Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
JACKO
The bell above the bakery door jingles as I step inside, the warm, yeasty scent wrapping around me like a well-worn jumper.
It’s a comforting contrast to the cold rink air and the clinical smell of the physio room where Mia just finished working on my shoulder.
The heat pack’s gone, but there’s still a dull ache from this morning’s light skate with the team; still no contact, as Ollie keeps reminding me.
The bakery’s quiet this afternoon, the lunchtime rush long gone.
Maya’s behind the counter, expertly icing a batch of cupcakes, her brows furrowed like she’s solving a particularly stubborn crossword puzzle.
Lila’s sitting at a small table, her tiny fingers playing with a pile of colourful sprinkles, concentrating hard as if she’s conducting some kind of serious scientific experiment.
I glance down at my shoulder. It’s still a little stiff, but better than yesterday. Mia said I was healing well, which felt like a small victory. The guys had kept their distance on the ice this morning, and that mix of frustration and relief is something I’m still figuring out how to handle.
Maya catches my eye and gives a small, tight smile. There’s something in the way she moves that’s guarded, careful, and that makes me want to reach out but also makes me hesitate. I’m learning to tread lightly around her.
“Afternoon, Mr Bear,” Lila chirps, glancing up at me. She’s already slipped into that sweet little nickname like it’s hers to give.
“Hey, Lila,” I say, crouching down to her level. “What’s the experiment today?”
She grins. “Sprinkles. I’m making a rainbow.” She dumps a handful onto her plate, watching the colours scatter.
I’m struck again by how small she is and how fiercely protective I feel. She’s like a little flame, bright and fragile, and I’m desperate to keep her safe.
Maya clears her throat behind the counter. “Owen, can you help with the orders? We’re expecting a delivery soon.”
“Of course.” I head over, trying not to stare too long at her.
The rhythm of the bakery is steady and soothing. The clatter of trays, the whirr of the mixer, the soft thud of dough being kneaded. It’s a different kind of teamwork from the rink, but it feels just as important.
Between batches, Maya tells me about a new recipe she’s been testing, a kind of lemon drizzle cake with a hint of lavender. “It’s experimental,” she says, a flicker of excitement breaking through her usual reserve.
“Sounds amazing,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual but honest. “You’ve got a real knack for this.”
She shrugs, but the corner of her mouth twitches like she wants to smile.
There’s a moment, just a flicker, when I think maybe I’m starting to get through. But then the door opens, and a couple walks in, chatting loudly and laughing without a care in the world.
Maya tenses. Her eyes flick to the door, then to me, and I see the tension snap back into place. She’s scanning, always scanning, like she’s expecting something or someone to come crashing through.
I want to ask, but I don’t know how.
Lila toddles over to me, her hand slipping into mine. “Mr Bear, can you help me with the rainbow?”
I nod, squeezing her fingers gently. “I’m your bear, and bears are good helpers.”
Her smile makes the ache in my chest a little sharper and a little softer all at once.
The afternoon rolls on in a comforting blur. I peel open boxes of flour and sugar, wipe down counters, and slide trays of warm bread into the display case. Maya moves with precision and quiet grace, but there’s a tension beneath it, like she’s carrying something heavy inside.
During a lull, I catch her eye and nod toward Lila, who’s now sprawled on the floor playing with her toy car. “You’ve got a hell of a team here.”
Maya smiles softly, almost shyly. “They keep me sane.”
“Looks like you’ve got a couple of little managers too.”
She laughs, a real one this time, but it fades quickly. “Yeah, they keep me on my toes.”
I want to say something comforting, something that lets her know she’s not alone, but the words don’t come. Instead, I just nod, hoping it’s enough.
Later, as I’m wiping down the counters, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a message from Ollie, probably checking in on my shoulder or wanting to know if I’m up for a beer tonight. I ignore it for a moment, watching Maya watch the street through the front window.
There’s a flicker of movement in her eyes, something I can’t quite place. Fear? Caution? A memory she’s trying to keep locked away?
I clear my throat. “You okay?”
She startles, like she wasn’t expecting me to notice. “Yeah,” she says quickly, but I don’t believe her.
The door jingles again, and a delivery guy steps inside with a big box of fresh produce. Maya thanks him and starts sorting through the crates.
I watch her hands, they’re steady, efficient, but with a slight tremor, and I realise how much she’s carrying beneath the surface.
I want to reach out, to say, You don’t have to do this alone.
But instead, I busy myself stacking bread and wiping flour dust off the counter, pretending not to notice the worry shadowing her face.
The afternoon fades into early evening. Lila’s already had her dinner and is curled up on Maya’s lap, eyes heavy with sleep. Maya’s head rests against the back of the chair, and for a moment, she looks almost peaceful.
I’m about to make my exit when Maya suddenly stiffens, her eyes snapping open.
“I should lock up and get this little lady home,” she mutters.
I glance at the clock. The place is almost empty now, quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge and the distant sounds of the street outside.
Maya’s fingers twitch in her lap, and I see her breath quicken.
“You want me to stay and help?” I ask.
She hesitates, then nods.
I grab the keys from behind the counter where Maya keeps them, and lock the front door. Then I pull the window shutters down and begin turning of the lights.
“Lila was right about the raisins, you know,” I say softly. “Good for the heart.”
Maya snorts, the sound barely audible but real. “You’re ridiculous.”
I smile, glad for the small victory.
“Shall I grab your coat and bags from the kitchen? Lila looks too comfy on your lap to move her.”
Maya nods grateful, “Please, that would be great.”
I watch her gather Lila into her arms, and the fierce protectiveness I saw earlier softens into something tender.
I follow them both toward the door, where I flip the sign to closed and open it for Maya to step through. Lila still bundled tightly in her arms.
“I’d offer to take you both home but I don’t have a car seat for Lila,” I’m almost apologetic, but then why would a single man in his late twenties have a car seat stashed away.
Maya offers me a small smile. “Oh no, it’s fine. I have a taxi booked for when I’m here late. It’s the same person that picks me up every time. She’ll be here in a minute.”
“Well, in that case I’ll wait until they get here. Can’t leave you out here alone with Lila.” Maya tries to protest but I shut her down. “It’s non-negotiable.”
The taxi pulls up seconds later and I open the rear door for Maya to climb in. She settles Lila into the seat next to her and fastens her seatbelt securely around the little girl. I don’t miss her checking it twice before she fastens her own.
Lila looks up at me and waves. “Bye, Mr Bear!”
I wave back, feeling a warmth I didn’t expect and push the cab door closed.
After they leave, I stand by the roadside, running my hand over my beard. The ache in my shoulder is nothing compared to the ache growing in my chest. There’s something about this place, about Maya and Lila that feels like home.
And I’m willing to wait as long as it takes to be part of it.