“I’m always in one of my moods,” I grumbled.
Sean stepped forward, holding out the tablet with the delivery list.
“Sorry,” he said softly, apologetic eyes big and kind. “I know you don’t like deliveries, but the first few aren’t too far. Mostly regulars.”
I took the tablet without responding. It wasn’t Sean’s fault. I didn’t want to bite his head off.
Beau came closer and lowered his voice. “You okay?”
“No,” I said. “But I will be.”
He studied me for a second like he knew that meant “don’t ask”. Then he nodded. “Thanks for covering.”
“Next time, I get to draw straws,” I pointed out.
“We did,” Cassian said, licking frosting off his finger. “Yours was the short one.”
I gave him the finger on my way to the truck.
The delivery van smelled like old flour and cinnamon, which would have been comforting on a better day.
On this one, it just reminded me I hadn’t eaten and probably wouldn’t until noon. I tossed the tablet on the passenger seat and slammed the door shut behind me.
The rain had stopped, but my hoodie was already damp, and my jeans stuck to the back of my legs.
I started the engine and let it idle for a second. Another buzz. My phone lit up on the dashboard.
1 new voicemail from Kellan.
I exhaled through my nose and resisted the urge to chuck the phone out the window. Why now? Why again? He’d made his bed.
Burned it, really, and I was done crawling back into the ashes. But it still got to me. Not because I missed him. I didn’t.
I missed who I thought he was. Who he pretended to be.
And every time he came clawing back, I remembered how easy it had been to fall for that act. How hard it had been to crawl away from it.
I pulled out of the parking lot harder than necessary. Tires screeched a little. Screw it.
* * *
The first delivery was to the bookstore. The old lady who ran it always slipped me hard candies and called me dear, which normally earned her a rare Rafael smile.
Today, I grunted, dropped off the bag of lemon scones, and nodded stiffly when she told me I looked like I needed more sleep.
The second stop wasn’t much better. The twins who ran the plant shop kept trying to set me up with their cousin, who was “so your type.”
I smiled exactly once and at the cactus in the window, and got out of there fast.
By the third stop, I was fuming. Some guy in a suit tried to flirt with me when I handed over his coffee order.
When I didn’t smile back, he said I was lucky Bear and Bun had good pastries or he’d stop ordering.
“Great,” I muttered on the way back to the truck. “Maybe do.”
The worst part? The quiet between stops. It gave me too much room to think. Too much time to replay that last voicemail in my head even though I hadn’t listened to it.
I knew Kellan’s voice. Knew how he’d sound. Like honey and gasoline. Sweet enough to tempt. Sharp enough to burn.
