Page 42 of Walkoff Wedding

“Morning?”

“Morning,” I mumble in response as I rub my hip, which is throbbing painfully.

He leans one muscled arm against the doorframe and scrubs his hand down his face with the other before bringing it to thread through his already sleep-disheveled hair.

It dawns on me that he has no clue why I’m awake in the middle of the night, and I’m simply staring at him like I’ve lost my mind.

I clearly have.

“God, I’m so sorry for waking you up,” I say finally when I snap to my senses and stop standing there like I’m mute. “I was trying to be quiet and clearly did a terrible job at it. Sorry.”

Grant’s laugh is raspy and deep, still heavy from sleep, “Stop apologizing, Addie, but why are you up at 4:00 a.m.?”

“Oh, um, well, because I have to go to the bakery for my shift.”

His eyes widen slightly in surprise. “At four in the morning?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t mention it last night—it kind of just slipped my mind with everything happening. We have to start baking so we can have everything out for the morning shift. We open at five thirty.”

And speaking of… I’m really freakin’ late now.

“Technically I was supposed to be there at 3:15, so I really have to go because I’m late, and I’m actually never late, so… um, see you later? I’m sorry again for waking you up. Again,” I say in a nervous babble as I duck beneath his arm, attempting to flee before I say anything else to embarrass myself this early in the morning.

I make it to the end of the hallway before he calls my name, and I turn back to face him.

“Since I’m up, what if I came with you?”

“To… Ever After?” My brow furrows in confusion.

He shrugs while nodding. “Yeah. You know, it’s been a dream of mine for a long time to… make baked goods.”

It’s so ridiculous that my laugh flies out before I can even attempt to stop it. I’m pretty sure this man hasn’t thought about a baked good in any form except when eating it, but who am I to call him on it?

“Okay, sure, if you want to. But, fair warning, Amos will absolutely put you to work. We have a lot to do before opening,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Cool. I’m good with that.” He smirks. “But can I be compensated in beignets?”

Giggling, I roll my eyes. “Sure. After all the work is done.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After Grant quickly gets ready, he drives us the ten minutes from his apartment near campus to Ever After and parks behind the building in the employee spot, looking entirely too excited to be working at four thirty in the morning.

I’m not surprised that he takes this unexpected early morning wake-up call in stride because it seems to be who he is… taking anything that’s thrown his way with a smile and no complaint.

“This place is cute,” he says as I open the back door with my key and walk into the small office in the back.

The building itself is way older than I am, but it’s charming and has been in my mom’s family for nearly a hundred years. There are so many pieces of her scattered within the walls that when I’m here, I truly feel like she’s still here with me.

“I’m really proud of it. My mom made sure that every inch of this place had her touch. From the front case to the napkins. And we’ve kept it all because it was her legacy. Plus, these recipes have been my family’s secret recipe since the beginning,” I tell him, grabbing us both an apron from the rack and handing one to him.

Brent tried his hardest to take control and change everything, modernize it. Take away the small-town charm, the little touches that my mom worked so hard for, but the changes he made weren’t… well received by our customers, so he ended up leaving things the way they should be.

Thank god for small miracles.

Grant lifts the dark green apron over his head, then secures it behind his waist. “You should be proud, Addie. It’s your mom’s legacy, and from the looks of it… you’ve done an incredible job of keeping it that way. Now, put me to work. These hands were made for more than just baseball. They were made for dough.”

He shoots me a wink and lifts his massive hands, which I am sure were made for many things that I refuse to let myself think about.

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