Chapter Eleven
Vitaly
I know because I check the thermometer seventeen times a day.
Consistency matters.
Temperature. Timing. Trust.
Control the variables. Survive.
I’m sitting on a flour sack. Back against the metal shelf. Breathing clouds.
My phone is in my hand.
Juliet’s text from last night glows in the dim light.
Juliet: I can’t stop thinking about those sunflowers. Or the man who picked them. Coffee sometime?
I’ve read it forty-three times.
Each time, my chest does something stupid.
Tightens. Expands. Aches.
Like rising dough. Like proof of life.
She used a sunflower emoji.
My knees almost went out the first time I saw it.
The door opens.
Cold air rushes out.
Warm air rushes in.
Noah’s face appears. Concerned. Not surprised.
“How long you been in here?”
“Don’t know.”
He steps inside. Closes the door behind him.
Sits on the flour sack beside me.
Doesn’t ask what’s wrong.
Just sits.
That’s why I like him.
“I met someone. She texted,” I finally say.
Noah glances at the phone. Smiles. “Good.”
“No. Bad.”
He blinks. “Why?”
I glance at the door. Lower my voice.
“Because she doesn’t know what kind of life I’m in.”
I grip the edge of the flour bag. “She doesn’t know about Oksana. The danger. Or the trouble I can be in.”
Noah goes still.
“I don’t let people close,” I say. “Not really. I can’t.”
I stare at the flour on my apron. “If Oksana found out I cared about someone… even a friend… she’d find a way to use it.”
The silence stretches between us.
I don’t tell him the rest.
I don’t tell him I dreamed of her.
That I woke up aching and didn’t even try to stop myself. That I came with her name on my tongue and her voice echoing in my head.
I don’t tell him that for the first time in years, I wanted more than safety.
“She made me laugh,” I say instead. “She made me feel something. And now I’m scared she’ll feel it too.”
Noah is quiet. Then says, “You want her to.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “God, yes.”
And that’s the problem.
“Maybe things aren’t like you think,” Noah says. “Sometimes you find family in ways you least expect.”
I stare at him.
He’s been more than just someone to work with, train. Every day we grow closer.
“Maybe you should go back to a job at the café. Where it’s safer,” I say.
He leans gently closer. “I wouldn’t leave you alone here. Understaffed. The town is going crazy for your traditional Russian baked goods. And no one makes a scone like you.”
“It’s not about the help,” I say. Glance at the door. “She’s seen you here more than once. She’ll know we’re friends. That’s not safe.”
“Fuck her,” Noah says. “You don’t have to hold that alone either.”
Shock washes over me.
Noah never cusses. Even when we’re tossing sarcasm around.
And also he’d face her?
“She’s dangerous. You cross her you end up hurt. Or worse,” I say.
“Like I said. You’ll find you have family where you didn’t realize. Vitaly, I’ve got you. My family has you.” Noah puts a hand on my arm.
I cover it with my own. “No. And you see why I can’t start dating? Oksana would use that to make this worse.”
“Date her,” Noah grins. “You deserve to be happy. Things aren’t always what they seem. And that’s not a bad thing.”
“You talk cryptic,” I say and laugh.
“It’ll make sense.”
The way he says it.
Not like an offer.
Like a fact already in motion.
Like he knows something I don’t.
“Your... family?” I repeat slowly.
He just smiles. Soft. Almost apologetic.
There’s something in his voice I can’t read.
He stands and leaves to get back to work.
I follow.
The warmth of the kitchen hits harder than it should after the cold.
Like stepping from a grave into sunlight.
Disorienting. Almost painful.
I’m not ready for noise again.
I turn to the only things that makes sense.
Baking.
The dough’s too soft.
Third time adjusting flour.
Still collapses.
Like everything I build.
Grandmother would be ashamed. “Vitya, you must feel with your hands, not think with your head.”
I can still see her hands when I close my eyes.
Small. Flour-dusted. Wrinkled like bread dough left too long to proof.
She’d cup my face when I got something right. “There, Vitya. You feel it now?”
I felt it.
Before Oksana.
Before the lies.
Before I learned that warmth could be weaponized.
Now my hands only remember compliance.
The dough knows I’m distracted.
It won’t rise for a man who isn’t present.
I press my thumb into the dough ball and hold it there.
Deep breath.
Try again.
The bell above the front door jingles.
Not the normal sound.
This one lands in my spine wrong.
Like metal scraping brick.
Noah calls a greeting from the counter, cheerful on instinct.
I don’t look up.
I finish shaping the dough ball, press it into the tray, cover it with cloth.
Something that doesn’t belong in a bakery crosses the threshold.
Heavy steps.
Cologne thick as solvent.
The kind of man who tries to smell expensive but ends up smelling like he’s hiding something rotting underneath.
