by Anna Argent
Pale new floorboards sat in neat stacks, along with long, thick boards and flat panels of wood. Other construction supplies littered the area in boxes and buckets that sat between snaking wires and hoses. Most of the stuff was a complete mystery to her, which only reinforced how right Saxon had been that she needed help.
A man with his lips clamped around a trio of nails mumbled, "Help you?"
"Is Saxon here?"
"Out back."
Rather than cross through the chaos, Gemma went out the front door, then skirted around the building toward the sound of power tools.
Saxon stood at a big, round saw, his back to her. His pale gray T-shirt hugged thick ridges of muscle and bone and stretched to contain the width of his shoulders. His dark hair gleamed under the sun, making her fingers itch to dive in and feel its warmth.
She stood there, watching him for a moment as she soaked in the pleasure of seeing him again. A shimmer of contentment spread out across her skin and became a part of her, all the way down to her bones.
She wanted him—wanted to feel his body against her, inside her—but it was more than that. Simply being in his presence was its own kind of pleasure, as though he carried around little pieces of her she didn't know were missing until they'd returned home.
She'd never felt that way about a man before and wondered if that meant something was wrong, or very, very right.
Not that it mattered. Saxon Grace was a temporary fixture in her life.
But that didn't mean she wasn't going to enjoy him while she had the chance.
With swift, deft motions, he measured a board, marked it, and then lowered the spinning blade to make the cut.
Sawdust sprayed out, glinting like snowflakes in the bright sunlight.
He set the cut board in a pile, and the motion made his head turn enough to see her standing there.
His smile was instant and genuine.
She loved that about him—that he smiled easily and always seemed happy to see her. She'd grown up with parents so busy that her presence was always an interruption. Because of that, she'd learned to make due, figure things out on her own, keep to herself.
To be welcomed like this—the way Aunt Beth always welcomed her—with an open smile of sincere joy that she was here…it was the sweetest gift anyone could give.
Gemma wondered if he knew just how precious his smile was to her.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said as he turned off the saw and moved toward her.
That was another amazing gift he gave. He wasn't bothered by her interruption or dividing his attention between her and something more important. Instead, Saxon seemed happy to stop what he was doing and come talk to her, like she was somehow more important than his work.
The idea was so odd, she wondered what to do with it.
He took off his safety glasses and tucked them in his tool belt. His voice was low so the men inside the open back door couldn't hear him. "I'd hug you, but I'm a sweaty mess."
She didn't care about his sweat. If she got her way, they'd be doing a lot of sweating together.
He took her hands, closing the distance between them. "What brings you here?"
"I had my meeting with Wanda and Lulu. I thought I'd come by and check on things."
"How did it go?"
She felt her cheeks heat. "I guess Lulu is their baker. I didn't know that when I said they needed a new one, so I think I hurt her feelings."
"Ouch."
"Yeah. But they seemed open to the idea of buying from me. They're going to do a test run and see how it goes."
"I'm sure it will go great. And just in time for the tourists."
"Their coffee is amazing. Have you tried it?"
He shook his head. "I'm loyal to Flora, seeing as how she's my sister and all."
"You make it sound like there's some kind of war."
He lifted his shoulders. "Not a war so much as a skirmish. Flora and Lulu were close friends when they were younger. There was some kind of falling out, and ever since, the two have been battling it out to see who comes out on top."
"That's silly."
"Don't tell Flora that. I love my sister, but she holds a grudge so long she can't even remember why it started. She still hasn't completely forgiven me for that one Barbie doll I ran over with my bike."
Gemma laughed. Saxon didn't.
"You're serious?" she asked in disbelief.
"Let's just say that I need Flora's food too much to piss her off ever again. I stay on her good side so I don't starve. Which reminds me…thanks for lunch."
She'd left a brown paper sack on his front porch before dawn this morning, when she'd gotten up to start baking for today's delivery to the diner.
"You're welcome. How's your brother?"
Saxon's shoulders drooped slightly. "Pissed. Sad. But he's tough. He'll throw himself into his work like he always does and that will make him feel better."
"Do you want to bring him over for dinner tonight? I'm sure Aunt Beth would love the company."
"That's sweet. Thank you. I'll check in later to see how he's doing."
"I'll make enough for him, just in case. And if not, I like having plenty of leftovers in the house for Aunt Beth. I've been freezing individual meals for her so she'll have a good variety to choose from when I'm gone."
His smile faded. "Any idea how long you're staying?"
"Not yet. She still needs her walker. I don't feel good about leaving until she can get around on her own better. And I may need to look into renovations on her house. The stairs, basement laundry, and the tub are problematic."
"She probably needs some grab bars, too. I've done a few ADA compliant renos before, so I'm happy to look at it if you want."
"I definitely want, but I have to get her on board, too. She's not yet ready to face the long term changes she's going to have to make to stay in that house alone."
"For an independent woman like her, I'm sure it's going to take her some time to accept her limitations. But the whole town loves her. We'll make sure she's looked after when you're gone."
The idea of leaving someone else to take care of Aunt Beth chafed. In fact, if Gemma was being honest with herself, the idea of leaving at all bothered her.
