The bakery was silent now. Cold. Empty.
The table where they’d sat was shoved against the wall, one leg splintered. The sunlight didn’t spill in anymore, it filtered through dusty windows in thin, tired beams. The air didn’t glitter. It hung heavy.
She pressed her palm to the table’s edge, grounding herself.
So much had changed. So much had been lost. And she wasn’t sure she knew how to bring any of it back.
The front door creaked open.
Avery jumped, spinning around.
Noah stepped inside, scanning the room like he was checking for threats. His gaze lingered on the broken window latch, the warped doorframe, the dark corners. He didn’t say a word.
He went straight to the front door. Tested the lock. Tested it again.
The deadbolt wobbled in the frame, metal scraping against splintered wood. Noah’s frown deepened. He tugged the door, harder this time, and the entire frame shuddered.
Avery winced. “It sticks a little.”
“No,” he said flatly. “It’s busted.”
He pulled a screwdriver from his back pocket anyway, bracing the door with his shoulder as he tried tightening the screws. The wood groaned, the metal shifted, and the lock sagged even worse.
A screw spun uselessly in place.
Noah’s jaw flexed. “This isn’t fixable.”
“You don’t have to…”
He didn’t look at her. “Door’s not secure.”
“I know, but…”
He tried another screw. It stripped instantly, the head grinding into soft wood. His expression darkened.
Noah’s jaw flexed as the stripped screw clattered to the floor. “Someone could get in.”
“I said I’ll replace it later.”
“No,” he said, voice low. “We’ll replace it now.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
That stopped him. Not physically, but something in his expression tightened, like she’d hit a bruise he’d been pretending didn’t exist.
He set the screwdriver down with slow, deliberate care. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
His breath left him in a hard exhale. “You never did.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and charged. Dust motes drifted in the slanted morning light, the same way they used to when Aunt Clara opened the shop at dawn. Avery caught the faintest trace of cinnamon and warm sugar, and for a heartbeat she was sixteen again, sitting on the counter while Noah stole a cooling bun and grinned like he’d gotten away with something.
“You’ve changed,” she whispered.
“So have you.” His tone wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t gentle either.
He stepped back first, breaking the tension like cutting a wire. “I’ll be back with a new lock.”
