“Hey,” she says softly.
“Hey.” My voice comes out like I haven’t spoken in days.
Chris makes a muffled squeaking noise behind me. I do not turn around because I want to live.
“Can we go over the tasting order?” she asks. “I want to make sure everything is set.”
“Yeah,” I say quickly. “Sure.”
We walk to the back, and my nerves spike like I’m a teenager who doesn’t know how to hold eye contact.
She puts a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”
Her touch sends heat straight through me and my pulse stutters.
“Yeah,” I say, a little too fast and it comes out clipped.
She watches me for a moment, not hurt, not upset. Just reading me.
“Liam,” she says gently. “We don’t have to talk about anything right now. Festival first and everything else when things slow down.”
Guilt tightens in my chest, I don’t want her thinking she did anything wrong.
“I’m not pulling away,” I say quietly. “I just… this is a lot. Good. But a lot.”
Her expression softens. “I know. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Something inside me loosens again. “I know.”
The rest of the day blurs. Every time I see Charlotte, I feel that pull again and every time I try to get closer, someone needs something.
By late afternoon, I’m kneading dough while Maisie colors at the small table behind the counter.
“Daddy,” she says, tapping her crayon. “I made something.”
She holds it up proudly.
And my heart stops.
It’s a drawing of the three of us, me, Charlotte, and Maisie, holding hands in front of the bakery.
Charlotte is wearing what looks like a queen’s crown, I’m wearing a cape, and Maisie is covered in glitter. Literally. She glued glitter to the paper and also to herself.
My chest gets tight.
“This is really good, bug,” I say.
“I know,” she says confidently. “It’s us.”
I stare at it longer than I should.
“Can we give it to Charlotte?” she asks. “Because she should know we like her.”
I swallow hard. “Maybe later.”
She frowns. “But I want her to see it.”
“Soon,” I promise.
