Another wail blasts through, higher, more insistent. My stomach clenches like a fist.
“I need to…” I start, already counting the customers in line, the tickets on the rail, the fact that there’s only Rowan in the kitchen and Finn out front.
“You’re good,” Axel cuts in, nodding toward the back. “I’ve got it.”
I blink at him. “Got what?”
He gestures to the counter, the remaining shards, the damp floor. “This. The mess. I can wait.”
The monitor spits out another cry, raw and furious. Heat crawls up my neck, a hot, prickling flush. That familiar dread pushes against my ribs, the one that whispers everyone’s judging, everyone’s tallying every time your kid loses it in public.
Axel doesn’t look away. No flinch. No tight mouth. Just steady.
“Seriously.” He sets his coffees down, palms open. “Go do what you need to do. I’ll just hang out. No rush.”
I hover for half a breath, throat tight, caught between instinct to protect Poppy and the reflex to keep my life hidden. Letting him see this part of me feels like unbuttoning something I’ve kept sealed.
“Thanks,” I say, the word clipped but honest. I turn toward the back office, then pause and look over my shoulder. “I won’t be long.”
“Take your time,” he calls. Same easy confidence. “I’m not going anywhere.”
In the office, Poppy stands in her travel crib, fists clenched around the mesh side, face blotchy and wet. The second she sees me, her scream fractures into hiccuping sobs.
“Hey, sweet girl,” I murmur, scooping her up. Her damp cheeks press into my neck. “What’s all this about, huh?”
She burrows close, small body shuddering with leftover cries. I sway with her, my fingers moving on autopilot as I check her diaper, smooth curls off her forehead, and press the back of my hand there. No fever. No diaper disaster. Just an interrupted nap and the terror of waking up alone.
“You’re okay,” I whisper into her hair. “Mama’s here. I’ve got you.”
She clutches my shirt, little fingers twisting the fabric, breaths evening out.
In my head, the to-do list scrolls like a frantic ticker. Finish cleaning the spill. Handle the line. Restock the pastry case. Fix the stupid grinder that’s been sticking. Keep Poppy from melting down again. Pretend I have it all under control with a stranger standing out front, seeing more than I want him to.
By the time I step back into the café with Poppy on my hip, my shoulders are set, voice ready for whatever awkward comment is waiting.
Except there isn’t one.
Axel still leans near the counter, but the broken ceramic is gone. The floor’s dry. He’s mid-conversation with Mrs. Halpern, one of our elderly regulars, nodding along as she complains about the late frost and her rosebushes.
His gaze finds me. It drops briefly to Poppy, then comes right back to my face. No widened eyes. No pity. Just a small, acknowledging nod, like we’re picking up a conversation we never finished.
“All good?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I hitch Poppy higher on my hip when she reaches for my earring. “Thanks for… waiting.”
“No problem.” He picks up his coffees. “I should probably get back before my brothers send out a search party anyway.”
I nod, unable to think of anything that doesn’t sound either too grateful or too defensive. Poppy rests her head on my shoulder, drool damp against my collarbone, completely over her earlier meltdown.
“See you around, Sadie,” he says, heading for the door. He waggles his fingers at Poppy. “Bye, little one.”
She gives him a solemn stare like she’s actually considering him. My chest gives a strange, unsteady thump.
I watch him step outside, the tension in the room thinning with every stride. The air feels… clearer. My shoulders sink away from my ears before I even realize I’ve let them go.
It shouldn’t be like this. A man like Axel, loud family, big presence, eyes that see too much, should set off every alarm I have.
Instead, as the door swings shut behind him and the bell settles, a quiet steadiness hums under my skin. I don’t know what to do with that.
