41. Cole
Chapter forty-one
Cole
The Lakeview Bus Station. It hasn't changed a bit since I was seventeen, full of misguided teenage angst and a desperate need to escape this town.
Same cracked linoleum floors that sticks to the soles of your shoes, same faded route map on the peeling paint of the wall.
I’ve been staring at that map for a good twenty minutes from my seat, my gaze tracing the bold lines that lead away from Lakeview.
Toward the city. Toward my promotion. Toward my dutiful life, the one where I supposedly have things figured out.
My duffel bag, containing the sum total of my worldly possessions for this supposedly straightforward week of festival, sits at my feet. A tangible symbol of my impending departure. Or maybe my cowardly retreat. Semantics.
I handed in my resignation from my festival duties this morning, right after… well, right after Elena made it abundantly clear that my presence was about as welcome as a skunk at a garden party.
The bus to the city glows on the flickering departure board. Thirty-seven minutes until it leaves. Thirty-seven minutes to try and fully convince myself this is the right call.
The station door creaks open in a symphony of rust and neglect, ushering in a gust of warm, late-afternoon air. I keep my eyes fixed on the floor, hoping whoever it is doesn’t notice me (small town chatter being my kryptonite right now).
But then, a distressed scent hits me, and my head snaps up so fast I nearly give myself whiplash.
Elena.
There she is. Framed in the doorway like a tragic heroine in an indie film, clutching her battered suitcase, looking small, lost, and so damn beautiful.
Her incredible forest-green eyes are red-rimmed, her usual spark dimmed.
Seeing her like this, vulnerable and obviously hurting , sends a surge of protectiveness roaring through me.
Protect. Comfort. Fix. So much for emotional detachment.
"Cole?" Her voice is a shaky whisper, her eyes widening in surprise, then narrowing, shaded with something harder. Suspicion, maybe… or resentment. Or just the exhaustion of a woman who’s had an absolutely miserable day.
"Elena." I’m on my feet before I even decide to move, my voice rough. "What… what are you doing here?"
She gives a small, defeated shrug. "Running away from home, apparently. Or, you know, what used to be home before I got spectacularly disqualified, publicly humiliated, and promptly fired, all in the space of about thirty minutes. You?"
"Disqualified? Fired?" I repeat, stunned. "Why?"
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Seriously? You don't know? I figured it was broadcasting on every gossip channel in town by now."
"I left during the final," I reply. "Been avoiding… people. Anyway, that's not important. What happened Elena?"
She looks away, heat flaring in her cheeks. "I… uh… I was caught engaging in… inappropriate behavior …"
It takes me a moment to process this. "Dorian?"
She nods miserably, staring at her sneakers. "We were… caught. And now I've lost everything, the competition, my job, my apartment. Pierre fired me on the spot."
"Elena, I…" I take a step closer, fighting the urge to pull her into my arms, to shield her from…
well, from everything. Another wave of her distressed scent hits me, and my jaw tightens, a low growl rumbling in my chest that I have to physically swallow.
Control yourself, Cole. "I had no idea. I’m so sorry. "
She offers a small, brittle smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Not your fault, Cole. It’s a mess of my own making." She looks down, then back up. "So, again, what about you?"
I gesture to my bag of shame. "Checked out of my Airbnb. Resigned from my festival duties. Heading back to the city a little earlier than planned."
Her eyes narrow, the flicker turning into a definite spark. "So you were just going to leave without saying goodbye?"
There’s an edge to her voice, a hurt I suspect she’s trying (and failing) to hide under anger. And damn it, it ignites my own banked frustration.
"Goodbye?" My voice raises, surprising both of us. The handful of other people in the station look over. Great. "What kind of goodbye were you expecting, Elena? The one where I thank you for blowing me off?"
She looks surprised. "Cole, I never—"
"Didn't you?" I step closer, lowering my voice but not the intensity. I can feel my own scent sharpening, a mix of anger and something else, something I refuse to name, but that smells a lot like longing . "You build walls so high, Elena, it’s a wonder anyone can even see you, let alone get close. You push and you push because you’re terrified someone might actually stay .
You made it pretty damn obvious I wasn't wanted.
So yeah," I say, the word tasting like ash, "I was leaving.
What did you think I was going to do? Stick around like some pathetic puppy, hoping you'd throw me a scrap of attention? "
The anger drains out of her, replaced by a wide-eyed vulnerability that stops me dead in my tracks, tears welling up in her eyes. "I… I'm sorry," she whispers. "It's just… I've had so much on my mind and… I’m scared, Cole."
"You think you're the only one?" The anger deflated, leaving behind a hollow ache as my own fears echo back at me. You can’t do both. Saving people. Loving. You’ll do neither right. You'll screw everything up. Maybe I already have…
We stand there, two fugitives in the drab bus station, the scent of stale coffee and diesel fumes mingling with our distress.
Suddenly, a crackly voice erupts from the radio speaker at the ticket counter, startling us both. "And we've just received word from the Lakeview Baking Festival, folks! After a truly astonishing final round, the judges have crowned their champion!"
Elena and I both look toward the radio, our personal drama momentarily forgotten.
"James Reynolds," the announcer continues, his voice practically buzzing with excitement, "a crowd favorite throughout the competition, has claimed first place! His final creation wowed the judges with its technical brilliance and innovative flavor combinations!"
"Good for him," I say, genuinely meaning it. "He deserved to win."
Elena nods, though I can see a flash of what might be regret cross her face. What might have been, if things had gone differently.
The announcer continues with details about the competition until suddenly his tone changes to excitement. "Wait, I'm getting new information... In a shocking turn of events, James Reynolds has just made an unexpected announcement during his acceptance speech!"
Elena and I exchange a glance, our eyebrows lifting in sync.
"In a stunning display of sportsmanship, Reynolds just revealed that the second pastry he presented, the one judges described as 'transcendent' and that secured his victory, was actually Elena Avery's creation that he assembled and decorated after her disqualification earlier today!"
Elena gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Reynolds stated that he completed Avery's half-finished work, saying it would have been 'a tragedy not to experience the best pastry in the competition, regardless of who created it.
' "Festival judges are currently in an emergency meeting to determine how to proceed.
Stay tuned to Lakeview Radio for updates. "
"James," Elena whispers, tears welling again, but this time, they look different. They look like hope. And my own heart, the one I was trying so hard to pack away, gives a stupid, hopeful lurch right alongside hers.