But what choice did she have? She'd worked hard for her career, and there was absolutely zero upward mobility in a town this size. She wasn't even sure she could make a living here.
No, her only choice was to go back to her job in St. Louis and bust her ass. Once her income went up, she'd have plenty of money to pay for whatever care Aunt Beth needed going forward.
Saxon took her arm. "Do you want to see what we've done inside?"
"I was in there earlier. It's definitely a work in progress."
He laughed. "Sometimes it's hard to see what's been done beyond all the mess, but we're definitely making progress."
"Not nearly enough," said a man behind Gemma, his voice sharp and curt.
She whirled around, startled.
The man standing behind her with his hands on his hips was short and round, wearing bright yellow suspenders marked with lines and numbers to mimic a measuring tape. He was in his early fifties, with iron gray hair tucked under a baseball hat. His nose was narrow and sharp, his dark eyes were set deep under a bushy brow. There was an air of self-importance hovering around him like a stench, and a chip on his shoulder big enough it made him lean sideways.
Gemma recognized him, but couldn't place his name.
"Mr. Jessup," Saxon greeted. "Good to see you. What can I do for you?"
"You can start by showing me your permit for this work."
"You know as well as I do that permits aren't required for work on the inside of buildings in Whisper Lake."
"This is a historic building. No changes at all are to be made without prior approval."
Saxon's tone was firm, but patient, as if they'd had this argument before. "I know that's the change you're trying to get the town council to approve, but it hasn't passe
d yet. Until it does, the regulations are unchanged."
"We meet next week," said Mr. Jessup, as if that were the beginning, middle and end of the discussion.
"I'm aware. I'll be there myself to see the outcome. I always keep up with all of the building codes and restrictions."
"Then you know that no one can step foot in this building until the inspector signs off on your work. We can't have the floor collapsing under a bunch of tourists, can we?"
Saxon's jaw bunched in frustration, but none of it came through his tone. "I assure you that no floor I build is in danger of collapse. My crew and I know what we're doing."
"Weren't you the one who checked the roof for leaks after the storm damage?"
"I was."
Mr. Jessup eyed the pile of waterlogged refuse in the construction trash bin. "Seems to me that maybe you don't know what you're doing."
That pissed off Gemma. She wasn't going to stand here while this man cast insults at Saxon when he wasn't to blame. "The roof damage wasn't from the storm. It was vand—"
Saxon cut her off with a squeeze of her arm. "I know what I'm doing, Edmond."
"Mr. Jessup to you." He peered down his narrow nose, though how he managed the feat when he was several inches shorter than Saxon, Gemma had no idea. "As Town Planner, I have the authority to insist you get an inspection, which I do."
"Fine. I'll get on Phillip's schedule first thing in the morning."
"Phillip is having surgery on his knee. I'm filling in for him until he's back."
"So, you say who needs and inspection and you're also the inspector?" Gemma demanded. "How is that not a conflict of interests?"
Jessup looked at her like he'd bitten into a rotten tomato. "This town doesn't have a lot of money like St. Louis does. We all have to pitch in and do our fair share. Me, I wear a lot of hats because I love this town so much. You're just an FT."
FT. Fucking tourist.
The name had been cast at her more than once, but not since she was a child. It was an insult, a reminder that she didn't belong here, that it would never truly be her home. She was an outsider using the people who lived here and then discarding them when the summer was over and she'd had her fun.
Kids were supposed to be cruel because they didn't know any better yet. This man had no excuse for his rudeness.
"She's here taking care of Aunt Beth," Saxon said, his voice a low growl of warning. "Even an asshole like you should be thanking her."
Jessup bristled. "We took care of Beth for months before she showed up. We didn't need Gemma then, and we don't need her now."
"She didn't tell me about the accident," Gemma explained, her voice cracking.
It still hurt that Aunt Beth hadn't called her and asked her to come, but Gemma knew it was more because her aunt loved her and didn't want her to lose her new job, rather than because she didn't want Gemma's help.
"You don't have to explain yourself to him," Saxon said.
"Maybe not," Jessup said, "but you do." He took a folded paper from his pocket and slapped it against Saxon's chest. "This is an order for you to shut down work until you can get the proper inspections. Structural, electrical, plumbing—everything has to be up to code." He turned to Gemma, his recessed eyes blazing with fury. "We wouldn't want your work to be subpar, would we?"
He stalked away, leaving Saxon tense with fury and Gemma's mouth gaping.
It was then that she put together the pieces. His anger, his last name. "He's Lulu's dad, isn't he?" she asked.
"How did you know?"
"That's what I called her baked goods—subpar. She must have told him."
Saxon shook his head and uttered a low, caustic curse. "Edmond Jessup may be an asshole, but he's a powerful one—at least in a small town like this. He has his fingers everywhere, and apparently he's decided to make things difficult."
He unfolded the note and sighed. "This is an official order. We're going to have to stop work until he decides he has time to do the inspections. I'm sorry, honey. If I go against him, he could make things difficult for our company. I can't risk it."
