The Patriot: A Small Town Romance (Hayden Family Book 1) by Jennifer Millikin

Author:Jennifer Millikin [Millikin, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JNM LLC
Published: 2021-01-10T18:30:00+00:00

22

Dakota

There’s a bakery on the corner, across the street from the hotel. It’s a stretch to call it a bakery, because it also serves savory breakfast food. Nonetheless, it’s called The Bakery. The people in Sierra Grande seem to prefer names that don’t leave any room for interpretation—see, Bar N.

The Bakery is where I’m headed now, in the red sundress I picked up off the floor and draped over myself without making a peep. Wes was sleeping hard, heavy breaths coming from between parted lips. Is it possible for sleep to be grateful? Because that’s how his serene face appeared to be—so damn thankful to be in a state that was not disrupted by a nightmare.

Oh, Wes…

The light changes and I cross the street, but all I can think about is waking up to Wes’s flailing limbs, and his pained, incoherent yelling. Whatever plagues him during waking hours comes out to torture him when he’s asleep.

His yelling and thrashing lasted fewer than ten seconds. It didn’t wake him, but it kept me from sleeping for nearly an hour. Something tells me I’ll be drinking more coffee than usual today.

The smell of salty breakfast meat and warm pastry at The Bakery wakes me up a little. The aroma is already familiar. It’s the third time this week I’ve come here. It’s possible I’m addicted, but there are far worse things to be addicted to, so I’m not too worried.

“Hey, Greta.” I smile at the red-haired woman behind the counter. Unlike my strawberry blonde locks, Greta’s hair is more of a rust color, and wound into a poofy bun at the back of her head.

“Dakota, how ya’ doin’ today?” Greta rests her generous forearms on top of the glass display case. On one wrist she wears a delicate gold watch. On the other, a Native American beaded bracelet.

“I’m great,” I answer, lying right through my teeth. Actually, I’m exhausted, and I’m in a fake relationship. The only thing going ‘great’ for me right now is The Orchard. Which is arguably a pretty big thing to have going well.

“Good to hear.” Greta nods, and I’m supremely thankful she isn’t better at reading people because even I can hear the falseness of my tone. Seriously, what hope do I have of convincing anybody Wes and I are so desperately in love that we’re sprinting to the altar?

I’m just about to ask Greta how her morning is going when her eyes widen and she turns around faster than I would’ve thought was possible. “I almost forgot,” she says when she turns back around, holding a small box. “You’re new to town, so you don’t know, but we get these delivered once a week.” She sets the box down where her forearms had just been and pushes it to me. As I reach for the box, she says, “Those are from a bakery about ninety minutes away. They’re a big hit, and they don’t last long. I saved a couple for you, but I have to warn you, next week you’re on your own.

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