“Tess,” he says, his voice thick. “This is… incredible. It’s… It’s perfect.”
My chest swells, warm and terrifying.
And then…
“Let me fund it.”
The words hit me like ice water.
“Right now,” he continues, earnest and intense and already halfway into problem-solving mode. “I’ll write a check. How much is the first-year budget? Half a million? A million? It’s done.”
The warmth drains out of me instantly.
“No,” I say.
He blinks. “What?”
“No,” I repeat, turning the laptop back toward myself like I need to protect it from him.
“Tess, yes. This is what I do. I can make this happen. For you. Tomorrow.”
“That’s not the point,” I snap, the defensive edge sliding back into place like armor. “I don’t want a handout.”
“It’s not a handout!” His frustration spikes. “It’s an investment. In people!”
“It’s a pet project,” I fire back, the words sharp and ugly and born of fear. “A rich guy’s donation. And when you get bored? When you find a new passion? What happens then?”
I don’t stop. I can’t.
“The funding dries up. And I am left begging. No. This has to be real. The bakery has to earn it. It has to be sustainable. On its own.” I meet his eyes. “Without you.”
The words hang between us, heavy and cruel.
He recoils like I slapped him. “Tess, that’s not what I meant. I just see this mountain you’re trying to climb, and I have a helicopter. Why would you walk? It would take you years.”
“Because how you climb is the entire point,” I shout, my voice cracking. “I thought after last night, after everything, I thought you understood that. It’s not about the destination. It’s about the work. The soul.”
I snap the laptop shut. The click echoes through the empty bakery like a gunshot.
“I have to go,” I say, already grabbing my bag. Retreating. “Lock up when you’re done.”
“Tess, wait…”
I don’t.
I push through the door, the bell jangling behind me, bright and mocking.
And the worst part, the part that hurts more than the fight, is knowing that for a moment, for just a moment, he really did understand.
And I was the one who shut it down.
I burst onto the sidewalk like I am fleeing a crime scene.
The bell slams behind me. Late afternoon air hits my overheated skin. I suck in a breath that tastes like exhaust and sugar and regret. My hands are shaking. I jam them into the pockets of my hoodie and start walking fast, head down, just get space, get quiet, get…
“Are you Tess?”
I stop.