I straighten slowly.
He’s already at the counter.
Not looking at the pastries.
Not looking at Noah.
Looking at me.
“Vitka.” He says it with a smile like a blade.
My stomach drops.
“No customers call me that,” I say quietly.
He taps a manicured finger on the glass, ignoring the warning in my voice.
“Boss says you’ve been… distant.”
Noah goes perfectly still behind me.
The man slips something from his coat.
Not openly, just a ghost of movement, and tucks it under the register like we’re sharing a secret.
A thick envelope.
Cream paper.
Sealed in red.
My pulse spikes.
“I don’t,” I start.
He cuts me off with a slight tilt of his head. “She says you’ll know where to put it.”
A threat, wrapped in courtesy.
I swallow.
His smile widens, too many teeth. “And Vitka? She misses your punctuality.”
Then he turns.
No purchase.
No goodbye.
Just strolls out the door like he’s dropping off a birthday card and not a warning.
The bell jingles again.
The sound hits me like cold water.
Noah waits a beat. Two.
“Vitaly… what was that?” he finally asks.
I wipe my palms on my apron. They’re damp.
The envelope sits there.
Cream paper.
Red seal.
Oksana’s color.
Blood and warning.
I’ve seen envelopes like this before.
Instructions. Demands.
Things that can’t be refused.
The last one told me where to wire money I didn’t have.
The one before that had a photo.
Me. Walking to work.
She wants me to know I’m always being watched.
My hand shakes when I touch the envelope.
It’s heavy.
Too heavy.
“Trouble,” I whisper.
Even saying the word tastes like overcooked caramel.
Noah steps closer, voice quiet, steady. “You don’t have to open it alone.”
But I do.
That’s the problem.
Because whatever’s inside isn’t for both of us.
It’s for me.
A reminder.
And the moment I break the seal, I know my life just got smaller again.
Tighter.
More dangerous.
And Juliet…
Juliet doesn’t belong anywhere near this.
Not near me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out like it might bite.
Her name lights up the screen.
Juliet: Still thinking about you. Is that weird? (sunflower emoji)
The worst timing.
The best timing.
The sunflower emoji does something to my ribs.
Cracks them. Expands them.
Makes it hard to breathe in the exact opposite way Oksana does.
Noah sees my face, softens. “Answer her.”
I can’t.
I want to.
God, I want to.
But my fingers tremble around the envelope, and the cold dread pooling in my stomach tells me one thing with brutal clarity:
Whatever this is?
Whatever Oksana wants?
It’s about to pull me under again.
And I don’t know how to keep Juliet out of the undertow.
I don’t open the envelope.
Just hold it.
Feel the weight of it.
Noah doesn’t move away.
He stands beside me at the counter, close enough that I can feel the steadiness rolling off him.
Warm. Human.
The opposite of everything that just walked through the door.
“Vitka?” he says quietly, testing the name the stranger used.
I flinch.
He notices.
He switches, softer. “Vitaly.”
My chest loosens a fraction.
“You’re not alone in this,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I swallow. “You should. Before she sees your face more than she has to.”
“I don’t scare that easy.” He nudges my arm with his shoulder. “And I don’t abandon people I care about.”
The words hit something raw inside me.
People I care about.
People who get hurt because of me.
“Noah…” I start.
He cuts me off gently. “Hey. Look at me.”
I do.
His expression is calm, with that quiet bravery I wish I had half of. “Whatever that envelope is? We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to walk into this alone.”
My throat tightens.
He taps my apron pocket where my phone is. “And text her back.”
I shake my head. “I shouldn’t.”
“Yes, you should.” A smile flickers at the edge of his mouth. “She made you laugh, right?”
I nod.
“Feels good, yeah?”
More than good.
Dangerous in a sweet way.
Like warmth settling in bones that forgot they could thaw.
“Then text her,” Noah says. “Start small. Coffee. Dinner. Whatever you want.”
Whatever I want.
I want her smile again.
Her voice.
The way she looked at me like she already knew the shape of my soul.
Noah steps back to give me space, but he stays in the doorway, making sure I know he’s still here.
I slide the envelope under the register.
Pull out my phone.
My thumb hovers over the screen.
My heart stumbles.
I exhale.
The bakery hums around me.
The envelope is despair under the register.
Juliet’s text is hope in my palm.
Like the tiniest crack of sun through winter clouds.
I don’t know which one will destroy me first.
I type before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: Coffee sounds good. But I’d like dinner even more.
My hand shakes when I hit send.
Noah grins. “Attaboy.”
Despite the envelope, despite Oksana, despite the bruise on my wrist and the shadows still following me, I let myself believe him.
Maybe things aren’t like I think.
Maybe some things can still rise.