"Famous last words," I say, flipping a pancake.
We eat breakfast together like we have done this a thousand times before. Maddie chatters about her plans for the day, Dylan steals bites of my pancake when he thinks I'm not looking, and I sit there feeling like I've stumbled into a life I didn't know I was allowed to want.
After breakfast, Dylan has to go back to the bakery to finalize preparations for the festival. The event is tomorrow, and there are still a dozen last-minute details that need his attention.
"You don't have to come if you don't want to," he says as he gathers his keys. "You can stay here and relax."
"Are you kidding?" I say. "I need to film the final prep. This is the good stuff."
He grins. "All right then. Let me drop Maddie at my mom's, and we will head over."
We drop Maddie at Linda's house, where she is immediately swept up into a baking project involving an alarming amount of sprinkles. Linda gives me a knowing smile as we leave, and I've a feeling the entire family has already decided I'm staying permanently, whether I've fully processed it myself or not.
The drive to the bakery is comfortable and quiet. Dylan reaches across the console and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Thank you," he says.
"For what?"
"For this morning, for making breakfast, for being here, basically just thank you for everything."
I squeeze his hand. "You don't have to thank me for wanting to be here."
"I know," he says. "But I'm going to anyway."
When we arrive at the bakery, the morning rush is in full swing. Customers line up for their daily coffee and pastries, and the energy in the space feels different somehow. Lighter. Morehopeful. Like the entire town is holding its breath for tomorrow's festival.
Dylan gets to work immediately, adding final touches to the phoenix cake. I set up my camera and film while he works, capturing the careful precision of his hands, the way his brow furrows when he concentrates, the small smile that plays at his lips when he gets something exactly right.
"You are staring again," he says without looking up.
"I'm filming," I correct.
"You are doing both."
"Can you blame me?"
He glances up, and the heat in his eyes makes my breath catch. "Not even a little bit."
The door opens, and I look up expecting to see another customer. Instead, Vanessa walks in.
She looks as polished as ever, her blonde hair perfect, her smile bright and calculated. She scans the room until her eyes land on Dylan, and I watch her expression shift into something softer. Something that sets my teeth on edge.
"Dylan," she says, walking toward the counter. "I heard the bakery made it through the fire. I had to come see for myself."
Dylan straightens, and I can see the tension settle into his shoulders. "Hi, Vanessa."
"The phoenix cake is even more beautiful than I imagined," she says, leaning over the counter to get a closer look. Her hand brushes his arm in a way that is definitely intentional. "You are so talented."
"Thanks," he says, stepping back slightly to create distance.
Vanessa notices the movement, and her eyes flick to me. "Oh. You are still here."
There is something in the way she says still that makes it clear she expected me to be gone by now.
"I am," I say evenly.
"How nice," Vanessa says, though her tone suggests it's anything but nice. She turns back to Dylan. "I was hoping we could grab dinner this week. I know you have been through a lot with the fire, and I thought you might need someone to talk to."
