The kind that left too much room to think.
I stared at the paper bag sitting on the counter.
Blueberry muffin.
Of course he remembered.
Or asked somebody.
Or paid attention.
Which somehow felt worse.
My fingers brushed the edge of the bag before I caught myself and pulled back.
No.
Absolutely not.
A muffin should not feel dangerous.
And yet my chest tightened just looking at it.
I turned abruptly and headed toward the back cooler before I could do something stupid—like smile.
Cold air wrapped around me the second I stepped inside.
Sharp.
Clean.
Grounding.
I braced both hands against the stainless steel counter and lowered my head.
“Get it together,” I whispered.
The words came out shaky.
Not convincing at all.
Because the truth was—
Ace Mercer was starting to matter.
And that terrified me.
You wouldn’t look at me the same way after.
The memory of saying those words scraped against something deep inside my chest.
Because I knew exactly what happened when people finally saw the ugly parts.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
But it was already too late.
The memory came anyway.
