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I glance at the clock and curse under my breath. Where did the afternoon go? It's already 3:15. Time to pick up Amber from school and take her to the bakery.
I push to my feet and grab my jacket from the back of my chair.
“I've gotta run, too. It's Friday afternoon, and you know what that means.”
Paul chuckles as he exits my office. “Ah, yes. Daddy-daughter time at the bakery.”
As I drive to the elementary school, my mind drifts to the challenges I've faced as a single father. Balancing work and parenting has been a constant struggle.
I've had to learn how to braid Amber's hair, pack her lunches, and help with her homework, all while managing my construction business.
There are days when I feel stretched thin, like I'm barely keeping it together. I know I need help, but asking for it doesn't come easily to me.
The elementary school is only a few blocks from my office. The autumn air is crisp but not too chilly, and the trees lining the sidewalks are turning brilliant shades of red and orange.
I arrive as students spill out. Amber is waiting outside, a backpack dangling from one arm.
She breaks into a grin when she sees me.
“Daddy!” she calls out, running over to hug me. At nine years old, she's growing up so fast. “Can we go see Finley now?”
I chuckle as she clambers into the passenger seat. “We sure can, kiddo.”
Amber's excitement is contagious, and my anticipation grows as we drive to Sweet Things Bakery.
We've been coming here every Friday since it opened earlier this year, and it's become part of our routine.
“I love going to see Finley,” Amber says, her eyes shining. “She always has the best treats, and she's so nice to me.”
“I know, sweetie. I love going to see her too,” I admit, warmth spreading through my chest at the thought of Finley's welcoming smile.
I smile as I walk into Sweet Things Bakery, the cozy little spot on Main Street. It's quickly becoming the go-to place for the best coffee in our close-knit community, and it's easy to see why many people in town consider it a second home.
The mismatched furniture and eclectic decor give the place character. Despite the cluttered interior, everything in the bakery reflects Finley's warm and inviting personality.
Finley is working her magic behind the counter. Her chestnut hair is pulled back messily with what looks like a pencil, a few strands escaping to frame her heart-shaped face.
She's wearing a whimsical cherry-patterned apron over her usual jeans and cherry-red Doc Martens boots.
She seems lost in her own world, humming a tune as she works, her hips swaying to the rhythm.
Transfixed, I watch as she carefully sets out a tray of freshly baked cookies, my gaze lingering on her full, tempting lips.
When she leans over to adjust a display, I appreciate the view of her pert derrière, my mind wandering to thoughts of tracing her curves with my fingertips and stealing a taste of her sweet lips.
Catching myself, I clear my throat and shake my head, trying to push aside the inappropriate thoughts.
I'm here to pick up treats with Amber, not to fantasize about the beautiful baker.
Finley's attention shifts from the cookies she's arranging as we approach, her face brightening when she spots us. Her captivating green eyes sparkle, and her lush lips curve into a radiant smile.
The light dusting of flour on her cheeks adds to her charm.
She’s truly stunning.
Maybe Paul is right. It's time to stop hiding behind my work and start living again—for both Amber's sake and mine.
Chapter 2
