Jace lingered for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or give me space. In the end, he let out a quiet breath and jerked his chin toward the door. “I should get back to my shop, but you know where I am if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
He hesitated another second, then slipped out, closing the office door behind him with a soft click. For the first time since Gage walked in, I was alone. But I wasn’t ready to face the thoughts swirling in my head. So when my gaze drifted over my cluttered desk, I decided to tackle the mess.
I organized printed copies of order forms and invoices and filed everything into the cabinet on the wall behind me. Then I opened a new pack of highlighters and yanked on the top-drawer handle to drop them inside. I moved around the scraps of everyday things I’d already stuffed in there—receipts, pens, and a sticky note with a half-finished idea for a flavor combination. But sitting near the back, half buried beneath a jumble of rubber bands, was a narrow strip of glossy paper.
I squeezed my eyes closed to shut out the image of the matching set of photos to the ones that had been inside the box of my stuff Gage had left in my apartment. This one wasn’t ruined, and I hadn’t been able to throw it away even though I hadn’t looked at it in all this time. Until now.
I unearthed it from the chaotic mess in my drawer and stared down at the proof of happier times. My head on his shoulder. His mouth pressed to my cheek in the last frame. We looked like we were so in love with each other. The version of me in those pictures had no idea what was coming.
I pressed my fingers to my trembling lips, but a sob ripped free anyway. Clutching the worn strip of photos against my chest as the dam cracked wide open, I dropped onto my chair and let myself cry it out. Again.
I wasn’t the same woman Gage had walked away from. Not anymore.
But I couldn't ignore the fact that I wasn’t as over him as I’d thought I was.
4
GAGE
I’d been staring at the same spreadsheet for fifteen minutes, and I couldn’t remember a single number on the screen. It had been three days since I stepped into Hale & Honey and blew my first conversation with Tessa in years.
I’d tried to keep myself busy all weekend. Working out, swimming, going for five-mile runs. Research into a small firm that wanted to partner with Langford Tech on an upcoming project. Anything to drown out how badly I’d messed up.
None of it made a damn difference. Every time I blinked, I saw the pain and anger in her hazel eyes.
With a muttered curse, I minimized the spreadsheet and opened my browser. I didn't even need to type in her bakery’s name because it was at the top of my search history. Not exactly a surprise when I’d done this at least a dozen times already.
Article after article appeared in the results—local features, regional highlights, and write-ups from foodie accounts with hundreds of thousands of followers. Interviews Tessa had given. Her social media links. Rave reviews. Countless photos of cakes she’s made for celebrities. Videos of cakes so intricate they barely looked edible.
So many glimpses into the life she’d built without me. She’d taken her talent and turned it into something people across the country were talking about.
My pride in her was bittersweet. I’d always known she was capable of great things. I just never got to see her become the woman in these photos.
Tessa was living her dreams, and I was so far removed from her life that I’d had no idea. I hadn’t realized how much I’d lost until I was staring at the proof.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my beard as the full weight of losing Tessa finally settled in.
I clicked on a link lower down in the search results, and a series of pictures from Hale & Honey’s opening day popped up on the screen. Susan hadn’t been wrong about how big Tessa’s following had been before she made the jump to a brick-and-mortar location. Customers were lined up on the sidewalk, with Tessa in the background in a flour-dusted apron, smiling like she couldn’t believe how successful the event was.
In one of the photos, I immediately recognized the guy standing behind her. He wasn’t touching her like he had on Friday when he put his hand on her back. Wasn’t even looking at her. But he seemed comfortable, like someone who spent a lot of time in her space. And that was nearly two years ago.
I clicked on the tagged profile for Jace Walker. His bio linked to a music shop called The Beat Drop, which was located next door to Tessa’s bakery. That explained how he’d shown up so quickly to defend her the other day.
I opened a new tab and searched his name. Posts about open mic nights and local concerts filled the screen, along with photos of him onstage with a guitar slung low across his body.
A musician wasn’t the kind of guy I would’ve expected Tessa to go for. Jace was the complete opposite of me.
I told myself I wasn’t jealous as I kept scrolling. Just curious about the guy who was spending time with my ex.
He had a decent amount of local success. Consistent gigs and a solid following on the East Coast. Just not enough to make it big.
He’d been right next door to Tessa all this time. In her life. Close enough to know her new routines, ones I had no clue about.
The realization hit harder than I wanted to admit, and my jaw tightened before I could stop it.
I sat back in my chair, a dull ache in my chest. I’d spent three years trying not to think about who she might have moved on with. But there had been no missing how comfortable Tessa was with him. Just seeing her with him in the background of a photo felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
