Chapter 1
I tighten my grip on the flimsy umbrella, which right now isn't much help. Its broken spokes are jutting out as my hair does. Rain continues to pour relentlessly, and the wind isn't forgiving either.
As I walk, I keep my body hunched over the carefully boxed cake that I have cradled against my chest trying to protect it form the downpour.
These streets of Mablewood are normally sweet, a perfect picturesque with their cobblestone paths, and the cute storefronts. Right now though, the treacherous downpour had slicked the pavement and made too many puddles. Each one I fail to step in only helps to soak my feet some more.
"Why today?" I mutter under my breath. Seeing I puddle I side step it, only land in a deeper one. Water seeps through the edges of my shoes and chills my feet even more. Great, just great! I yell at myself in my mind.
Today has been long enough as it is without this mayham. I've spent hours baking and decoating this cake for Emma, she's a great friend and it's her birthday. The last thing I want, is this cake destroyed by the rain.
The box wobbles as a gust of wind threatens to sweep it form my hands. My body stops, and I rearrange the box again, ensure it's secure. Satisified, I begin walking again, only a sudden gust of wind grips the umberlla and yanks on me. I stumble, my foot slipping on the wet cobblestone.
I brace myself for the fall, and know there's no saving the cake now. Just as I'm about to give up on saving the cake to save myself a hand grabs me.
"Whoa there! Careful, I've got you," a deep voice says, concern evident in his tone.
I look up at the man, the savior of the cake, even if he doesn't realise it. Rain drips from the ends of my fringe and I take him in. he's tall, with broad shoulders. His jacket shows it's been hit by the rain without a rest. His face is ruggedly handsome, framed by damp, slightly mussed brown hair. A sound has my eyes drop and there beisde him is a golden retriever. It's tail wgs enthusiastically.
"Are you okay, or did you hurt your ankle?" he asks, his grip on me firm, but still gentle.
"Yes, I'm sorry, thanks," I mumble, my voice feels breathless still from the almost fall. My heats feel flushed and I'm not sure if it's from the cold or embarrassment that he saw me falling. "You're a lifesaver. Really." I give him a small gentle smile.
"I'm happy to help," he says, releasing my arm and stepping back. His eyes now drop to the box that I'm trying to keep protected. "Do you have an important delivery?"
I nod at him. "Yes, it's a birthday cake for my best friend. I've been working on it all day, and well ... I can't let the rain win and stop me delivering it in perfect condition."
He smiles, his expression warm and genuine. “Looks like you’re fighting the storm solo. Want some backup? I’m Jake, by the way.”
I go to respond but get stopped when the dog nudges my leg with his wet nose, my eyes drop to the dog instantly.
“And that’s Biscuit,” Jake adds with a chuckle. “He’s a bit of a flirt, sorry about that.”
I laugh slightly and smile, Biscuit gives playful bark, and I learn over, stroking his wet fur.
“Well, Jake and Biscuit, thank you for coming to my rescue. I’m Kimmi. And honestly, I could use the help. This rain seems determined to make me late.”
“No problem,” Jakes says, already reaching out to take the box from me. “Let me carry this. You focus on staying upright.”
I hesitate for a moment, before letting go of the box and trusting him not to drop it. I watch as Jake moves it and positions it against his chest carefully. Something about it warms my heart, maybe because I'm used to people just grabbing the boxes and throwing them around like it doesn't matter? We begin to walk and Biscuit comes to walk beside me.
“So, what kind of cake is it?” Jake asks after a moment, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Lemon chiffon with raspberry filling,” I reply. “Emma’s favorite. She’s been going through a rough patch lately, so I wanted to make something extra special for her.” She deserves cheering up and I know how much she loves her cakes.
“Sounds delicious. You’re a good friend,” Jake says, glancing at me with an approving smile. “Do you bake often?”
“All the time,” I reply, instantly feeling the same passion I do whenever I talk about my baking. “It’s kind of my thing. I’ve always dreamed of opening my own bakery, but for now, it’s just a hobby.”
“A hobby that clearly takes talent,” Jake says. “If this cake tastes half as good as it sounds, you’ve got a bright future ahead.”
I laugh softly, the compliment catching me off guard. “Thanks. What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a carpenter,” he replies. “I mostly build furniture, but I’ve been known to do a little bit of everything, even in the kitchen.”
“A carpenter who bakes?” I tease, sounds weird but still good.
“Only bread,” Jake admits, grinning. “It’s my stress relief. But now I’m rethinking my choices. Lemon chiffon sounds way better.”
I laugh and nod at him.
