Page 20 of Ryder
I hang up and head for the attic stairs. The recipe box will be dusty, but the memories inside are still fresh. Gram teaching me to appreciate the precision of baking. The way she’d say “Love isn’t just in the ingredients, boy. It’s in the time you take to make something special for someone special.”
Dana needs to know she’s special. Not just to me, but to this whole community.
And I know exactly how to show her.
Chapter 9
Dana
The knock comes just after dawn, while I’m elbow-deep in practice batches for the competition. I open the door to find Ryder holding a worn wooden box and wearing an expression I’ve never seen before—nervous, almost shy.
“Morning.” His voice is soft. “Got a minute?”
“Always.” I step back to let him in, trying not to think about last night. About kisses and interruptions and the way my heart cracked when he dismissed my dreams so casually.
He sets the box on the counter with careful reverence. “This was my grandmother’s.”
“Oh?” I wipe my hands on my apron, curious despite myself.
“She taught me everything I know about baking. Which isn’t much,” he adds with a self-deprecating smile. “But more importantly, she taught me what it means to pour your heart into something. To create with love.”
My throat goes tight as he opens the box, revealing carefully preserved recipe cards in elegant handwriting.
“Ryder...”
“These aren’t just recipes,” he says quietly. “They’re stories. Family history. The kind of legacy that matters more than any trust fund or social status.”
I catch my breath at his pointed words. He’s been paying more attention than I thought.
“And I thought...” He runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe you’d like to add your own recipes. Your own stories. Because you’re family now, Dana. Not just to me, but to this whole town.”
Tears prick my eyes as I trace the careful notations on a yellowed card. “Are you sure? This is... this is precious.”
“So are you.”
The simple sincerity in his voice makes me look up. His eyes hold mine, steady and sure.
“I was an idiot last night,” he continues. “Making light of something that matters to you. Truth is, watching you bake... it reminds me of her. That same passion, that same joy in creating something special.”
“Ryder...” But I can’t find words past the lump in my throat.
“That’s not all.” He grabs his truck keys. “Come with me?”
Outside, a delivery truck is pulling up to the guest house.Elena waves from the passenger seat, grinning like a cat with cream.
“What did you do?”
His hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady. “Just a little something to help with the competition. Since my kitchen isn’t exactly professional grade.”
The next few minutes are a blur of equipment being unloaded. A professional stand mixer. Proof boxes. Specialty baking tools I’ve only dreamed of using.
“I can’t accept...” I start, but Elena cuts me off.
“Yes, you can. Because this isn’t charity—it’s an investment. We believe in you.”
I turn to Ryder, finding him watching me with that soft expression that makes my knees weak. “Why?”
“Because you deserve to have people believe in your dreams.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Because watching you light up when you talk about baking is the best part of my day. Because...”
