweetheart Bakery & Café, Rhondy points out the patio area adjacent to the sidewalk. Pink and white umbrellas provide shade over white wrought iron tables.

“Customers are welcome to sit out here, especially with their dogs. We have a few metal bowls you can bring out with water. Otherwise, it’s counter service only. Please make sure you periodically check to make sure trash is disposed of, crumbs are wiped up, and sweep the cement so we don’t attract pests.”

I blurt, “Just so you know, this is my first job. I appreciate you telling me everything there is to know.”

“This is your first job at a bakery?”

“No, it’s my first job,” I correct, regretting sharing that tidbit.

“Your first job at a café?”

“No, I mean my first job ever.” I wring my hands. “I was actually surprised you hired me. Don’t potential employees usually have to fill out an application or submit a resume?”

Rhondy’s expression falters, but her voice is bright when she says, “We do things differently here in Butterbury. It’s worth noting that we all start somewhere. I was a beginner once too. Though my first day was when I was twelve. You’ll catch on.”

“I’m sorry that I don’t have more experience.”

Rhondy gives me a long look. She has the kinds of eyes that see everything—mom eyes. Well, not my mother, but maternal eyes. Warm, friendly, generous, but also full of knowing.

“I believe in chances. First, second, and sometimes even third chances. Do you?”

I nod. “Most of the time.”

“If you mess up, will you give yourself a second chance?”

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