But as he tucks the bag with the muffin under his arm and lifts the coffee in a silent goodbye, I realize I can’t drum up real enthusiasm.
Not even a flicker.
“Great,” he says with an earnest nod.“I’ll save you a seat.”
“Sounds good,” I reply softly.
He leaves, the bell chiming overhead as the morning breeze slips inside.
I exhale, pressing my palms against the counter.
Maybe I’m kidding myself with this lukewarm, room-temperature romance.
Maybe safe isn’t enough.
Maybe it never was.
But the bell above the door jingles, pulling me out of my head.
Another customer.
Another order.
Another reminder that life doesn’t pause just because my heart is feeling uncertain.
I straighten my apron and remind myself of the truth.
I have a bakery to run.
A niece to raise.
A school play to attend.
And absolutelyzeroreason to think about the boy who once set my whole world on fire—and then left without looking back.
Which, of course is exactly when fate decides to be a spiteful little witch.
Nathan Thorn’s voice pours through the bakery’s speakers, smooth and aching, one of his earliest hits drifting in from the satellite radio station we always keep on for background noise.
I freeze.
My stomach drops.
Ofcourseit’s him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath.
Adele—because naturally my employee is named Adele—slides in beside me with a knowing grin.
She’s twenty-one, too observant for her own good, and absolutely delighted by drama that isn’t hers.
“So,” she drawls, propping her elbow on the counter, “I hear you’ve got a hot date Friday.”
I shoot her a look.“Oh, hush up.”
I snort, shoulder-check her gently, and push past toward the ovens—ignoring the giggles bubbling up behind me.
Nathan Thorn.
