Chapter 30 Piper
Two weeks after the hospital, I stopped thinking about Liam.
This is a lie, of course. I thought about him every day. But I told myself I didn't, which is almost the same thing when you're trying to convince yourself you've moved on.
The bakery helped. As always, work always helped.
There's something meditative about kneading dough at the crack of dawn, something that drowns out everything else—the questions you don't want to answer, the feelings you don't want to feel, the memory of a man lying unconscious in a hospital bed while you stood there like an idiot trying to figure out why your hands were shaking.
Maya asked once if I'd heard from Liam. I told her no, which was true, and that I wasn't expecting to, which was also true, and that I was fine, which was the biggest lie of all but she let me have it anyway because that's what sisters do.
Daniel texted from Portland. He was settling in, had a new apartment, and the job was good. He didn't mention Liam and neither did I.
I was fine.
I was moving on.
I was absolutely, completely fine.
Then I saw him at the grocery store.
It was a Tuesday. I'd gone in after closing for milk and eggs and the kind of impulse purchases you make when you're tired: dark chocolate, fancy cheese, a bottle of wine I didn't need. I was in the cereal aisle, debating between two identical boxes of granola, when I looked up and there he was.
Three aisles over. In the pasta section. Reaching for a jar of sauce with his left hand because his right arm was in a sling.
My heart did something stupid.
I looked away immediately, focusing very hard on the granola nutrition labels like they contained the secrets of the universe. Maybe he hadn't seen me. Maybe I could just—
"Piper."
Damn it.
I turned. Tried to look surprised, like I hadn't already clocked his exact location and calculated three different escape routes.
"Hey."
He looked different. Thinner, or maybe just tired. The sling made him seem smaller somehow, less like the man who'd cheated on me and more like someone's kid brother who'd gotten hurt doing something stupid.
"Hey," he said back.
We stood there. Him holding pasta sauce, me clutching granola I didn't want. The fluorescent lights humming overhead like they were judging us.
"How's the shoulder?" I asked, because apparently that's what I was doing now. Making small talk with my ex-fiancé in the cereal aisle.
"Getting there. Physical therapy three times a week." He shifted the jar to his other hand. "Thanks for, huh, at the hospital. You didn't have to come."
"Daniel's a friend. You saved him."
Something flickered across his face. Confusion, maybe. Or surprise.
"How is he? Daniel?”
"Good. He moved to Portland. New job."
Liam went very still. I watched him process it—the past tense, the distance, the casual way I'd said "friend" instead of "boyfriend."
"He moved," Liam repeated slowly.
"Yeah. About two weeks ago."
"And you're—" He didn't finish the question, and that’s when it hit me.
He hadn't known.
Of course he hadn’t known.
The realization hit me like cold water. When he'd gone into that burning building, when he'd risked his life pulling Daniel out, when he'd taken a beam to the shoulder to protect him… he'd thought Daniel and I were together.
He'd thought he was saving my boyfriend.
My chest felt tight.
"Well," I said, because I needed to leave before I started crying in the cereal aisle like an actual insane person. "I should—"
"Yeah. Me too."
We both stood there for another three seconds, neither of us moving.
Then I turned and walked away with my stupid granola and my racing heart and the absolute certainty that I was not fine, had never been fine, and would not be fine for the foreseeable future.
The second time, I was ready.
It was Thursday morning. 5:45 AM at the pool, like always. I'd just finished my twentieth lap when I saw him in the lane next to mine.
He must have switched his physical therapy schedule. Or maybe this was part of his recovery. Whatever. It didn't really matter. We were both adults and could swim in the same pool without it being weird.
Except…
It was absolutely weird.
I kept swimming. So did he. We were both very focused on our respective lanes, very careful not to acknowledge each other's existence.
We reached the wall at the same time.
I grabbed the edge and so did he. We were three feet apart, both breathing hard, both pretending the other person wasn't there.
"Morning," he said finally.
"Morning."
"Sorry I came in at this time," he said. "Physical therapist insisted on me keeping to a schedule, and I couldn’t make it at another time. Might happen every now and again, unless you—"
"It’s not a problem."
That was it. That was the entire conversation. We pushed off and kept swimming.
But I'd noticed his stroke was different. Compensating for the shoulder. And I'd noticed he was thinner, definitely thinner. And I'd noticed that he'd said "morning" in that same rough voice he'd had that night at the pool two months ago.
I noticed everything and I hated that I noticed.
The third time, I almost laughed.
Saturday afternoon at a coffee shop. I was picking up a latte before heading back to the bakery for afternoon prep. He was at a table by the window, laptop open, very obviously trying to do paperwork one-handed.
Our eyes met. His widened slightly, mine probably did too.
Then he smiled. Not the big grin I remembered from years ago. Something smaller, more careful. The smile of someone who'd learned not to expect anything.
I smiled back before I could stop myself.
He stood up, slightly awkward with the sling, and came over.
"We have to stop meeting like this," he said.
And that's when I almost laughed. Because he was right. Riverside was a small town but it wasn't this small. The universe was clearly having a laugh at our expense.
"Guess we shop at the same places," I said.
"Guess so."
The barista called my name and I grabbed my latte. Liam was still standing there.
"How's the bakery?" he asked.
"Busy. Good busy."
"That's good. That’s… I’m glad."
Another pause, but different this time. Less excruciating, almost normal.
"I should get back," I said.
"Yeah. Of course."
I was halfway to the door when he spoke again.
"Piper?"
I turned.
He looked like he was about to say something important. Then changed his mind. "Nothing. Never mind. Have a good day."
I left.
Spent the entire afternoon wondering what he'd almost said.
And thinking about Daniel. About Portland. About the fact that Liam hadn't known.
The fourth time, he was the one who said it.
It was the following Tuesday, at the pool again.
It was like this everytime our swimming schedules overlapped.
We'd developed this unspoken routine of swimming in adjacent lanes, pretending we weren't hyperaware of each other's presence, reaching the wall at slightly staggered times to avoid having to make conversation.
Except this time, we hit the wall together.
I came up for air and there he was, three feet away, water streaming down his face.
We looked at each other.
"This is ridiculous," he said.
"What is?"
"This. Us. Pretending we're not... I don't know what we're pretending." He pushed his wet hair back with his good hand. "Can we talk? Actually talk?"
My heart was doing that stupid thing again.
"About what?"
"About…” He gestured vaguely between us. "Everything. Nothing. I don't know. I just… I’d like to talk to you. If you're willing."
I should have said no. Should have told him there was nothing to talk about, that what happened at the hospital didn't change anything, that him saving Daniel—even if he thought Daniel was my boyfriend—didn't undo the past.
But I was so tired of pretending.
"Okay," I heard myself say.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. We can talk."
He looked surprised, like he hadn't actually expected me to agree. "When?"
"I don't know. Tomorrow? I close at three."
"Coffee? There's that place on Oak—"
"Not Oak." The Italian restaurant was on Oak, where I'd broken up with Daniel right before everything happened. "Brewster's. Next to my bakery. Four o'clock?"
"Four o'clock," he repeated. "Okay. Yeah. I'll be there."
We treaded water for another moment, neither of us moving.
Then I pushed off the wall and kept swimming.
I had no idea what I was doing.
But I was doing it anyway.