I can't bring her anywhere near that bakery until he stops.
"I know you do, sweetheart. But Mama has a really busy day today and I need you to stay with Nana and Pop. Just for a little while longer, okay?"
Mercy's bottom lip pushes out but she doesn't argue. She unzips her jacket halfway and trudges into the kitchen where Mom is already at the stove, flipping pancakes with one hand and pouring juice with the other. Dad is at the table with the paper, pretending to read it while he sneaks a piece of bacon off the plate in the middle.
It's too early for her to be awake, anyway. I started dragging her in with me when I realized how early it was for Mom, who's retired now, to wake just so I could go open the shop. As it is, Karen is there at four a.m. prepping while she waits for me to come in. I don't know how I'd have built anything without these strong women in my life helping me.
But right now, I have to lean on that support system even more. Part of me thinks if I just wait him out long enough, he'll skip town again, run from his father's expectations like before. But part of me wonders if he's too damn stubborn to let go now. Like a dog with a bone, is he going to haunt me until he finds out, and then what?
"Morning, sweet pea." Mom sets a plate in front of Mercy and kisses the top of her head. "Blueberry today. Your favorite."
"Thanks, Nana." Mercy climbs into her chair and picks up her fork, and just like that, the lip is gone and the pancakes have her full attention. Kids are resilient in ways I haven't been in years.
I pull Mom aside near the fridge while Mercy eats. "Thank you for doing this again. I know it's a lot, having her here every morning."
"Emily, stop thanking me. She's my granddaughter and I love having her." Mom squeezes my arm and studies my face. "Are you okay? You look tired."
Mom's concern is warranted. I haven't slept in days and it's starting to wear on me. Yesterday, I got a migraine so bad it was affecting my vision, all because I worried Jaxon would come in after work. "I'm just stressed. The inspection is coming up and I've got contractors coming in to fix a few things before they get there. It's a lot to manage on top of the regular work."
All the excuses in the world won't convince my mom to not worry. She nods, but she's doing that thing where she accepts what I'm telling her while clearly not believing a word of it. She's been watching me unravel for two weeks and she hasn't pushed, which I'm grateful for, but I can tell she's getting close.
"If you need anything, you call me. Okay?" Her grip on my arm loosens and I use that moment to step back.
"I will. Thanks, Mom." I kiss Mercy goodbye, grab my keys, and head out the door before Mom can ask any more questions.
When I pull up in front of the bakery, the beat-up F-150 isn't there, which shocks me. Not seeing Jaxon is almost worse than seeing him because at least when he's parked across the street, I know where he is. This morning, it almost feels like an omen. Something bad is going to happen, I can feel it.
Karen's busy rolling out dough when I come through the back door. She's got two ovens preheating and trays of muffin batter out of the walk-in. She could run this place by herself. She doesn't need me in the mornings and she knows it, but she's never once made me feel like I'm in the way. As the owner, she only sings my praise, even when I'm a bonehead like last week when I scared customers off.
"Morning," she says without looking up. "I called around about the contractors yesterday."
"And?" I reach for a dab of dough and pop it into my mouth. The flavors melt together on my tongue, making me smile. I love doing what I do. It's the reason I got into baking. Mom jokes that if I'm not careful, one day, I'll weigh a thousand pounds and they'll have to come to the zoo to visit me, but it's her way of telling me to watch my health and not overindulge.
"There's only one option in town unless you want to bring someone in from Wilmington or Morehead City, and that'll cost you double." She slides a tray into the oven and shuts the door. "Cole and Son's."
I close my eyes and sigh because I knew this was coming. The only construction outfit in Beaufort is run by the father of the man I'm hiding a child from. This town is too small for the number of secrets I'm carrying. But Roger is always professional and kind, albeit a little drunk at times.
"Did you already call them?"
"I left a message with their foreman yesterday afternoon. Mike something. He said he'd send someone out this morning to take a look at the ventilation hood and the back door frame."
"Did he say who he's sending?" I'm already cringing, gritting my teeth to bear the weight of disgust if I hear a name I don't want to hear. I know Jaxon's taken up working with him, and I can only pray they send someone else.
Karen looks at me. "No. Why, does it matter?"
"It doesn't matter. It's fine." I tie my apron on and start pulling ingredients for the morning scones.
Roger probably won't send Jaxon to fix up his ex-girlfriend's bakery. That would be insane. He'll send one of his guys, some random crew member I've never met, and it'll be painless and professional. I'll get my repairs done and pass my inspection and everything will be fine.
I keep telling myself that while I measure flour and cut butter and try not to think about Jaxon sitting in that truck every morning, watching my door. I try not to think about the way he looked at me on the sidewalk last week, the fury in his face when he asked if Mercy was his. I try not to think about the fact that I slept with him in that lifeguard shack either, or how I pulled him close and kissed him and let myself believe for five minutes that caving in to my sexual urge was okay.
But all this "trying not to" is destroying my focus. I can't think straight half the time, and I'm forgetting things. My hand slips on the oil bottle and I dump half of it down the front of my apron and onto my shoes. It splashes across the prep counter and drips onto the floor, and Karen spins around from the oven.
"Whoa, you okay?"
"I'm fine. I just…" I look down at myself. I'm soaked from the chest down in canola oil and my shoes are ruined. "Shit." I set the bottle down and shake the droplets of oil off my hands, butthere's a huge mess, and I can feel oil draining through the fibers of my shoes in between my toes.
"Go clean up. I've got this." Karen's already grabbing paper towels and dropping them on the floor. "There's a spare apron in your office."