Page 11 of No Going Back
Griffin dug the fob to his new pickup from the front pocket of his over-worn blue jeans. “It was a hell of a lot easier to find than a house, I can tell you that much.”
And also bought with the same intention. Trucks made it easy to help out at Cross Creek and would come in handy when he finally had the house he wanted.
“We’ll find you something.” Nate slapped him on one shoulder before heading to his sleek sports car. “I promise. It just might take us a little longer than we expected.”
“Hopefully not too long.” Griffin unlocked the truck. “Troy and Amelie say they don’t mind having me around, but I’m sure they’re ready to get their privacy back.”
He’d been sleeping in the spare bedroom across the hall from his son and daughter-in-law for almost two weeks now, and while they’d never even hinted at him overstaying his welcome, he couldn’t help but feel like he was invading the limited time Troy and his wife had left together as just a couple.
“I will do everything I can to find you a place.” Nate opened the door of his car. “It’ll happen.”
“I like your positivity.” Griffin slid into the seat of his truck, giving Nate a little wave before starting the engine and backing out of the driveway onto the road of the upscale neighborhood he would’ve always felt he didn’t belong in.
Because even though money talked, it sure as hell didn’t stop the past from whispering.
He might be worth just as much as the people who lived in this neighborhood, maybe even more, but that didn’t change the fact he would never be one of them. He would always be that rough edged guy with dirty hands and a career most people looked down their nose at.
* * *
IT WAS WELL after lunch by the time he reached Moss Creek, and his stomach was growling. He angled toward the main drag, intending on going to The Wooden Spoon for an early dinner before heading out to Cross Creek. It had been a long and disappointing day, one that made him question if he was simply going to end up in yet another place where he didn’t belong. An outsider looking in, finding out no matter how much money he had or how successful he became, he would never really be accepted.
Griffin slowed as someone pulled out of a spot, offering up the only vacancy on the street. He quickly claimed it as his own, managing to parallel park his new truck without too much trouble. It wasn’t until he got out and locked the doors that he realized he wasn’t quite as close to the town’s most popular eatery as he intended.
Unfortunately hewasclose to another place. One he should pretend didn’t exist.
But he was weak enough that the thought of Dianna’s sweet smile lured him in, dragging his boots in the opposite direction of The Wooden Spoon.
There was no line when he arrived at The Baking Rack, which wasn’t surprising. Dianna was only open until three in the afternoon and it was nearly two forty-five, so chances were good she’d already sold out of everything. Hopefully the door was locked and fate would save him from himself.
He pushed on the handle and it opened easily, but he couldn’t bring himself to be disappointed as the sweet scent of the space immediately pulled his mind closer to the sweet woman who owned it. It’d been almost two weeks since he’d seen Dianna after stopping by his first night in town, promising to return the next day.
Two long weeks.
And it would be even longer since there was no sign of her behind the counter.
Griffin moved forward, peering over the edge to the space that ran behind the cases, expecting to find her crouched down organizing the boxes and cups she kept stashed on the shelving there.
But there was no Dianna.
His stomach dropped. She was always here and she never would have left her shop unattended like this. Something was wrong.
Griffin moved to the back of the bakery, reaching the open end of the cases that led to the space she usually occupied. He rounded the divider that always stood between them, ensuring he kept a safe distance from the woman he struggled to resist. “Dianna?”
Something bumped in the back room and a second later there was a loud crash, sending him racing toward the swinging door.
Before he could reach it, Dianna came rushing out, eyes wide, expression full of panic.
“Griffin?” She smoothed down her strangely damp hair. “What are you doing here?”
Griffin swallowed hard, unable to keep his eyes from moving down her waterlogged frame. “You weren’t at the counter so I came to make sure you were okay.”
She was definitely not okay. Dianna was soaking wet. The fabric of her white logoed T-shirt stuck to her skin, outlining the lush curve of her full tits. Her dark hair was clumped and dripping, clinging to the smooth skin of her face as it bled tiny rivulets of water down her cheeks. “What was that noise?”
“Umm.” Her chin barely quivered. “I’m just having an issue with my sink.”
“That would explain all the water.” Griffin jerked his chin toward the swinging door. “Back there?”
Dianna sniffed and nodded.
