Page 32 of Dirty Mechanic

“Annabelle!”

She whirls around, face streaked with tears, breath coming in frantic bursts as I catch her in my arms.

It guts me.

“He’s here,” she chokes out. “He found me.”

She’s trembling. My heart hammers against her chest, matching her ragged inhale?—

And in that moment, I know we’re beyond fear. We’re at war.

Morning light filters through the clinic’s mint-green walls, bathing the faded wildflower prints in a gentle glow. The waiting-room floor creaks under my weight, and even the old coffee maker in the corner sputters its familiar greeting as it brews.

“Doctor Marvey,” I say, stepping forward. “Good to see you.”

He rises and crosses the desk in two strides, pulling me into a brisk hug. His scent of linen and antiseptic feels like home.

“Heard you’re back,” he murmurs. “How are you settling in? Your mom hasn’t stopped singing your praises as a nurse.”

I swallow, reminding myself that I’m no longer Annabelle Fields, RN. “I’m… Finding my footing. Baking for May Day helps.”

Great. Another person I’m lying to.

“So, are you going to apply?”

I give him the most genuine smile I can muster. “Thank you so much for the offer. I’ll think about it.”

His brow furrows with something unspoken, but the chime of the front-door bell frees me.

“Annabelle!” Emma’s voice cracks through the quiet. She wobbles in, all baby belly and warmth—like the glowing fertility goddess she is.

Guilt tugs at my heart. I missed her wedding, her baby shower, and most of her life in Lords Valley.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t home yesterday.” She wraps me in the most heartfelt hug I’ve had in months, her warmth and kindness radiating through every inch of her very pregnant body.

She adjusts her weight, elbows tucked to cradle her bump. “What brings you to the clinic? You sick? Is Derek all right?”

I force a laugh. “We’re fine. Eric told me you have an appointment today, so I thought I’d drop by. And I brought something.”

“Ahh! The famous fritters.” She eyes the box. “They vanished yesterday. They were delicious.”

I lift the lid, revealing the golden rounds. “People do have appetites.”

“Especially for your pies. You should open a bakery.”

I tilt my hip and offer her the box. “We’ve got Valley’s Delights.”

She picks out a glazed fritter and takes a healthy bite. “They don’t have your pies or fritters. I guess being a nurse means the bakery’s off the table.”

“Who knows? Maybe one day,” I say, half-jokingly.

She bites into the dough again and smiles around a mouthful. “There’s something about your pastries.”

Her words water a seed, even as I push it aside. One step at a time. May Day first—then maybe, a new chapter.

Emma freezes, fritter halfway to her mouth, and winces. I gently place a hand on her belly.

“Braxton Hicks.” She waves it off and grabs another fritter. “This one prefers pickles to sweets. The joys of pregnancy.”