"Stop it," I mutter to myself, slamming a bag of coffee beans onto the counter harder than necessary.
That's the worst part. Even furious at him, my traitorous body still wants him. Still remembers how it felt to surrender control, to be taken care of, to trust someone else completely.
I can't trust him. I can't trust anyone. Trust is a bruise that aches deeper every time I touch it. I let my guard down, let him close, and now all I have left is this hollow burn. My mind knows better—no one gets close, not ever again. That rule kept me alive. I broke it for him, and the price is still bleeding out inside me.
The back door opens, and I instinctively reach for the knife I've started keeping under the counter.
"Just me," Saul calls, hanging his jacket on the hook by the door. He pauses, eyeing me warily. "You okay, boss? You look like hell."
I force my hand away from the knife. "Fine. Just didn't sleep well."
He doesn't believe me, I can see it in the furrow of his brow, but he doesn't push. Just ties on his apron and gets to work on the morning's baking. The familiar sounds should comfort me: the clatter of baking sheets, the whir of the mixer, Saul's off-key humming. Instead, every noise makes me flinch, my nerves raw and exposed.
I move to the front windows, wiping down the already-clean glass. My eyes scan the parking lot, the street beyond. No sign of Elliot's black sedan. No sign of Axel's truck either.
Not that I want to see him. I don't. I absolutely don't.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, heart racing, but it's not Axel. Not Elliot. Just a reminder about my flight to Oregon tomorrow.
The knot in my stomach tightens. Forty-eight hours from now, I'll be sitting in my lawyer's office, preparing for the hearing that could take Poppy away from me. And now Elliot knows exactly where to find us when we return.
If we return.
The thought slips in before I can stop it. I could run again. Take Poppy and disappear. Find another small town, another café to manage, build another life under another name.
But I'm tired of running. Tired of looking over my shoulder. And now that Elliot's found us once, he'd find us again.
Finn arrives next, bringing with him the smell of cold mountain air. "Morning," he says cheerfully, then stops when he sees my face. "Whoa. Rough night?"
"Something like that," I mutter, turning back to the espresso machine.
"Anything I can do?"
Yes. Go back in time. Make it so Elliot never found us. Make it so I never trusted Axel. Make it so I never left Oregon in the first place.
"I'm fine," I say instead. "Just focus on opening."
The first customers arrive at exactly six a.m., the usual early birds with their travel mugs and sleepy eyes. I serve them with mechanical efficiency, my smile feeling like a mask stretched too tight across my face.
Between orders, my eyes constantly drift to the windows, scanning for threats. Every car that pulls into the lot makes my pulse spike. Every time the bell above the door jingles, I brace myself to see Elliot's smug face. Or worse, Axel's guilty one.
"You're jumping at shadows," Finn observes during a brief lull. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," I snap, then soften at his hurt expression. "Sorry. Just stressed about my trip."
He nods, accepting the half-truth. "Axel stopping by today? He usually brings you coffee on Mondays."
The mention of his name sends a fresh wave of anger and longing through me. "No. He's not welcome here right now."
Finn's eyebrows shoot up, but he's smart enough not to ask. "Got it. I'll run interference if he shows."
"Thank you," I say, genuinely grateful for his loyalty, however confused he might be.
The morning rush builds, giving me blessed distraction. I lose myself in the rhythm of orders, in the precise measurements of espresso and milk, in the familiar dance behind the counter. For brief moments, I almost forget that my life is unraveling.
Then I catch sight of my reflection in the chrome of the espresso machine, dark circles under my eyes, tension in every line of my face, and reality crashes back.
The bell chimes, and Rowan walks in, scanning the café until she spots me. Her expression is a mix of concern and determination that I recognize all too well. She's here to check on me. To make me talk about feelings I'd rather ignore.
