Donut Doubt (Hearts Bend #5)

Chapter 1

CALLIE

The dough is too warm.

I press my palm against the steel work surface and feel the heat bleeding through from the proofer. It’s four thirty in the morning and the kitchen is already fighting me. I pull the first batch of raised rounds and check the texture; they spring back when I touch them. Good enough.

The fryer hisses as I drop six donuts into the oil. The radio plays something twangy and sad, I don't change it. This early, the world belongs to me and whatever the overnight DJ decides we need to hear.

I'm piping cream into the third dozen éclairs when I hear the back door.

"You're early," I say without turning around.

"National Donut Day." Luke's voice is rough with sleep. "Figured you'd need help."

"I've got it covered."

"Sure you do."

He moves past me to the coffee maker, and I catch the smell of his shampoo. It’s the same brand he's used since high school. Some things about my brother never change.

I finish the éclairs and slide them into the display case. Luke appears at my elbow with a mug of coffee, I take it without comment.

"How many dozens are we talking?" he asks.

"Forty. Plus the special order for the hospital."

He whistles low. "You really are insane."

"It's just one day a year. I can handle one day."

"Didn't say you couldn't." He leans against the counter, watching me work. "Just saying you don't have to do it alone."

I glance at him. His jaw is tight, and there's that look in his eyes. The one that says he's already decided I need protecting whether I want it or not.

"I'm not alone," I tell him. "You're here."

"That's not what I meant."

I know exactly what he meant. Luke has opinions about how much I work, how little I sleep, how I turned down Marco's dinner invitation last month. He thinks I'm hiding behind this shop. Maybe I am, but it's my shop, and my choice, and he can keep his opinions to himself.

The timer goes off. I pull the donuts from the fryer and set them on the cooling rack. They’re golden, perfect, and exactly right. Luke doesn't say anything, but I feel him watching.

"You want to make yourself useful?" I ask. "Start the glaze."

He pushes off the counter without argument and moves to the stove. We fall into rhythm. I fry, he glazes, and the display case fills up row by row. The radio plays. The sky outside begins to lighten.

At five forty-five, I hear the front door.

I freeze with a donut in my hand, half-dipped in chocolate. No one should be here yet. We don't open until six.

Luke is already moving toward the front. "I got it."

I follow anyway, wiping my hands on my apron. Through the service window, I see a familiar shape at the door.

Ethan.

My stomach does something complicated and unwelcome, but I ignore it.

Luke unlocks the door and pulls it open. "You're early."

"Couldn't sleep." Ethan's voice is low and quiet, the way it always is. He doesn't look at me. "Figured I'd grab coffee before the rush."

"We're not open," Luke says, but he's already stepping aside to let him in.

Ethan crosses the threshold, and suddenly the front room feels smaller. He's wearing a dark henley and jeans, and his hair is still damp from the shower. I notice this in the same detached way I notice the weather. Information. Nothing more.

"Callie." He nods at me once.

"Ethan."

Luke glances between us, and I watch his shoulders tense. He does this every time. Every single time Ethan shows up, Luke goes on alert like he's expecting something to happen.

Nothing ever happens.

"I'll get you coffee," I say, and retreat to the kitchen.

My hands are steady as I pour. French roast, black, no sugar. I've made Ethan's coffee enough times to have it memorized. This fact irritates me more than it should.

When I return, Luke and Ethan are talking in low voices near the door. They stop when I approach.

"Here." I hand Ethan the cup, careful not to let our fingers touch.

"Thanks." He takes a sip, and I see the slight relaxation in his jaw. He likes my coffee. I know this because Luke told me once, years ago, back when it didn't matter.

"What are you doing up this early anyway?" Luke asks him.

"Work call with the London office." Ethan shrugs. "Easier to take it from home."

Luke nods like this makes perfect sense.

Maybe it does. I don't know the details of Ethan's tech job, just that he works remotely and makes enough money to live alone on five acres outside town.

Luke talks about the cabin that Ethan built sometimes.

He talks about the garden he started, and the quiet life he's carved out since leaving the military.

I don't ask Luke for details. It's better not to know.

"You sticking around for a donut?" Luke asks.

"No." Ethan's eyes flick to me for half a second, then away. "I should get back."

"Suit yourself."

Ethan heads for the door, coffee in hand. I should feel relieved. Instead, I feel the opposite of relieved, which is a problem I don't have time to examine.

"Wait." The word is out before I can stop it.

Both men turn to look at me.

I grab a bag from under the counter and fill it with two glazed donuts. "National Donut Day," I explain, holding it out. "On the house."

Ethan stares at the bag like it might bite him. Then he crosses the room and takes it from my hand. His fingers brush mine. It lasts less than a second, but I feel it in my wrist, my elbow, my chest.

"Thanks," he says quietly.

"No problem."

He leaves without another word. The door swings shut behind him, and I'm left standing there with Luke's eyes boring into the side of my head.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"You're doing the thing."

"What thing?"

"The hovering thing. The big brother thing."

Luke crosses his arms. "I'm not hovering."

"You're always hovering."

"Maybe I've got reasons."

I turn to face him fully. "Say what you want to say, Luke."

He's quiet for a long moment. Outside, a truck engine starts. Ethan’s leaving. I don't watch him go.

