He nodded stiffly. “Yep, but every other morning you hadn’t pissed off a man who we already know doesn’t have a problem hurting women.”

My throat went dry. I hadn’t thought about Ronnie. Not once. Nor had I ever thought about me being alone and vulnerable in my bakery in the morning. Rowan was right. It was hours before the other business down the street opened. Even the early risers who ran on the beach waited for the sun to come up, especially with the weather cooling down.

I’d liked that. Loved it. Feeling like this was my time, when no other responsibilities existed. Just the measuring of sugar, butter, flour and chocolate.

I would not let anyone pollute that.

“I highly doubt that Ronnie Cockran is motivated enough to get up at five in the morning to teach me a lesson,” I countered. “I doubt he’s up before noon.”

The worry about him was a niggle in the back of my head, no different than the niggles every woman had in the back of her head about the creepy guy at the grocery store who stared at her too long, the guy at work who was always asking her out, the ex-boyfriend who didn’t take the breakup well.

Ronnie could hurt me, that was not something I was deluding myself about. Sure, the chances were slim now that he knew he had a whole bunch of people watching him, ready to teach him the lesson he sorely deserved.

But I wasn’t going to change the way I lived my life, and I wasn’t going to make Rowan feel like he needed to be my bodyguard every second I was alone.

“You’re not gonna change my mind, Nora.”

Maybe I should’ve fought more. Told him that he couldn’t barge into my life, home and business, declaring he had to protect me from one thing or another.

But I didn’t. Because I didn’t want to fight him.

* * *

Rowan went into the bakery first. Did a ‘walk through,’ whatever the fuck that meant.

Maggie and I waited in my office, her going to sleep on the sofa across from my desk. She was not at all perturbed by new spaces and was quick and happy to claim them as her own. I liked that. No, I loved that.

Rowan appeared in the doorway with a brisk nod that I guessed communicated everything was clear. It was good timing too. My caffeine high was wearing off, and the espresso machine was calling my name.

But before I did that, I had to get some dough ready for the first batch of croissants. That’s what I was thinking of when I walked past Rowan into the kitchen.

“You can go now,” I told him. “There’s no one here. Ronnie isn’t hiding in the pantry,” I joked.

But Rowan was not in the joking mood, it seemed.

He stepped forward, purposefully.

The look in his eyes glued my feet to the floor.