Dylan notices. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," I say quickly. "Just work. I should take this."
I step outside into the spring air, my heart pounding as I answer.
"Piper! Good to hear from you," the coordinator says. "I wanted to follow up on our offer. We need to know by the end ofthe week if you are accepting. This is a really great opportunity, and we have other candidates interested."
"I understand," I say. "Can I've until Friday?"
"Of course, but I'll be honest with you. This kind of contract doesn't come around often. It’s steady work, good pay, major exposure. You would be set for months."
"I know," I say quietly. "I just need a little more time."
"Fair enough. Talk soon."
The call ends, and I stand there on the sidewalk, staring at the festival banners fluttering in the breeze.
This is what I wanted. Steady work with a real contract and security. So why does the thought of taking it feel like I'm losing something instead of gaining it? I walk back into the bakery, and Dylan looks up immediately. He doesn't ask what the call was about, but I can see the question in his eyes.
“I… I got offered a job… in Seattle.” I almost can’t get the words out.
"Seattle job?" he asks quietly.
"Yeah."
He nods slowly. "That’s good. You should take it."
"Dylan."
"No, I mean it," he says, even though his voice sounds strained. "You deserve good opportunities. You shouldn’t turn down something great because of a few weeks in a small town."
"What if the small town is starting to feel like more than just a few weeks?" I ask.
He goes very still. "Piper."
"I'm not saying I'm staying," I add quickly. "I'm just saying that leaving doesn't feel as simple as it should."
He sets down the piping bag and walks over to me, stopping close enough that I've to tilt my head back to look at him.
"I don't want to be the reason you give up something you’ve worked so hard for," he says. "But I also don't want to pretend that this, whatever this is, doesn't matter to me."
"It matters to me too," I whisper.
He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle and deliberate. "Then we figure it out. Together."
"Together," I repeat, and the word feels like a promise.
Before either of us can say anything else, Maddie runs in from the back room where she’s been playing, completely oblivious to the moment she just interrupted.
"Daddy! Can we get ice cream after the fair on Saturday?"
Dylan steps back, clearing his throat. "We will see, bug."
"That means yes," she stage-whispers to me.
I laugh, and the tension breaks.
The rest of the day passes in a comfortable rhythm. I film. Dylan works. Maddie colors. And every so often, our hands brush or our eyes meet, and each small touch feels like it's building toward something inevitable.
