Page 8 of All Mine

Adrian made a show of crossing his fingers. “Hey, Finn, lay off the twerp,” he called. “Keep him down until the cops get here.”

“I’m on it,” Finn said, sitting on the man’s back.

Goon two was long gone.

Four

Lauren

The floorboards of the old Victorian house creaked underfoot in the silence of the early morning. I made my way to the kitchen of my bakery on the ground floor. When I moved into the attic apartment, I found the sounds of the place settling unnerving.

The hours suck for someone who isn’t a morning person. But the sunrise over the lake had grown on me. And the foot traffic from the Marina meant plenty of business. My life now consisted of getting up at 3 am to bake pastries and desserts for the townsfolk and the rich people visiting their boats. And owning my business and my life was all I’d ever wanted. It meant freedom.

In the kitchen, I grab the list that I left for myself last night. The key to a perfect breakfast rush is in the planning and prep—that and not thinking about one smoking hot Camden Carter.

A rap on the back door jolted a rush of adrenaline through me, knocking me from a daydream about stripping Camden. But, through the blue gingham curtain on the door window, Jonah Barnes smiled and stuck out his tongue.

“What are you doing here so early?” I asked, pulling open the door. Jonah’s another Hart Valley native, and we’d gone through school with each other since pre-school.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Jonah pointed to his tool belt. “Thought I’d get a jump on fixing that loose step for you.”

“Thank you so much,” I said, stepping aside to let him enter. “I’ve asked Lewis a million times, and I’m terrified someone’s going to get injured.”

Jonah worked as a general contractor, owned Barnes Construction, and did minor repairs around my bakery for free when I couldn’t get the landlord to respond, which was most of the time. Heaven forbid I missed a payment, though.

“No worries,” he said. “Dude’s a dick. At least you got me.”

“But at 4 am? What’s wrong?”

“Told ya, couldn’t sleep.”

“But why?”

Jonah pulled up his tool belt, which didn’t appear to have moved. “I don’t know. Just one of those nights.”

“Coffee?” I asked, changing the subject. Everyone knew the building business wasn’t going so well in town. And Jonah employed every tradesperson there was. It was a lot on his shoulders.

“Well, yeah, I want coffee… it’s 4 am.” His jet black curls still matted against one side of his head.

I laughed and poured him a cup of black coffee. “The egg soufflés will be ready in thirty minutes if you’re interested.” There was no point in offering him a pastry, donut, or cappuccino. He didn’t eat sugar, which was why I started offering sugar-free options.

His eyes perked up at the mention of his proclaimed favorite breakfast. “Are they the spinach and gruyere ones?”

I sighed and nodded in response. Jonah’s the only person I know who stands in a bakery excited at the prospect of spinach. And I took comfort in that he still eats cheese.

“Any reason you couldn’t sleep?” I asked.

“Stop worrying. I’m fine,” he said, covering a yawn with his hand.

I didn’t buy it. The building industry had slowed along with the economy overall. It had already been difficult here in town for his business.

“I’m gonna go look at that step and see what I need,” he said, taking the cup of coffee before he disappeared through the door.

The building had seen better days. It would still be magnificent if the owner took the care and maintenance of the place seriously. But he’d bought the row of houses when the block changed to commercial zoning in the early eighties, and then he did nothing with them except collect rent.

Jonah and his crew were the reason it looked as good as it did. They’d built a front counter and display cases in what was the dining room, a perfect spot right outside the kitchen. He’d also restored some ornamental trim at the top of the doors and the fireplace mantels. He was a good man to have around. And would be the perfect man if any attraction existed between us.

The old house had four fireplaces, one in the old dining room, front parlor, and the corresponding rooms upstairs. An octagonal-shaped front parlor with six enormous windows facing Hart Lake was the prime spot for tables. The upstairs was a mix of tables and comfortable furniture for patrons to sit and enjoy their food.

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