Trent
The moment I step through the bakery doors, the warm scent of sugar and butter wraps around me. Then I see her—Aubrey—hair piled on top of her head, wearing that lucky purple apron she swears by, her face lit up with joy as she chats easily with the customers at the counter.
That is, until the chime above the door gives me away. Her head turns, eyes finding mine.
And just like that, her smile falters.
It’s only for a second, but it hits like a punch to the gut before she recovers, smoothing her expression and turning back to the customer in front of her like nothing happened.
“Shit, man. If looks could kill, you’d be dead right now,” Clay mutters behind me.
I ignore him and step forward in the queue. I probably should sit down—my leg’s throbbing—but I’m not about to pass up a chance to have her attention on me, even if it’s only long enough to take my coffee order.
Just as I take another slow step forward, I spot Aubrey leaning in to whisper something to Lucy.
Lucy’s eyes flick to me, then back to Aubrey, and she gives a small nod—like she’s just been given instructions. Without another word, Aubrey slips through the door to the back of the bakery and disappears.
A wave of annoyance and disappointment washes over me just as Lucy steps up to the counter, all smiles.
“Hey, Trent. How you doing?” she asks, her tone light and easy.
I smile back, but my eyes drift past her, scanning the doorway, waiting—hoping—for Aubrey to reappear. When she doesn’t, I finally turn my attention back to Lucy.
“Yeah, all good,” I say, forcing a casual tone. “Is Aubrey busy?”
Lucy glances over her shoulder, then back at me, her smile hesitant for just a second.
“She’s, uh… got something she needs to take care of real quick,” she says gently. “What can I get for you?”
I nod in understanding, though the tight feeling in my chest doesn’t ease.
“Flat white and a cinnamon roll, thanks,” I say, then turn to Clay. “I’ll go grab a booth.”
I thread carefully through the crowd, each step measured, leaning a little more on the crutches than I’d like.
It’s been just over two weeks since the scaffolding gave out beneath me—enough time for the initial pain to dull, but not enough for people to stop asking about my leg.
In Mayridge, news travels fast, and injuries come with even faster questions.
I offer polite smiles, answering as many questions as I can before gently reminding people I need to rest. They part without protest, and I finally reach an empty booth.
Sliding in, I ease my weight onto the seat, adjusting the booted leg so it’s supported comfortably. I lean back, crutches resting beside me, eyes still fixed on the bakery door—quietly willing Aubrey to come back out.
Moments later, Clay slides into the booth across from me and sets down the coffee and cinnamon roll I ordered, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
“I guess she still hates your guts, then,” he says, leaning back with that smug look that makes me want to throw the cinnamon roll at his head.
“She never hated my guts,” I mutter, sugar sticking to my fingers as I tear off a piece of the roll.
Clay raises a brow. “Well, she sure as shit couldn’t run away quick enough. I thought you said things seemed different at the hospital?”
“They were,” I admit, scrubbing a hand down my face. “But then I kind of... snapped at her. And she left. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since.”
“Yeah, not your smartest move,” he says with a knowing whistle. “To be honest, the whole situation wasn’t smart. I told you from the beginning this was going to end badly—and if I remember correctly, I said it’d be your fault because you’d end up denying you’re in love with her.”
I shoot him a flat look. “I don’t want an ‘I told you so’ pep talk right now.”
“You might not want it, but you sure as hell need it,” he says, leaning forward across the table.
“How are you going to fix this? Because you’ve known her family your whole life, and Kade’s not stupid—he’s going to notice that you two can’t even be in the same room together. He’s gonna start asking questions.”
“You don’t think I know that?” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face. “I don’t want it to be like this. Maybe I’ll just go talk to her.”
“What, right now?” Clay raises his brows. “Yeah, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because she looked pissed,” he says plainly.
“It’s not like I haven’t dealt with a pissed-off Aubrey before. Besides, she can’t keep ignoring me forever.”
I slide toward the edge of the booth and reach for my crutches, standing carefully on one leg.
“Your funeral, man,” Clay calls after me as I slip my arms into the crutches and start making my way back toward the counter.
When I reach it, Lucy looks up and offers a soft smile. “Everything okay?”
“I actually need a favor, Lucy,” I say, shifting my weight slightly. “I need to talk to Aubrey. Think you could let me through?”
Her smile fades a little as she hesitates. “I’m not sure… she said she’s pretty busy back there.”
“I get it,” I say, lowering my voice. “But it’s important. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”
There’s a pause, then she lets out a small sigh and gives me a crooked smile. “You’re lucky I like you.”
She lifts the counter hatch to let me through.
The door to Aubrey’s office is open. I stop in the doorway, catching sight of her sitting at her desk, eyes closed, fingers pressing slow circles into her temples.
There’s tension in her face—a quiet kind of pain—that makes something tighten in my chest. I want to reach out, to ease whatever’s weighing on her, but instead, I raise a hand and knock against the doorframe.
Her eyes snap open. The moment she sees me, she jolts upright and fumbles with the paperwork in front of her like she’s been hard at work this whole time.
“What are you doing back here?” she asks, her voice sharp. “I told Lucy I was busy.”
“Don’t blame Lucy,” I say, shuffling into the room. “I didn’t give her much of a choice.”
My eyes drift across the space—the desk, the couch, hell, even the floor—and all I can see are the places I’ve fucked her.
When my eyes catch hers, I know she’s right there with me, drowning in the same memories.
The time she tied me to that chair, wrists bound to the arms while she ground down on my cock, using me until I was shaking, until my vision went white and I nearly blacked out from how brutally she wrung that orgasm out of me.
The time I spread her wide on the couch, my tongue buried deep in her cunt, lapping and sucking until she was clawing at the cushions, sobbing my name, soaking my face as I dragged every trembling, desperate climax from her body until she begged me to stop—voice hoarse, thighs shaking, pussy swollen and dripping.
My cock strains hard against my jeans, the pressure dizzying. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and the hunger in her eyes is enough to make me want to tear up the distance between us to shreds.
But that look in her eyes shifts—quickly—replaced by something cooler, more guarded. She crosses her arms over her chest like she’s building a wall between us.
“What do you want, Trent?” she asks, voice clipped.
“I just wanted to talk,” I say carefully. “You’ve been avoiding me since the hospital, and I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I haven’t been avoiding you,” she says, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’ve just been busy.”
“You practically ran in here the moment I walked through the door,” I point out, keeping my voice calm but firm.
She exhales, quiet but sharp. “I’m sorry if it felt that way.”
“Maybe you want to pop over tomorrow? Have a coffee. Like old times?”
Her expression hardens. “We don’t do those kinds of old times anymore.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say quickly, dragging a hand over my face. “I meant before we… before everything. Those old times.” I let the words hang, heavy and useless, then try again. “I know my mom would love to see you. Maybe… come by. For her.”
Aubrey hesitates. “I don’t know.”
“Okay,” I nod, forcing a small, understanding smile. “I get that.”
The silence that follows presses down, thick enough to make me want to bolt.
“Look,” I say, stepping back, “I’ll let you get on with your day. Sorry to bother you.” I pause at the door, halfway out. “Just… let me know if you change your mind about tomorrow.”
She nods once, a faint but real smile touching her lips.
I turn and limp back through the bakery, nodding a quiet thank you to Lucy as I pass.
When I slide back into the booth, Clay is staring at me like I’ve just returned from a war zone.
“Don’t even fucking ask,” I mutter, lifting my now-cold coffee to my lips.
Clay just chuckles, shaking his head. “I didn’t even say anything.”