Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Get out of my way, you fat bitch. I’m going to teach this asshole a lesson.”
She was dimly aware of the front door to the bakery opening, but she didn’t want to move her gaze from the jerk in front of her.
“Leave before I call the cops.”
“Fine, you want to be taught a lesson as well?” He smiled, showing off yellowed, crooked teeth. He drew his hand back, forming a fist, and she closed her eyes, bracing herself for impact. But nothing happened. She heard a crash and opened her eyes to see the younger guy pressed against the wall. A large man held him there, his hands on each of his arms.
Her breathing quickened.
It was him.
She didn’t know his name, but he came in for a sticky bun nearly every morning. He was huge, barely ever said a word, and he tipped really well.
And he’d just saved her.
Turning his head, he moved his gaze over her. “Are you hurt?”
“N-no,” she managed to replied.
“Stay here.”
She hadn’t been planning on going anywhere.
“Fuck, let me down, you asshole!”
“Shut. Up.” His voice was cold, commanding and even the jerk he was holding against the wall grew quiet.
“You, get the door,” he said to Russ, who hurried over to open it.
He dragged the guy outside. They could all hear him protesting as they disappeared down the street.
Her heart was thumping wildly. What had just happened?
“Fuck, do you think he’s going to kill him?” Anita asked.
“Anita!” she snapped, looking around at the other customers. Shit. This wasn’t a good look for the bakery. “I’m really sorry. Anita, give everyone a free cinnamon roll.” She rushed to Russ. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, young punks, trying to ruin everything for the rest of us, thinking they can do what they want,” he muttered angrily as she got him his order.
Feeling exhausted and wrung out, she waited out the front while Anita served the rest of the customers.
Where was he? What had he done with that guy?
When everyone was cleared out, she moved into the back of bakery. Was he coming back?
Unable to concentrate, she found herself moving around aimlessly.
“Aunty G, he’s here,” Anita called out through the door.
Heart in her throat, she rushed out and saw him standing there. He looked unruffled in his navy blue shirt and dark pants. His dark hair was short, his eyes intense as he ran them over her.
“Are you all right?” she asked frantically. “Are you hurt?”
He raised his eyebrow. “I’m fine. Are you certain he didn’t touch you?”
“No, you stopped him.” She could feel herself blushing. “Thank you.” She gave him a smile.
Instead of smiling back, he scowled. “You shouldn’t have stepped in between them. Don’t do that again.”
Her mouth dropped open at his words. That was it? He’d come back to growl at her? He took the bag that Anita handed him.
After slipping some bills into the tip jar, he left.
Wait. He was leaving? She rushed out after him without thinking. “Wait!”
He stilled, then looked back.
“What did you do with him?”
“Made sure he wouldn’t be bothering you again.”
Maybe that should have scared her.
Instead, she felt a warm rush at his protectiveness.
What was going on with her?
“Aunty G, he’s here again.”
Gracen looked up from where she was tidying up one of the workstations. Next on the list was to get some white chocolate and raspberry muffins in the oven. They were a favorite with her customers.
She placed her hand over her stomach, which was complaining that she hadn’t eaten anything this morning.
There was always so much to do and so little time to do it in. It didn’t help that Anita had slept in and hadn’t arrived until just before seven. The bakery opened at six so she’d had to serve out the front while getting more goodies into the cabinet.
“Who?” she asked Anita.
“The big guy. He’s back.”
Gracen frowned at her niece. At nineteen, she was unreliable and flighty. She wasn’t sure if it was Anita’s age or if that was just who she was.
Gracen couldn’t remember ever being so carefree and irresponsible.
Then again, her grandpa had installed a good work ethic in her. He had always emphasized that the only way to get anywhere was through hard work.
She should have been further ahead by now with how hard she worked. Six days a week, she worked from five in the morning until four in the afternoon in the bakery, and then she often went home to more paperwork than she knew what to do with.
When would she start to feel like she was getting somewhere? Sometimes it felt like it was never going to happen.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she glanced up at the clock. Seven twenty, like clockwork. Right as the first morning wave was waning off. It wouldn’t be dead out there, but people wouldn’t be crammed in like sardines either.