"Just be careful," Luke says finally.

"Of what?"

"You know what."

I do know. I've always known. Luke doesn't say Ethan's name, but he doesn't have to. The warning is clear. My brother's best friend is off limits, he has been since the day Ethan moved to town six years ago. Luke made his position clear then, and he's never wavered.

"I'm making donuts," I tell him. "That's all I'm doing."

"Good."

"Is it?" The words come out sharper than I intend. "Because from where I'm standing, it seems like you don't trust me to make my own decisions."

Luke's expression shifts. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?"

We stare at each other across the counter. The radio plays on, oblivious. Finally, Luke sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

"I'm going to check the chairs," he mutters, and disappears into the dining area.

I return to the kitchen and throw myself back into work. The rhythm helps. Fry, glaze, fill, arrange. I lose myself in the repetition until the front door chimes and the first real customer of the day walks in.

By seven, the line is out the door. National Donut Day brings everyone out. I work the register while Luke boxes orders and keeps the display stocked. We're a good team when we're not arguing. He knows what I need before I ask for it, and I know when to stay out of his way.

The morning passes in a blur of transactions and thank-yous and "happy National Donut Day." My feet ache. My back aches. I don't care. This is what I wanted. My own place. My own business. My own terms.

At nine thirty, there's a lull. Luke takes his break, and I start wiping down the counter. That's when I notice the coffee cup on the far table.

Ethan's cup.

He left it behind. I stare at it for longer than necessary, then walk over and pick it up. It's empty except for a few drops at the bottom. I should throw it away. Instead, I stand there holding it like an idiot until the door chimes and another customer walks in.

I toss the cup in the trash and get back to work.

The day continues. More customers. More donuts. Luke watches me like I'm going to do something reckless. Maybe he's right to worry. Maybe I'm already doing something reckless just by thinking about Ethan more than I should.

At three o'clock, I'm restocking the napkin dispenser when the door opens and Ethan walks back in.

My pulse kicks up before I can stop it.

He heads straight for the counter, and I meet him there. Luke is in the back. We're alone.

"Forget something?" I ask.

Ethan sets the donut bag on the counter. It's empty. "They were good."

"They're always good."

"Yeah." He doesn't smile, but something in his expression softens. "I wanted to pay for them."

"I said they were on the house."

"I know what you said."

He pulls out his wallet and sets a twenty on the counter. I look at the bill, then at him. His jaw is set. Stubborn. I recognize the look because I wear it myself sometimes.

"Keep the change," he says.

"Ethan."

"Callie."

We're standing too close. I should step back. I don't.

"You didn't have to come back," I tell him.

"I know."

The air between us feels charged, like something is about to happen. It’s like we're standing on the edge of something neither of us should want.

The kitchen door swings open. Luke emerges carrying a tray of fresh donuts, and the moment breaks like glass.

Ethan steps back immediately. His face goes neutral, and unreadable. I pick up the twenty and ring it through the register, my hands moving on autopilot.

"Ethan." Luke's voice is carefully friendly. "Back already?"

"Just settling up."

"Right."

I hand Ethan his change. He pockets it without counting and heads for the door. This time, he doesn't look back.

When he's gone, Luke sets down the tray and fixes me with a look I can't quite decipher.

"What was that about?" he asks.

"He wanted to pay for the donuts."

"Uh-huh."

"That's all it was."

Luke doesn't say anything, he doesn't have to. The skepticism is written all over his face.

I busy myself with straightening the display case that doesn't need straightening. My heart is still beating too fast. My skin still feels too warm. These are facts I can't afford to acknowledge, so I don't.

"I'm going to start the evening prep," I announce, and escape to the kitchen before Luke can say anything else.

I spend the next hour making dough for tomorrow. The work is meditative. Flour, water, yeast, salt. Simple ingredients, simple process. Nothing complicated about it.

Unlike everything else in my life right now.

By the time I lock up at six, I'm exhausted. Luke offers to drive me home, but I wave him off. I need the walk. Need the air. Need to clear my head of thoughts I shouldn't be having about a man I can't have.

The evening is warm, the sky turning orange and pink. I walk the three blocks to my apartment with my hands in my pockets and my mind determinedly blank.

I'm almost home when my phone buzzes.

Unknown number. I almost don't answer, but something makes me swipe to accept.

"Hello?"

"It's Ethan." His voice is quiet, careful. "I got your number from Luke's phone. Hope that's okay."

My heart does that thing again. That stupid, inconvenient thing.

"It's okay," I hear myself say.

"I wanted to..." He trails off. I wait. The silence stretches.

"Wanted to what?" I finally ask.

"Thank you. For the donuts. For the coffee. For..." Another pause. "Everything."

I don't know what to say to that. Don't know what "everything" means. Don't know if I want to know.

"You're welcome," I manage.

"Callie."

"Yeah?"

He doesn't say anything for a long moment. I can hear him breathing on the other end of the line. I can picture him standing in his cabin, phone pressed to his ear, trying to find words for something that shouldn't be said.

"Nothing," he finally says. "Goodnight."

He hangs up before I can respond.

I stand on the sidewalk outside my apartment building, phone still pressed to my ear, staring at nothing.

This is a problem.

This is a big problem.

And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it.