2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Millie
Three Years Later
I’m standing in line for a hot chocolate again. It’s like my fifth one this week.
“Hey, where you at?” Jade’s voice crackles through my Bluetooth.
“Getting hot chocolate,” I reply, trying to sound casual.
“Again?” she teases.
“Leave me alone,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It’s helping.”
Jade just grunts. We’ve had this conversation so many times this week. She doesn’t get it. She’s never gone through a public breakup this bad. And when your whole career is being an influencer, it’s hard to avoid seeing Ryan Blake, star player of the Blackhawks, all over the internet with his new girl.
It’s everywhere—buses, billboards, even chairs. Ryan and Star, the coach’s daughter and team PR guide. Their faces are in the Blackhawks’ black and green uniforms, plastered all over the city. I hate it.
“Want to come over for dinner tonight?” Jade offers. “We can watch a movie and eat pasta.”
I know she’s trying to make me feel better, but Jade’s knee-deep in her PT classes. She can’t spare a whole night to chill.
“It’s fine, babe. I swear I’m fine,” I say.
“You sure?” she presses.
“Yes. Promise.”
“Okay, but you can call me anytime.”
“Thanks, Jade.” The barista calls my name. “Gotta go. My drink’s ready.”
I walk over to the counter and grab my hot chocolate with a splash of mint, avoiding my bank balance on the screen. Since my social media hiatus, I haven’t been making any money from ad revenue. I haven’t even posted the pre-filmed segment of my baking and mental health series, Bake Your Blues Away .
Ever since the breakup, my life feels like it’s on hold. I don’t know how to get it started again. If only I could take my own advice to stop wallowing and move on. But after dating Ryan on and off for four years, it’s not that simple.
I take a sip of my hot chocolate and step outside the store. The Chicago wind hits my face, making me shiver. I pull my coat tighter around me and start walking. The city is alive with people rushing around, but I feel disconnected.
I used to find solace in baking. It was my therapy, my escape. I’d share recipes, baking tips and personal stories about how baking helped me cope with anxiety and stress. My followers loved it. I collaborated with mental health organizations and raised funds. But now, I can’t even bring myself to preheat the oven.
I stop by a bench and sit down, watching the world go by. My phone buzzes with notifications, but I ignore them. It’s probably just more news about Ryan and Star. I can’t escape them. It’s like a bad dream on repeat.
I take another sip of my hot chocolate, letting the warmth spread through me. I should be posting content, engaging with my followers, but I can’t. Every time I try, I freeze. My confidence is shot.
“Hey, you all right?” a passerby asks, noticing my zoned-out expression.
“Yeah, just thinking,” I say, forcing a smile.
He nods and walks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts again. I pull out my phone and scroll through my messages. Jade’s text from earlier pops up:
Remember, I’m here for you.
I type back: Thanks, Jade. Love you.
I need to snap out of this funk. Maybe I should start baking again, even if it’s just for me. I need to find that spark, that passion I used to have. I finish my hot chocolate and stand up, determined to do something productive today.
Walking back to my apartment, I mentally plan my next baking session. Maybe I’ll film it, maybe I won’t. But I need to start somewhere.
As I unlock my door, I feel a tiny glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I can get through this. I hang up my coat and head straight to the kitchen. Flour, sugar, eggs—it’s all here. I roll up my sleeves and get to work.
I lose myself in the process, measuring ingredients, mixing and kneading dough. It’s therapeutic, just like it used to be. For a moment, I forget about Ryan, Star and the whole mess. It’s just me and the dough, it feels good.
I shape the dough into cookies and slide them into the oven. The familiar smell of baking fills the apartment and I take a deep breath, savoring it. Maybe this is what I needed all along.
The timer dings and I pull out the tray of golden-brown cookies. They look perfect. I snap a quick photo and on a whim, post it to my Instagram with the caption: Back to baking. One step at a time. #BakeYourBluesAway.
Within minutes, the likes and comments start pouring in. It’s a small step, but it feels like a victory. I read through the encouraging messages, feeling a warmth I haven’t felt in weeks.
I’m not over Ryan and I’m not sure when I will be. But for now, I have my baking and that’s a start. I pour myself a glass of milk and sit down with a cookie, savoring the moment.
My phone buzzes with a message from Jade.
You posted! Proud of you! Let’s hang out soon.
I smile, typing back: Thanks, Jade. Definitely. Miss you.
I take another bite of my cookie, feeling a bit more like myself. It’s not going to be easy, but I’ll get through this.
One step at a time.
Just then, my phone begins to ring, and I smile when I see his name on the caller ID.
