Just… tears.Quiet, hot, humiliating tears.
I swipe them away quickly, glancing around to make sure no one sees me falling apart like a greeting card gone soggy in the rain.Freedom Falls is too small of a town for messy emotions in public.The gossip pipeline would have breaking news within minutes:
Local bakery girl cries before 8 AM.Biker may or may not be involved.More at eleven.
I choke out a laugh—half hysterical, half bitter—and duck around the corner beside the hardware store, where the alley is quiet and shaded.I lean back against the brick wall, the cool surface grounding me.
It’s not like I didn’t see this coming.
The late-night texts slowing down.
The mornings where he slipped out without waking me.
The silences growing longer, heavier.
I wasn’t stupid.I just… hoped.
And that’s the most embarrassing part of all.
Hope is a dangerous drug when the man you want is allergic to feelings.I thought by controlling the narrative and telling him not to fall in love would keep my own emotions in line.
I tilt my head back against the wall, close my eyes, and breathe in the warm, yeasty scent drifting from the bakery vent.It’s comforting, familiar, safe.Everything Riot is not.
We can’t be strangers,repeats in my head.
Yeah, okay.
Sure.
Acquaintances don’t kiss the way we kissed.
Friends don’t touch the way he touched me.Strangers damn sure don’t look at someone like they’re the last sip of water in the damn desert.
But maybe I imagined that part.Maybe I wanted to see something that wasn’t there.Maybe all the soft moments I’ve been replaying for months were just a matter of convenience for him.
My chest squeezes tight.
I know I’m spiraling, but knowing doesn’t stop the descent.
A motorcycle engine revs somewhere in the distance—a deep, throaty growl that is unmistakably a Harley-Davidson.
My heart lurches stupidly.
No.Nope.No, no, no.
I refuse to be that girl—the one who hears a bike and thinks,Maybe it’s him.Maybe he changed his mind.I press the heel of my hand against my sternum like I can physically push the ache back in.
This is what I wanted, right?
No strings.
No complications.
No promises.
God, I’m an idiot.
A soft buzzing vibrates in my apron pocket.My phone.I pull it out, praying it’s a distraction.
