I knew I wouldn’t fit there—dodging or indulging the paparazzi, brushing shoulders with the jet set, playing the part of someone I’d never be.
I could pretend, maybe. For a while. But Owen deserved someone who could stand beside him in that world without flinching.
I found myself gripping my phone tighter, as if I could hold onto him through the screen, as if keeping him in my hands meant keeping him close. But the truth echoed inside me:I will fightforyou, but I’m not sure I could win a fightoveryou.
By the time I’d made it downstairs, showered and dressed for work, Walter was already in the kitchen.
“I want to be early at the club today. Can you drop me off on your way to work?” he asked, taking his bowl of yogurt and fruit from me in our usual morning routine.
“Sure. Are they even open this early?”
“A few of us are organizing a little party for next week. We want to meet and sort it out.”
“Wow. Walter, I didn’t know you were getting involved. That’s really nice to hear.”
He waved a hand like it was nothing—his signature dismissive wave. “Eh, it’s just two ladies who needed help and asked me. Janet and ...” He trailed off, mumbling the rest.
“That’s wonderful of you. Janet and who?” I asked as I sat down across from him.
“Clarice,” he said, barely above a mutter.
He looked so uncomfortable—worried I’d react to the name—so I kept my expression neutral.
“That’s great. It’ll do you good to be out and about.”
Walter scooped up another spoonful of yogurt but paused before eating it. “My grandson seems to be back at his shenanigans in London.”
I cleared my throat and took a sip of my coffee.
“I told you you shouldn’t have got yourself involved with him,” Walter continued.
I wasn’t going to get into all that with him. “Ready to head out soon?” I asked instead, pointing my spoon at his half-eaten breakfast.
“In a minute,” he said, digging back into his bowl like we hadn’t just tiptoed across a minefield.
After dropping Walter off, I opened the shop with June and restocked a few shelves while she helped out early regulars. But my mind was elsewhere, snagged on a smile in a tabloid photo and the old, familiar ache it brought with it.
By mid-morning, I needed air—and something sweet.
I was in line at Breading Dreams, the bakery across from the shop, picking up something sweet for Walter and me for a change—two custard-filled éclairs, because ... why not ...?
The woman ahead of me was scrolling her phone with the volume just loud enough to spill a bit of Alanis Morissette into the sugar-scented air.
“Don’t forget to win first place. Don’t forget to keep that smile on your face.”
I froze. My hand still holding a bag of sweet rolls I’d picked up, my heart beating off rhythm. It took me a second to place the song: Perfect. Another, to realize why it hit me like a gut punch.
Hadn’t he always done both?
My heart ached for him, for his need to prove his worth and smile even when it hurt inside.
Maybe that was why his secret smile meant so much to me. It wasn’t just any smile; it was a genuine one, coming from deep in his heart.
I ached for him. For his presence, for his arms around me, his scent, his strength, the quiet force in him that radiated warmth, depth, and love that encompassed everything.
“Hey, Rio, you okay?” a voice startled me.
I looked up. I was first at the counter now, and the voice belonged to Anne—the baker. Finn’s wife, his ex-wife’s cousin, his first love. Her smile was warm and gentle, the kind that invited you to fall apart if you needed to.
