Page 113 of Heartbeats & Highways

Chapter 29

One sconeand half a cup of hot chocolate later, Brooklyn showed up.

“Can I talk to you?” Brooklyn asked, looking at me specifically in the group of ladies.

I frowned in confusion but got up from my chair. I glanced at Jazz, who was grinning.

“What? What do you know that I don’t?” I demanded.

“You’ll find out,” she said.

“It’s nothing bad,” Brooklyn said with a smile. “But it’s my thing, not Jazz’s.” She ran a hand down the back of the baby slung across her chest.

I wondered how the heck I was going to take care of two babies at the same time. Even with Savage by my side, I would still feel overwhelmed.

“Follow me,” Brooklyn said to me. “How are the clothes working out for you?”

“They’re perfect. Thanks so much.”

“No thanks needed. Your loaf of sourdough that Savage brought me was thanks enough.”

Her praise warmed my heart.

I trailed after her to the back of the kitchen. She went to a flight of stairs and slowly began to climb it. I followed her without a word.

“This building used to belong to my father,” she explained as we continued to ascend the stairs. “I inherited it when he passed. It used to be his leather workshop, and upstairs was a storage room. When I decided to open a bakery, I had the storage room converted into an apartment.”

She pulled out a set of keys from her pocket and unlocked the door.

“It’s not big,” she explained. “But it’s yours if you want it. For you, Savage and the babies.”

I looked around the apartment. It had a small kitchen and a bedroom, with a door to a bathroom cracked open so I could see inside.

It was quaint and cozy, and I couldn’t explain it, but it immediately felt like home.

“You’d rent the apartment to me? Really?” I asked, turning to her.

“Well, that’s the rub . . . I won’t rent it to you,” she replied.

“But you just said?—”

“Hang on, let me explain. I want something more from you than rent,” she said. “I want your homemade sourdough.”

“Huh?”

“I want it baked fresh on the premises,” she said.

“But you make homemade bread on site already.”

“Yeah, and it’s good. But yours is better. And I want the best.”

“So wait, let me get this straight; you’re offering me a rent-free apartment in exchange for making sourdough?”

“Yeah.” She beamed. “It’ll be a lot of sourdough, at some point. I don’t just plan on using it for the café. I plan on selling it by the loaf.”

“You really think people will buy my bread?” I asked in surprise.

“I do. I’d buy it myself,” she said. “I have to warn you though, deliveries come really early. If you agree to stay here, you’ll hear the trucks. And you’ll probably hear the sounds of the café too. It might be a big change after the quiet of your current place, but there you have it.”

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