Page 1 of Rescued In The Storm

ChapterOne

Sarah

The clock on the wall hasn't even hit five a.m., but the ovens at Miller's Bakery have been warming the space for nearly an hour. I lose myself in the rhythm of kneading, my hands coated in flour as I work the dough against the wooden counter. There's something soothing about the repetitive motion, the way the dough transforms from sticky to smooth beneath my fingertips.

Outside, Elk Ridge is beginning to wake up. Streetlights still glow against the predawn darkness while my little corner of Main Street smells like cinnamon, vanilla, and the rich aroma of fresh coffee. I breathe it in, centering myself for the day ahead.

"Almost ready for the morning rush?" Maya asks, tying her apron as she emerges from the back room. She's been my assistant for nearly two years, and I don't know what I'd do without her.

"Finishing the last batch of cinnamon rolls," I say, glancing at the clock.

My heart does that familiar little stutter it always does on Tuesday mornings. Because I know what's coming next.

Right on cue, the bell above the door chimes. And there he is.

Connor Callahan walks into my bakery like he does every week. He’s tall, impossibly broad-shouldered, with that perpetually windswept dark hair that looks like he just hiked down from some mountain peak. Which, knowing Connor, he probably did.

"Morning," he says, his voice rough like he hasn't used it much yet today. Those striking blue eyes sweep over the display case before landing briefly on mine.

"Morning," I reply, wiping my hands on my apron. "The usual?"

He nods, and I try not to let my eyes linger on the way his flannel shirt stretches across his shoulders as he leans against the counter. I've gotten good at this part. The casual exchange. The careful distance. The pretending I haven't been in love with him since we were seventeen.

"One black coffee and a blueberry scone," I say, more to myself than to him as I grab a to-go cup.

I still don't understand why he comes here. His family's lodge serves excellent coffee and breakfast. His brother Declan is a phenomenal chef who could probably make scones that would put mine to shame. I even supply the lodge with baked goods on occasion. There's no logical reason for Connor Callahan to go out of his way to stop by my bakery once a week, every week.

Yet here he is.

I slide the coffee and pastry bag across the counter. "That'll be $5.75."

He hands me a ten. "Keep the change."

Our fingers brush, and I focus on the register instead of the warmth of his skin. This is the moment where he usually grabs his order and leaves with a brief nod, disappearing back into his world of mountain trails and guided adventures that doesn't include me.

But today, something's different.

Connor's fingers linger on the counter, tapping twice before he reaches for the bag. He opens his mouth like he might say something else, then seems to think better of it.

"Thanks, Sarah." My name sounds different when he says it. Softer somehow.

I watch him leave, the bell chiming his departure as my heart squeezes in my chest. Through the window, I can see him pause outside, take a sip of his coffee, then pull out half of the scone. He takes a bite, wrapping the rest carefully back in the bag before continuing down the sidewalk.

Maya bumps my shoulder gently. "Earth to Sarah. The timer's been going off."

I blink, coming back to myself in time to rescue the cinnamon rolls before they turn from golden to burnt. Another Tuesday morning at Miller's Bakery. Another glimpse of Connor. Another day of pretending that's enough.

* * *

The morning rush has finally died down, leaving me with a moment to breathe and Maya with a chance to restock the display case. I'm wiping down the counters when the bell chimes again, and I look up to see Kathryn Callahan strolling in.

"Please tell me you have at least one cinnamon roll left," she says, leaning against the counter. "The Coffee Loft ran out of your deliveries an hour ago, and I've got a customer threatening mutiny."

I laugh, reaching for the last one I'd set aside. "Lucky for you, I saved one for my afternoon coffee break. But I suppose I can be persuaded to part with it."

Kathryn and I have an unusual friendship. She owns The Coffee Loft across town, and we've worked out a comfortable arrangement. I supply her shop with pastries daily, and she keeps me caffeinated with her experimental latte creations that somehow always turn out perfect.

It also doesn't hurt that she became a Callahan last spring when she tied the knot with Connor's cousin Nolan in a ceremony so picture-perfect it belonged on the cover of Mountain Living magazine.

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