"Forget something?" I ask.
Ethan sets the donut bag on the counter. It's empty. "They were good."
"They're always good."
"Yeah." He doesn't smile, but something in his expression softens. "I wanted to pay for them."
"I said they were on the house."
"I know what you said."
He pulls out his wallet and sets a twenty on the counter. I look at the bill, then at him. His jaw is set. Stubborn. I recognize the look because I wear it myself sometimes.
"Keep the change," he says.
"Ethan."
"Callie."
We're standing too close. I should step back. I don't.
"You didn't have to come back," I tell him.
"I know."
The air between us feels charged, like something is about to happen. It’s like we're standing on the edge of something neither of us should want.
The kitchen door swings open. Luke emerges carrying a tray of fresh donuts, and the moment breaks like glass.
Ethan steps back immediately. His face goes neutral, and unreadable. I pick up the twenty and ring it through the register, my hands moving on autopilot.
"Ethan." Luke's voice is carefully friendly. "Back already?"
"Just settling up."
"Right."
I hand Ethan his change. He pockets it without counting and heads for the door. This time, he doesn't look back.
When he's gone, Luke sets down the tray and fixes me with a look I can't quite decipher.
"What was that about?" he asks.
"He wanted to pay for the donuts."
"Uh-huh."
"That's all it was."
Luke doesn't say anything, he doesn't have to. The skepticism is written all over his face.
I busy myself with straightening the display case that doesn't need straightening. My heart is still beating too fast. My skin stillfeels too warm. These are facts I can't afford to acknowledge, so I don't.
"I'm going to start the evening prep," I announce, and escape to the kitchen before Luke can say anything else.
I spend the next hour making dough for tomorrow. The work is meditative. Flour, water, yeast, salt. Simple ingredients, simple process. Nothing complicated about it.
Unlike everything else in my life right now.
