the bed and took up her pen once more.
* * *
THERE WAS FROST on the front lawn as Vic pulled away from his house and headed toward the bakery his family had run for the last thirty years. It crouched right at the southern edge of downtown Seattle most locals referred to as SoDo.
The location meant their business was heavy with commuters and downtown workers at their lunch hours when they wanted to pick up one of the bakery’s runzas for a quick meal. It also meant they were closed by three and on most weekends.
The bakery was pretty much always busy. A constant stream of customers, punctuated by rushes, meant the place was either full of customers, or all the employees were busily setting up for the next round of things to do.
As jobs went, it was a good one. Kept him busy. Paid his bills and enabled him to keep a hand in the family business along with his sister and parents. Gave him the space to keep an eye on everyone and make sure they were doing okay. Especially in the wake of his brother’s death when the family had all but fallen apart.
He pulled into one of the two parking spots that came with the building and unlocked the back door, turning on the lights in the smaller prep kitchen before heading down into the heart of the bakery where the big ovens lived.
This was a place he knew. A place he’d been part of—and had been part of him—since before he could walk. As much a home as the place he’d slept at night.
He knew the slight warp on his favorite pastry scraper. The way the lights made the stainless steel worktables gleam. He hung his coat on the second hook, replacing the clean apron his mother had left on her way out the afternoon before.
First he turned on some music. Phantogram’s “You’re Mine” came on and smiling, he began to make dough.
He’d done it so many times it was second nature. Muscle memory as he dumped the yeast into the flour. The ancient mixer was still there because despite its age, it worked perfectly.
As the place began to hum and the dough took shape he allowed himself to think about his exchange with Rachel.
Want roared through him. He’d had a thing for his parents’ mysterious and broken next-door neighbor for well over a year by that point and over the last few months their friendship had deepened to the point where he’d truly gotten to know her better.
And now he was pretty sure he was already half in love with her.
At first he’d thought she was stuck-up. But he’d come to realize a lot of what he’d perceived as standoffishness had to do with anxiety and a bit of fear. The longer she and Maybe had lived in Seattle, the more she’d begun to settle in, the less anxious she appeared to be. And thankfully he saw way less fear in her eyes—especially when she looked at him—over the last year. She was taking her life back, pulling herself from the dark place she’d been. It was like watching a phoenix.
Just a few days past, Rachel’s father had burst into her home and threatened to institutionalize her under a conservatorship and keep the sisters apart. Their burning resentment of Maybe, and the overly controlling parenting of the oldest, Rachel, had boiled over into what Vic believed was a death blow to the parent-child relationship for both Richard Dolan’s children.
And as hard as it had been to see Rachel’s heart get broken by her parents, it had been the way she’d stood up for herself and her sister that had been the last sign Vic had needed.
Rachel was strong. Fierce. Independent and utterly capable. This was a woman he could pursue in earnest without worry. He’d wanted to give her time and space to heal and to grow to trust him.
In truth, he hadn’t been ready either. Not ready to step into something he knew without a doubt would be serious. But he’d been in her kitchen as her father had been railing about something ridiculous and the desire to protect her had been nearly overwhelming. In that moment everything had shifted. He hadn’t felt this way—this powerfully—for a woman in a long time.
He saw her so clearly, saw the beauty of the strength at her core, he knew there’d be no peace for his heart until he kissed her. And more, though that was down the road a ways. Knew too that he was ready to dedicate the time and attention a woman like Rachel and a relationship with her would deserve. She needed spoiling and he was the guy to deliver.
She called to him. Something inside him stirred every single time he saw her. Her eyes and the shadows there. Her flaws and the way she powered through and did what needed to be done, even when the cost was written all over her face. All of it comprised the whole of her. The whole, fascinating bundle of gorgeous contradiction.
He’d been thinking about her so hard he didn’t even hear his dad come in until he spoke. “I’m getting too old to be out of my bed on a cold dark morning.”
An oft-repeated thing from his father, who’d most likely be happily kneading dough right where he stood just then until he was ninety-five.
“I told you to sleep in today. Nicklaus is coming in soon.” Nicklaus had worked at the bakery for fourteen years and he was Vic’s right-hand man. He normally did the first shift, getting the dough started before the second crew—including Vic—arrived at five. Bread would be in various stages of the process, proofing, baking, second rise, resting and once done, put in wire baskets Vic was sure were older than he was to hang on hooks at the top of the stairs to be brought to the counter.
His aunt Klara ran the upstairs with his mom and they made up the last shift that started at six thirty. Evie usually came in around six. Her specialty was the sweet dough. Together with their father, they’d make vatrushka with apricots, a particular favorite of their customers, along with cinnamon rolls and the other sweets that they’d sell over the course of the day.
Every single employee of the Orlov Family Bakery was truly family, including Nicklaus, who was a second cousin. For a long time Vic had appreciated that, but hadn’t understood just how important it was. And then Danil had died and without the support of his extended family Vic was sure they wouldn’t have gotten through it.
His dad slung on his apron, tying it around his waist with a satisfied grunt. Vic didn’t bother to point out the freshly brewed pot of coffee. His father was old school. He had coffee with cake and black tea with everything else.
“Your mother was up. She’s in fine form. Bossing the dogs around. I got out before she started on me too.” Though he sounded grumpy, Vic knew it was an act. His parents had a real, deep and intense connection. They could fight, that was also true, but they’d drawn closer each time they’d been hit with tragedy as well as when times were good.
His sister, Evie, had said once that they were spoiled by that example and would never accept anything less than a love like that.
He agreed. Vic felt settling was for pizza and music when on a road trip. It was definitely not for love.
While getting his tea, Vic’s father switched the music from Vic’s choice to Stevie Wonder. Vic hid a smile and kept working. His father was the senior member of the staff and the family. He got to make the musical and television choices. This was his edict for all of Vic’s and Evie’s lives.
“I’m going to ask Rachel Dolan out,” Vic said, forming high, round loaves on the long worktable.
“You’ll lose your heart to that girl,” his father murmured as he stirred sugar
