All Chapters of Thirty Days: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

I follow Michelle through to the boardroom, where the staff meeting is being held. This is the first time I have attended one of these meetings as they only happen quarterly, and I am somewhat surprised to see so many people in the room. So many in fact that the partition walls have been slid back from two of the meeting rooms to turn them into one huge space. As we file into the back, I glance around and realise that I definitely did not make enough cakes. But people seem to be happily sharing, so I breathe a sigh of relief.I am just about to dart off to grab a coffee off the table when a voice catches my attention. There, standing at the front of the room is my mystery man. All eyes have turned towards him as he welcomes everyone to the meeting.My heart plummets. This can't be good. I feel the heat starting to rise in my cheeks. Taking a deep breath, I lean over to Michelle’s ear and whisper, "Who's that?"Michelle looks over at me incredulously. "That's Taylor Hudson, you duh-bra

As I push my way into Alfredo's at nine-thirty on the dot, I mentally prepare myself for the Spanish Inquisition. For once Michelle is already there ahead of me, waiting with two steaming lattes and the biggest cinnamon bun I have ever seen."Oh my god," she sighs with a mouthful of crumbs. "You so have to try this.""Mmm, looks scrumptious." I eye the bun with delight, feeling ready to get everything off my chest. I settle down in my seat, breaking off a piece of the bun, and take a sip of my coffee."Come on, then. Spill the beans, Abby. I can't believe you have made me wait this long!""Um, well, okay …" I stammer, suddenly feeling rather shy about everything that has gone on over the last couple of days. I start off describing the event in the kitchen and work my way through until our encounter last night, omitting my dream as I don't think I am ready to share that with anyone!"Bloody hell, Abs, you are a dark horse." Michelle gives me the once-over, scrutinising me over her desi

I wake with a start, sweat dripping and tears rolling down my face. I struggle to catch my breath as I try to dispel the overwhelming urge to bury my head back into my pillow and sob my heart out. I didn't think I had this much water in me, but it would appear the faucets have been opened and nothing will stop the tears from leaking out. Sleep did not come easy. Whenever I closed my eyes, all I could see was Nonna lying there dead. I am unsure as to what time I eventually fell asleep, but my dreams meant that I spent a restless night tossing and turning. A glance at the clock tells me that, despite the darkness, morning is here and it is time to get up. I shower and dress, my choice of clothing reflecting my dark mood and matching the dark circles under my eyes. I try to choke down a slice of toast, but my appetite has deserted me. I fill my travel mug with coffee and head out to the bus stop, knowing that I am still too early for work but not wanting to stay in my tiny, claustropho

The shrill of the alarm pierces my consciousness. The lack of Taylor's presence in my bed when I wake feels like déjà vu. As the reality of the day that lies ahead hits, my heart sinks. With leaden limbs I get myself into the shower, trying to blot out the image of Nonna dead on her kitchen floor that keeps resurfacing from my subconscious. It's not long before I am wrapped up in my heavy winter coat and scarf to ward off the autumn chill and pulling my case loaded up with a week's worth of my baking out the door and onto the main road to call a taxi to the station. I am just not in the mood for the bus today. I spend the journey attempting to analyse the situation with Taylor. I can't figure out why he keeps turning up when he has categorically stated that being with me can't happen. I can't help the attraction I feel, and I get the feeling that neither can he, but there is this big issue of him being my boss. Which of course on a rational level I completely understand. However, the

Taylor moves around the kitchen with the ease of a practised chef. It is a pleasure watching his hands; his long fingers move swiftly, and I muse at what it would be like to feel them running along my skin. As if he knows what I am thinking, Taylor glances up and winks at me. I flush, a state that I feel like I am permanently in when I am around him. I take a large gulp of my cocktail, hoping to still my nerves, but it is not long before I feel the alcohol going to my head and I start to feel a bit glassy-eyed. Fortunately, it is not long before Taylor is sliding a steaming plate in front of me. The aroma has whetted my appetite, and I suddenly feel ravenous.Taylor rounds the island and comes to sit beside me. We eat in companionable silence for several minutes until the rumbling of my stomach starts to subside. "This is delicious. Thank you," I comment."You are very welcome." Taylor smiles at me, and I feel my cheeks going red again. We start chatting about inconsequential things,