Chapter 5
Some offers were not meant to tempt.
They were meant to test how much of yourself you were willing to lose just to keep the peace.
Ashton Miller’s offer did both.
Fifteen minutes later, I was still thinking about it.
The envelope. The money. The way he had said leave as if I were a stain he planned to scrub from the town. His words stirred something reckless and dangerous inside me.
I had not been joking.
I might keep the bakery out of pure spite.
It was childish, starting a quiet war with my ex, but I refused to make things easy for him. I would rather eat dust than hand anything of mine to Ashton Miller.
Hunger eventually won out over pride. I pulled into the same coffeehouse as yesterday, the tires crunching softly against the gravel. Inside, the place was nearly empty. Two customers lingered near the counter, and Shanna stood behind it, her pixie like smile brightening when she saw me.
“You’re back,” she said, waving like we were already friends.
“Guess I could not stay away,” I said. “Must be the latte.”
She grinned. “Told you so. Breakfast?”
“You are dangerously persuasive,” I said. “Club sandwich and black coffee, please.”
“Coming right up.”
I slid into a small table near the window and checked my phone, my thumb hovering over Sissy’s name. I had not decided what I would even say to her when Shanna returned, balancing a plate and a mug.
She hesitated instead of walking away. “You’re from here, aren’t you?”
I looked up. “That obvious?”
“A woman asked about you yesterday,” she said gently. “She bumped into you while you were leaving.”
My chest tightened.
I knew exactly who she meant.
Shanna’s smile softened when she noticed my reaction. “I hope I did not cause trouble. She called someone after I told her your name.”
“It’s fine,” I said quietly. “I used to live here.” I paused, then added, “But trust me, people usually regret being too friendly once they know my history.”
She frowned. “I do not believe in town gossip.”
I glanced at her. “No?”
“Nope. Books have covers. People are more complicated.” She winked. “Eat before it gets cold.”
As she walked away, I let out a breath I did not realize I had been holding.
Without planning to, I ended up sharing breakfast with her.
She took a short break and pulled up a chair across from me, careful not to pry, which I appreciated more than she probably knew.
She talked instead, filling the space with light-hearted stories and observations.
I listened, nodding, smiling when appropriate, even as my eyes occasionally drifted toward the door.
I half expected trouble to walk in at any moment.
In fifteen minutes, I learned a surprising amount about her.
She was twenty-two. She had moved here three years ago with her parents after her father lost his job.
They were staying with her grandparents for now.
It felt only fair to share something in return, so I told her about my work, about Marie’s sudden passing, and about inheriting the bakery.
“Oh,” she said softly. “Marie.”
“You knew her?”
“Everyone did,” she said. “Her pies were some of our best sellers. People still ask for them.”
When I mentioned that I planned to sell the bakery, her smile faded. She did not argue, but something thoughtful settled over her expression.
“I guess that makes sense,” she said finally.
“Does it?”
She hesitated. “I do not know. It just feels like an ending.”
Her words lingered long after she stood and returned to work.
I left the coffeehouse in a better mood than I expected. For a brief moment, it almost felt like I could exist in this town without constantly bracing myself.
Almost.
The rest of the day was spent turning intentions into action.
I went to the bank first, checking the market value of the property.
The numbers were solid, reassuring, and unsettling all at once.
Then I gathered contact information for several real estate agents.
I deliberately skipped Redcliff Real Estate, even though everyone knew it was the best in town.
I did not need Ashton’s name anywhere near my future.
By midafternoon, I found myself driving back toward the bakery. Yesterday, I had barely been able to step inside. His presence had made sure of that. Before pulling in, I texted Eva and asked if she could meet me there.
As I parked, a familiar tightness settled in my chest.
I did not know how attached Eva was to the bakery now, or how much she depended on it since it was no longer operating. Beneath that concern was another, quieter fear. How many people were already watching. Speculating. Reporting back.
I might not be rich, but I could help Eva if she needed it. And if I sold the bakery, I planned to share the proceeds with her. She had earned that much by keeping the place alive when everyone else, including me, had walked away.
The thought steadied me.
Still, as I stepped out of the car and looked toward the bakery, I could not shake the feeling that none of my decisions would remain private for long.
Not here.
Not anymore