"I know. I saw." Ella's jaw tightens. "Some people have no boundaries."
But it wasn’t just a lack of manners, and we both know it. There was something deeply wrong about that woman, something that had nothing to do with curiosity.
I keep that thought to myself. Saying it out loud would make it real, and I’m not ready for that.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of customers and orders. I try to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of the work, but I can't shake the image of those cloudy eyes fixed on my belly.
By early afternoon, the lunch rush has died down, and I'm arranging fresh cookies in the display case when the door opens again.
A man walks in, and my first thought is, well, he’s handsome. Tall, sharp suit, hair that probably cost more than my rent, and a face that looks like it belongs on a magazine cover. My second thought is that there’s something off about him. Way off.
He’s too perfect. Too polished. His skin has this weird, waxy shine, like someone buffed him before he walked in. And when he smiles, it never quite makes it to his eyes, eyes that are pale blue and cold as ice.
"Good afternoon," he says, his voice pleasant but somehow hollow. "I'd like two of your snickerdoodle cookies, please."
I box up his cookies with hands that are steadier than I’d expect, take his money, and watch him settle at a corner table.
He doesn't eat the cookies. Doesn't even look at them. He just sits there, motionless, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance.
After about ten minutes, I can't take it anymore. I wipe my hands on my apron and approach his table. "Is everything alright with your cookies?"
His head swivels toward me with a precision that's almost mechanical, and those ice-chip eyes land on my stomach. "How far along are you?"
The question isn’t weird on its own. People ask me that all the time now. But the way he says it, all clinical and detached, makes me step back without thinking. My hand goes to my belly like it’s got a mind of its own.
"I'm due in December," I say, trying to keep my voice even.
He nods slowly, still staring at my stomach. "And I assume the father will be present for the birth?"
His words hit like a bucket of ice water. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. What am I supposed to say? That the fatherdoesn’t even know I’m pregnant? That I couldn’t reach him if I tried? That some nights I lie awake wondering if he ever thinks about me at all?
"Dude." Ella's voice comes from behind me, sharp and protective. "I don't know where your plastic-looking ass is from, but around here, we don't ask pregnant ladies intrusive questions about their birth plans. Now, can I get you a cookie with 'fuck right off' written on it, or are we done here?"
The man's smile widens, but it's the most unpleasant expression I've ever seen. He stands slowly, never breaking eye contact with my belly, and reaches out as if to touch it.
Ella moves faster than I've ever seen her move, positioning herself between us. "Unless you want to lose that hand, Ken Doll, I suggest you put it back in your pants where you usually keep it."
For a second, nobody moves. Then he pulls his hand back, still wearing that awful smile. He heads for the door, but not before turning to give me a look that chills me straight through. It’s not just interest. It’s ownership.
Then he's gone.
And suddenly, I can’t breathe.
The panic attack hits full force this time. The bakery tilts around me, and I'm dimly aware that I'm hyperventilating, that my vision is going spotty, that the baby is squirming inside me like she knows something's wrong.
"Sam, hey, look at me." Ella's hands cup my face, forcing me to focus on her eyes. "You're okay. You're safe. He's gone. Just breathe with me, okay? In for four counts, hold for four, out for four."
She talks me through the breathing, her voice steady and calm, until the world finally stops spinning. She steers me to a chair, and I sink into it, still clutching my stomach like it’s the only thing keeping me anchored.
The baby settles, her kicks slowing as I start to calm down. I focus on that, on her little movements, using them to keep myself grounded.
"Why has everyone gotten so weird?" I manage when I can finally speak again.
"Don't worry about that now." Ella crouches in front of me, her expression fierce. "Right now, just try to relax. That creep had to have been from out of town. I've never seen him before, and I'd definitely remember someone who looked like he'd come out of a wax museum like that guy did."
I nod, but it doesn’t help. Out of town or not, he knew exactly where to find me. And that woman this morning, she did too. They both came looking for something.
Looking for my baby.
