And no matter how hard he tried to fight it, something inside him had already cracked open, something he couldn’t shove back down.
He wasn’t sure he could stop it this time.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Chapter 9
Avery
Avery stared at the mixing bowl like it had personally betrayed her.
Flour coated the counter. And the floor. And her hair. And somehow the ceiling.
The batter in front of her looked… wrong. Like glue. If glue had lumps. And a questionable smell.
She groaned, dropping her forehead onto her arm. “I used to be good at this.”
It’d taken a few weeks, but Sweet Treats was warm for the first time since she’d returned, sunlight spilling through the windows, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. She’d cleaned enough to make the place feel almost alive again.
Almost.
She straightened, grabbed the bowl, and marched toward the oven.
“Okay, you stupid thing,” she muttered. “Let’s try this again.”
She opened the oven door.
A wave of heat blasted out — too hot, way too hot — and the moment the bowl tilted, the batter sloshed over the edge and splattered onto the open door, sizzling like it was trying to escape.
Avery yelped and jerked back.
The bowl slipped.
Time slowed.
“No, no, no…”
It hit the floor with a wet, catastrophic splat.
Batter exploded everywhere.
On her shoes. On the cabinets. On the wall. On her soul.
She stared at the mess in stunned silence.
Sweet Treats used to be the one place she never felt out of place. Now even the oven seemed to know she didn’t fit anymore.
Then—
A low voice behind her: “…What the hell happened in here?”
Avery spun around.
Noah stood in the doorway, expression somewhere between horrified and amused. His cut hung open, his T-shirtstretched across his chest, his hair slightly messy like he’d run his hands through it on the way over.
He looked good.
Too good.