"I understand." And she did, but what was she going to do? She'd promised Aunt Beth that the bakery would reopen in time for the big weekend. She couldn't let her down.
As if reading her mind, Saxon said. "I'll take care of this, Gemma, but it may take a few extra days."
She was furious for this ridiculous red tape, but it wasn't Saxon's fault. It was hers for insulting the wrong man's daughter.
Damn small town politics.
She held her anger in check when she spoke. "Thank you for everything. I'm sorry I dragged you and your business into this."
"I've been dealing with Jessup for a long time. This was just more of the same. Usually I work with Phillip, and he's reasonable. But with him off work…" He pulled in a deep breath. "Don't worry. I'll figure it out."
But it wasn't his job to figure out her problems. She didn't even want him doing it. She'd made this mess, and it was up to her to fix it.
If anyone would know how to deal with Edmond Jessup, it was Aunt Beth, but how could Gemma ask for advice without giving away just how bad the damage was to the bakery? And if she did that, it would break Aunt Beth's heart.
That Gemma couldn't—wouldn't—do.
But she had to do something. Fast.
Chapter Twenty-two
Saxon spent the rest of the afternoon trying to schedule an inspection, but Jessup refused to answer his phone. He went to town hall, but had no better luck there. With Phillip out on medical leave, Jessup was the only option, and he was booked out for weeks—too late to get the bakery repaired and open before Memorial Day weekend.
Without any other options, Saxon called his crew and told them to report tomorrow to another job they had waiting.
After that, he called Mason to check in with him, but got voicemail, as he had all day.
He texted, and the response he got was the one he expected.
Can't talk. Working.
True to form, Mason had thrown himself into his work where he would stay until he was good and ready to come up for air.
At least he wasn't out getting into drunken fist fights again.
By the time Saxon got home, it was nearly seven. He'd texted Gemma not to count on him for dinner—which only seemed fair since he was no longer working on her project—but his stomach was growling loud enough that he regretted that decision.
A hot meal would have been heaven right about now.
When he walked onto the porch, he saw a box in front of his door. Inside it were several divided plastic containers filled with food—at least two meals, maybe three if he stretched it. Along with that was a smaller cardboard box and a note with only two words: Thank you.
His stomach gave a rumbling cheer. The rest of him was touched by her thoughtfulness. He knew she was busy taking care of Aunt Beth and picking up some baking gigs on the side. For her to still be feeding him was above and beyond neighborly. It was downright sweet.
Saxon peered across the street, wishing he'd been here when she delivered them. It had only been a few hours since he'd seen her last, but he was already aching to be near her again. He still hadn't forgotten what it was like to kiss her and feel her turn to fire in his arms.
The light in her upstairs room was off. Downstairs, he couldn't see much because of the plywood covering the broken picture window. A faint color-changing flicker coming through the glass in the front door hinted that someone was watching TV, but he couldn't see movement of any kind.
He was about to go knock on the door when he realized that Gemma's car wasn't in the driveway.
He let out a disappointed sigh and headed inside with his bounty.
After showering off the day, he heated up a meal and tried to find something to watch. Nothing held his attention, but at least the food was good. Better than good.
He was sure she'd have some fancy name for the chicken and mushroom dish that danced on his taste buds, but he had no
idea what it might be. It was gone too fast, leaving him debating whether to open the next container of heaven or save it for tomorrow.
The smaller cardboard box beckoned, so he opened that and found a stack of individually wrapped mini pies in small foil pans. Cherry, pecan, blueberry and apple.
He opened the first one, grabbed a fork and dug in. By his second bite, he'd forgotten all about that asshole Jessup and his power trip. He wasn't thinking about small town bureaucracy or paperwork. He wasn't even worried about how he was going to finish the repairs on the Rise and Shine Bakery before the beginning of tourist season.
All he was thinking about was Gemma and the magic spell she'd woven over him—first with a pair of Daisy Dukes, then with her determination to help a sweet old lady, then with the cherry and buttercream taste of her mouth. And finally this—a miniature version of heaven in a tiny foil pie pan.
He had to see her again. Tonight. Right now.
He set down his pie and called her cell. When she answered, she was out of breath.
"Where are you?" he asked, deciding in that instant that he was going to hop in his truck and go wherever she was. He needed to be close enough to her to touch her again, kiss her again.
She hesitated. "Uh. Nowhere. Why? Is everything okay?"
He almost told her that no, he wasn't going to be okay until he could see her again, but decided that was way too desperate. "Everything's fine. Dinner was awesome, as usual."
Her breathing evened and her tone brightened. "I'm glad you found the box first. I was worried about raccoons getting to it before you did."
"You know you didn't have to do that."
"A deal is a deal. You worked all day. You earned it."
There was a clatter in the background, like a stack of boards falling—a sound he knew well.
That's when he realized where she was. "Gemma, are you at the bakery?"
"You don't want me to answer that. Plausible deniability."
He thought of the gaping hole in the floor where they'd repaired the joists and hadn't yet laid down any subfloor. One wrong step and she'd fall right through to the concrete basement floor twelve feet below.