Chapter 23
Ella
The next day
The register drawer is open, and I’m counting change, trying to decide if nickels really serve any purpose in life. Two of them slip through my fingers, clinking to the floor.
Ashton walks out front with a box under her arm, glitter wrapping, crooked bow, absolute chaos. Rather than handing it to me, she drops it under the counter by the register, then gets to work.
“Happy birthday, donut boss,” she sings as she loads the pastry display. “Your present is questionable at best, but it’s wrapped with love.”
My chest warms, just a little. “Thanks.”
She winks. “Don’t get sappy. I’m only nice one day a year.”
We’ve been working in silence for the last fifteen minutes. I went to bed to a goodnight text from Nathan, which is better than nothing.
The bell over the door chimes. Ashton’s probably grabbing the outdoor sandwich sign.
I wait for the door to close, picking up another nickel. “Son of a bitch, these stupid nickels have nothing better to do than just drop onto the floor.
“Hey,” comes a deep, smooth voice. It’s carrying way too much self-assurance to be a normal human.
Bishop. I don’t even need to look. Habit, really, you work in a bakery long enough, you start clocking voices before faces.
I freeze.
From my angle, I can see just enough between the shelves to catch him leaning on the counter like it’s the VIP lounge.
“So,” he says casually, “Is, uhhh, Ashton here?”
I narrow my eyes at him and point across the room. “Yup, right over there.”
His gaze goes to Ashton, who’s ignoring him, attacking the tables like it’s her life mission.
“Hey,” he calls as he walks across the room, “Ashton, you like boats?”
Ashton’s hand stops moving; she has to know I’m eavesdropping unless she’s that oblivious, which I know she isn’t. If anything, she has eyes and ears everywhere. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… do you like boats?” he asks again, this time a bit less confident.
She blinks over at him, a little sarcastic, a little confused. “Do I like boats?”
“Yeah.” A grin spreads across his face. “Like yachts. If you’re free, I’d love to take you out on mine sometime.”
Is that a line, or is he genuinely asking? I chew my bottom lip and ponder while she stares him down with what has to be the longest pause known to mankind. Is she going to faint? Start laughing? Reject him? Exhale?
Ashton’s lips finally curve into a small, cunning smile. “I’m good, thanks. Nice to see you finally made it in, though.”
She turns back to the pastries like she’d just declined a sample at Costco.
Bishop doesn’t move at first, clearly processing the life-altering event of being told NO.
“Little help?” he hisses.
“I’m just as confused as you are,” I murmur from behind the counter. “I’ll do recon.”
“I owe you.” He strides toward the door.
Before I lose the nerve, I call out. “Nathan. I want info on Nathan.”
“Hard worker, sweetheart, short temper, the best friend I’ve ever had, solid corn hole thrower, likes you.” He pauses. “Do the work, donut boss.”
“Don’t give up,” I call.
“You either,” he says, then clears his throat and addresses Ashton. “So, I guess…I’ll text you later?”
“Oh, sure,” Ashton says. “Yeah, good luck at the game.”
“Thanks.” The door opens. Closes.
A pregnant pause, and then I pop up from behind the counter so fast I nearly hit my head. “You little hussy! I cannot believe you just turned him down! How… why… what… wait…”
Ashton looks over her shoulder, brow arched. “You were fooling nobody sitting behind the counter that entire time, hiding and clutching your coins like Gollum from The Lord of the Rings.”
“Yes,” I say, stabbing a point at her. “But that’s not what this is about. You just turned him down.”
“Well, yeah,” she says, voice obvious. “How many girls do you think he invites on his yacht per week? He’s gonna have to work harder than that.”
I’m speechless. I stare at her. Hard. I have nothing to really say. I can’t even defend him because she could be right, probably is, but still, why not take a chance? Take a leap?
Ashton goes on her merry way. I almost laugh.
Because that’s the thing about Ashton, she makes it look effortless.
She can turn down the NFL’s golden boy without flinching, without second-guessing, without spiraling into what-ifs.
Meanwhile, I’m over here still debating whether my last text to Nathan sounded too enthusiastic.
God, what I wouldn’t give to borrow just an ounce of her confidence.
We finish closing the bakery just after dusk. Ashton finally hands me her chaotic little gift box with a proud flourish.
“Don’t open it in public,” she warns. “Or do. I’m not responsible.”
I laugh, locking the door behind us as we step out onto the sidewalk.
And then I see it.
A white horse, waiting at the curb.
Hitched to a small, elegant carriage lit with soft lanterns.
“Ashton…” I whisper.
She grabs my arm. “Shut up. No way. NO WAY.”
The driver tips his hat. “Miss Cooper?”
My mouth falls open. “Uh… yes?”
“This ride is for you,” he says warmly.
Ashton shoves me toward the carriage. “Get in, Miss Cooper.”
The lantern light glows golden on the seats. It’s warm, cozy, magical in a way that feels unreal. The city passes slowly, peacefully, the soft clink of the harness bells echoing in the night.
“This is insane,” Ashton whispers. “And also, the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.”
I can’t stop smiling. It feels like a dream, like a moment suspended in time, like someone wanted my birthday to feel… special.
When we arrive, the driver helps us down.
“Happy birthday, Miss Cooper,” he says before pulling away.
I stand on the sidewalk, confused and glowing at the same time.
“Who did that?” Ashton asks.
“I have no idea,” I murmur.