Chapter 21 Piper
Forty-three laps.
Forty-three was my record. I'd started coming here five months ago, back when I couldn't sleep and the bakery prep work wasn't enough to quiet my mind. Maya had suggested yoga. I'd chosen this instead—back and forth, counting strokes, the water drowning out everything else.
I flipped and pushed off the wall for lap forty-four.
The rhythm was meditative. Breathe, stroke, stroke, breathe. My shoulders burned but I kept going. This was the only time all day when my brain actually shut up. No recipe testing, no inventory lists, no wondering if I'd ordered enough flour or if Megan remembered to pick up the vanilla extract.
No thinking about Daniel's text from last night.
Dinner Friday? Been too long since we did something just us.
He was right. It had been too long. Three weeks? Four? I'd been busy with the bakery—holiday orders were ramping up, I'd hired two more part-timers to keep up with demand—and he'd been pulling double shifts. We kept missing each other, kept rescheduling.
But it was fine, right? People got busy.
I touched the wall. Forty-five.
My arms were shaking now. I should stop. Get out, shower, get to the bakery by 6:30 to start the morning bake.
One more lap.
I pushed off the wall and my mind drifted back to Daniel's text. I'd responded:
Sounds good. Pick the place?
He'd sent back a heart emoji.
Simple and easy. That's what I liked about us—no drama, no complications. We both had demanding jobs, we understood when the other had to cancel or reschedule. It was an adult, mature relationship.
Not like the chaos of wedding planning and constant negotiations about whose family we were seeing for holidays and whether we could afford the house with the good school district even though we didn't have kids yet.
This was better. Calmer.
My hand hit the wall. Forty-six.
I stopped, catching my breath.
Friday dinner would be nice. We'd go somewhere low-key, split an appetizer, catch up properly. Maybe he'd stay over after, and we'd have a lazy Saturday morning before I had to open the bakery at eight.
It was good. We were good.
I pulled myself out of the pool and grabbed my towel, already mentally running through today's bake schedule.
The bakery smelled like butter and cinnamon when I unlocked the back door at 6:47.
Megan was already there, prepping the coffee station. I'd given her a key three months ago after she'd proven she could open without burning the place down. Small victories.
"Morning," she called. "I started the dark roast."
"You're a saint."
I tied on my apron and got to work. Croissant dough from yesterday needed its final fold. Lemon bars for the afternoon rush. Three custom birthday cakes due by two o'clock. The rhythm was familiar, and my hands moved without thought.
By nine, we had a line to the door. Regulars mixed with tourists, everyone wanting something warm and sweet.
Mrs. Kowalski ordered her usual blueberry scone and settled into her corner table with her crossword puzzle.
The guy from the bookstore one block over grabbed two coffees and a cinnamon roll.
A woman I didn't recognize spent five minutes debating between cupcakes before choosing all three flavors.
This was what I'd built. What I'd wanted.
Maya showed up around ten-thirty with her laptop bag, makeup slightly smudged like she'd been rubbing her eyes.
"Coffee. Large. Now." She collapsed into the corner table.
I poured her a cup and slid it across. "Rough morning?"
"Client meeting from hell. I need carbs and sympathy."
I grabbed a lemon bar and sat down across from her. Megan could handle the counter for five minutes.
"So, heard the gossip?" Maya said, picking at the lemon bar. "Apparently Morrison's retiring."
I looked up. "Who?"
"Captain Morrison. Station 47." She took a bite. "Mom mentioned it. She ran into his wife at the grocery store or something."
Station 47. God, I hadn't thought about that place in months.
"Good for him," I said.
"Yeah. They're bringing in someone new. Some kind of promotion thing." Maya was focused on her lemon bar, not looking at me. "Apparently it's a big deal."
"Mm." I took a sip of my coffee.
"You okay?" Maya asked.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
She studied my face for a second, then shrugged. "No reason."
My phone buzzed on the table. Daniel.
Friday still good? Thinking that Italian place on Oak.
Perfect. 7?
When I looked up, Maya was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing." She finished her lemon bar and stood up. "I should get back to work. Thanks for the sugar rush."
She left before I could respond.
I sat there for another minute, watching Main Street through the window. People walking past with shopping bags and coffee cups. Tuesday morning, and everything was exactly as it should be.
I went back to work.