Ally:You okay?He left.
I close my eyes again.The words hit harder than they should.
Me:I’m good.Just needed air.
Her reply comes instantly.
Ally:Liar.
I huff out a laugh, thankful for her bluntness, but I don’t answer.I can’t.If I try, I’ll start typing things like:My heart hurts.I think I cared more than he did.I think I loved him a little.And I think he knows.
Instead, I tuck the phone away and count my breaths until the pressure in my chest eases.
By the time I head back to the bakery’s front door, I’ve wiped my eyes, straightened my apron, and forced my expression into something resembling “emotionally stable human.”
Ally takes one look at me and softens.
“You want me to throw a scone at him next time he comes in?”she asks under her breath.
A real laugh bubbles up this time.“Maybe something heavier.”
“Bagels are lethal,” she offers.
“Perfect.”
Her smile fades into sympathy.“You sure you’re okay?”
No.
Not even remotely.
But she doesn’t need that weight today.
“I’ll be fine,” I reply, and even though it’s a lie, it feels like one I can grow into truth eventually.“Just needed it to be done in a clearly communicated way.”
She nods, squeezing my arm before turning back to customers entering the space.
For the rest of the morning, I bury myself in work—mixing batter, boxing pastries, ringing people up with automatic smiles.The kind of mindless motion that leaves no room to think.It’s safer that way.
Still, every now and then, my eyes flick toward the door.Looking for him.Hoping.
Hating myself for looking.
By noon, the adrenaline crash hits me.My hands tremble as I tie a ribbon around a cupcake box, and my stomach twists sharply—not pain, exactly.More like exhaustion wearing a mask.
“Kelly, sit for a minute,” Ally urges.
“I’m fine.”
She raises an eyebrow.“You’re tying a bow around the customer’s napkins, babe.”
I look down.
Oh.
Yes.Napkins.Tied up like a gift basket.
“I might need a sandwich,” I admit.
