The door finally opened, and the bell above it jingled as she stepped inside. The scent of sugar and butter wrapped around her like an old friend, and for a moment, she let herself believe that everything could go back to the way it was. Before the auction. Before Grayson. Before her entire life had spiraled into something she didn’t recognize.
“You’re early,” Laila called from behind the counter, not looking up as she kneaded dough on a floured surface. Her friend’s hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she had a streak of flour across her cheek. It was so perfectly Laila that the scene made something behind Cora’s sternum ache.
“Figured I’d make up for lost time,” Cora responded, dropping her bag on the counter and slipping behind it.
Laila stopped kneading and turned. “You sure that’s a good idea? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
Cora forced a smile. “Gee, thanks. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”
Laila wiped her hands on her apron and crossed her arms. “I’m serious, Cora. You don’t have to push yourself. After everything with the auction—and the bond—no one would blame you for taking more time.”
“I’m fine,” Cora cut in. She winced and softened her tone. “Really, I just… I need this. I need something normal.”
Laila studied her for a long moment before sighing and motioning toward the back. “Fine. If you’re insisting, you can start by pulling the morning orders from the freezer. But if I see you wobbling, I’m kicking you out.”
“Deal,” Cora replied, grateful to move.
She disappeared into the small storage room, relishing the cool air against her skin. The neatly labeled boxes of croissants, danishes, and muffins were exactly where they’d always been, a quiet reminder that some things hadn’t changed. She grabbed what she needed, stacked the trays carefully, and brought them to the front.
The first hour passed in a haze of baking, glazing, and setting out displays. It wasn’t until the bell over the door chimed again that she remembered why this had felt so important—Bellefleur was quiet this early, and the few regulars who trickled in didn’t demand much more than a smile and a cup of coffee. It gave her space to breathe.
“Morning, ladies,” a familiar voice called. Mrs. Jensen, a sweet older woman who came in every Tuesday, shuffled up to the counter with a warm smile. “How’s my favorite bakery today?”
“Better now that you’re here,” Laila said smoothly, winking at Cora as she handed over the bag of cinnamon rolls the woman always ordered.
Cora chuckled as the tension eased from her shoulders. She could do this. Friendly customers, quiet routine—it was everything she needed.
Until it wasn’t.
It started small, with a man she didn’t recognize stepping up to the counter. He was tall and broad, and his jacket was just a little too bulky for the mild weather. Something about how his eyes shifted around the room got her attention, not in a good way.
“What can I get you?” she asked, eyeing him.
He glanced at the menu above the register, then pointed toward the display case. “That one.”
“The Danish?” she clarified, reaching for the tongs.
“Yeah. Sure.”
She placed the pastry in a bag and handed it to him, and her fingers brushed his for a fraction of a second. It shouldn’t have meant anything. It was just a handoff, a routine interaction. But the moment their hands touched, she froze.
His grip tightened on the bag—just slightly, but the sight of his white knuckles was enough to send her pulse racing. Her throat closed, and suddenly, she was back on that stage with ropes biting into her wrists and eyes staring at her like she was a prize to be claimed. She stumbled back, nearly knocking over the tray of cookies behind her.
“Hey,” the man said, reaching out for her hand. “You okay?”
Cora didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The room felt too small and too loud, and her chest burned as she struggled to draw air.
“Cora!” Laila’s voice chipped its way through. A warm hand settled on her arm, and Cora flinched, pulling away and drawing back before she realized it was just her friend.
“I—I’m fine,” she stammered. The customer was still staring at her with a look of both concern and confusion. Shecouldn’t tell if he was apologizing or just trying to figure out what had just happened, but she didn’t care. She needed him gone.
Laila stepped, offering the man a tight smile as she rang him up. “Thanks for stopping by. Have a good day.”
He glanced at Cora again, but Laila didn’t give him a chance to linger. She handed him his change and practically shooed him out the door before turning back to Cora.
“What the hell was that?” Laila asked.
“I don’t know,” Cora admitted. Her hands were shaking, and her chest still felt too tight. “He just—He touched my hand, and I—”
