My stomach twists, that sour pit of doubt hollowing me out in quiet little bites. I hate how easily my mind goes there. How quickly I can go from trusting to spiraling. I don’t want to bethatgirl—the needy one, the overthinker, the one who’s too much. But I’m unraveling by the minute.
I pick up my phone again. No notifications. My fingers hover over his name, then retreat. What am I even supposed to say?Hey, just checking if you’ve ghosted me? Hope you’re well either way!
I shove my phone into the back pocket of my jeans with a frustrated huff. I’m being dramatic. Or…maybe I’m just scared. Because the truth is, I wanted this. Him. I let myself hope.
My skin prickles with awareness as I feel Callan’s gaze on me. His brow furrows and his lips twist downward as if he’s noticed something in me he doesn’t like. I try to smile, stretch my mouth into something close enough to pass for a grin, hoping he buys it.
He doesn’t.
My family’s everything to me, but I can’t handle any more teasing about my love life today.
I turn my focus back to pressing the dough into the tart pan, my fingers working mechanically, smoothing it down in practiced movements. Normally, this is the part I look forward to—getting lost in the rhythm of baking and the way it calms me, with the kitchen filled with the comforting sounds of laughter and chatter in the next room. But tonight, the dough is heavy, like a weight in my hands instead of something to shape. Every press is a chore, and my mind spins in endless loops of thoughts I can’t seem to outrun.
I don’t even notice Bree until she’s right there, standing at my side. She leans against the counter, her blue eyes locked on me with that familiar intensity, piecing together the words I’m not saying.
“You know, Lou, if you keep frowning like that, your face might stay that way,” she teases.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I say with a dismissive wave. “It’s just…you know the cat I got? Marmalade? Total nightmare. Keeps knocking everything over in my flat at night. I haven’t slept properly in days.”
The lie tumbles out so easily I almost believe it myself, but instead of the expected chuckle, Bree steps closer, and her voice softens. “Hey, whatever’s going on, I’m here. So is Jules. You know that, right?”
I don’t have a lot of close friends. Bree and Juliette are really the only ones I trust to share what’s on my mind, to vent when it gets too heavy, or ask for advice when I’m unsure. When I took over the café years ago, I threw myself into it and became the rock everyone else could lean on, the reliable hand in a world that felt like it was always spinning. Somewhere along the way, I let my own support system slip through my fingers. It felt easier to just take care of everyone else, to be the one with the answers, the one who always had it together. Slowly, it became second nature to handle things on my own.
I take a breath and try to steady myself, not wanting to let the weight of it all spill out too quickly. “I’m just…waiting,” I murmur, low enough that no one else can overhear. “I’ve been seeing Aidan for the past few weeks. He’s away at work, and he said he’d call, but it’s been a week. Not a word.”
The pressure in my chest builds again. I exhale, letting some of it go. “I feel like I’m stuck in limbo.” My voice cracks at the end, and I’m grateful it’s quiet enough that no one else can hear it.
Bree studies me with that knowing look people only earn the hard way. “You’re in deep, huh?”
“Mmhmm.” I focus back on the dough in my hands, my fingers pressing into it with more force thannecessary.
She tilts her head. It’s her signature move right before she’s about to share some nugget of wisdom.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she says, her voice dropping to a quieter, almost conspiratorial tone. “Men? They’re clueless sometimes. I mean, sure, they think they know what they’re doing, but half the time, they’re just not paying attention.”
I glance up at her, raising a brow, but she meets my gaze with that unshakable look of hers.
“Sometimes they need time to figure things out,” she continues. “And sometimes they’re just not thinking at all. You know, with everything going on in his world—his job, the stress, his daughter—he might not even realize that you’re sitting here, waiting for a call. Or that you’re hurt because he hasn’t followed through like he said he would.”
Her shoulders lift in a casual shrug, the motion somehow making it seem like maybe it’s not as complicated as I’m making it out to be.
I chew on her words, letting them settle slowly. I stare down at the tart I’m still trying to finish, my fingers still.
Bree doesn’t let the silence stretch too long. “Don’t be afraid to tell him what you want. Lay it out. Sometimes, it’s gotta be black and white, no gray area. Otherwise, you’re just setting yourself up for more of this…confusion.”
I nod. I’ve been so caught up in my own thoughts and fears that I haven’t considered the possibility that Aidan might be just as lost as I am.
“You’re right,” I say, looking over at her with a grateful smile. “I guess I’ve been expecting him to just…know.”
She grins, nudging my shoulder. “That’s your first mistake, Lou. Men aren’t exactly known for their psychic abilities.”
I can’t help but laugh, a weight lifting off my shoulders, the knot in my stomach loosening just a bit. “I guess I’ve beenafraid of pushing too hard, you know? I don’t want to scare him off.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s affection in the gesture. “If he’s worth your time, he’ll listen. And if he doesn’t step up, well, there are plenty of other grumpy men on oil rigs.”
I laugh again, shaking my head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I actually like this one. Thank you, though,” I continue. “For talking through that with me.”
Bree snorts, crossing her arms and leaning back against the counter. “Girl, I’m going to be pissed if you keep holding stuff back like this. Juliette’s already going to be mad that we had no idea you were dating the guy.”