“Dad, hey!” I answer.
“Millie, sweetheart,” his voice is warm. “Just got the notification about your latest post.”
“I still can’t believe you follow me on social media.”
“Maybe you should block me,” he laughs on the other side, filling my chest with warmth. I have missed him so damn much.
I chuckle softly. “I know, right? It’s like you’re my biggest fan or something.”
“Of course, I am,” he replies proudly. “You’re my baby girl.”
I smile, feeling a rush of affection. “Thanks, Dad.”
“How are you really doing, kiddo?” he asks gently.
“I’m hanging in there,” I admit, swirling the milk in my now almost empty glass.
“You sure?” he probes further, as usual, seeing through my facade.
“Yeah, I promise,” I assure him. “I’m okay.”
There’s a brief silence before he speaks again. “You know, Ryan’s a fool.”
I can’t help but laugh softly. “You never did like him.”
“I tried.”
“Don’t lie, Dad.”
He chuckles too, but it fades into a serious tone. “Well, I definitely don’t like him now. Not after what he did to you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say sincerely. It’s moments like these that remind me how lucky I am to have him. “I’m trying to move on.”
“I heard. Jade mentioned you’ve been going out for hot chocolate,” he mentions casually.
I sigh, feeling fondness for Jade’s meddling. “You two are not allowed to gossip about me.”
“It’s not gossiping. We just care about you, Millie,” he says gently.
“I know,” I concede, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
“But you know what I told you ever since you were young…”
“When in distress, seek paths to de-stress,” I parrot back to him.
“Exactly. Now, are you getting enough exercise? You could join that yoga class your best friend is always trying to get me to sign up for…”
“Oh hell no. Those classes are brutal. I’m actually planning to go for a walk now.”
“Where?”
“Umm…” I cup my cheek trying to think. “Lincoln Park. It’s been a while since I was down there.
“Good,” he says approvingly. “Get some fresh air. It’ll do you good.”
“Yeah,” I agree softly. “Thanks, Dad. How is retirement treating you?”
My father had retired from years spent as an art teacher with the mission to travel the world. That journey ended abruptly when, seven months ago, he told me he was buying a farm in the middle of Alabama.
“It is okay. The corn harvest is off to a great start and I’m now making plans to start chicken farming,” he says excitedly.
“That sounds like fun!”
“It is, Millie. It really is. Maybe you should fly down here and spend some time with your old man.”
“I wish, but I want to figure things out instead of running.”
“There you go. You are brave and beautiful and you will get through this. Okay?”
I feel myself getting choked up as I reply. “Thank you.”
“Anytime. Now, I need to go check on the tractor wheels I ordered, but please text me after your walk and tell me you got home okay.”
“I will.”
“Bye, baby girl,” he says warmly.
“Bye, Dad. Love you,” I reply, feeling a lump in my throat.
He hangs up, and I stare at my phone for a moment before putting it down. Maybe Dad’s right. It’s been weeks since the breakup and I’ve been hiding indoors, avoiding everything and everyone. But I can’t stay locked up forever.
I grab my coat and keys, taking a deep breath before stepping outside. The Chicago air is brisk, but it feels invigorating against my skin. I walk aimlessly, letting my thoughts wander.
Maybe Dad’s right about more than just going outside. Maybe it’s time to really start moving forward again, in every way. I’ve taken the first steps—getting back online, baking again—but there’s more to life than just that.
I stroll through the streets, watching people going about their day. The city buzzes around me and for the first time in a while, I feel like I’m a part of it again.
I pass by the café where I used to meet Ryan for coffee. It stings a little, but I keep walking. I won’t let memories hold me back.
I decide to grab a hot chocolate to keep me warm on my walk.
I wander through Lincoln Park, sipping my hot chocolate, enjoying the fresh air. It’s been a while since I’ve allowed myself to just be outside and it feels good.
I’m lost in thought when I see it—a vandalized poster of Ryan. His blue eyes and brown hair are almost unrecognizable beneath the crude drawings and scribbles. He’s in his Blackhawks uniform, black and green, with the bold logo across his chest. I can’t help but laugh.
I pull out my phone and snap a photo, planning to send it to Jade.
As I’m about to hit send, I hear a faint whimpering. I turn, trying to locate the source and find a small puppy stuck in a bush. The puppy is tiny, with fluffy white fur and big, scared brown eyes. My heart melts. I crouch down, gently coaxing the puppy out of the bush.
It trembles in my arms and as I look around the slightly deserted park, I realize I have no idea who the owner is.
“Hey there, little one,” I whisper, stroking its soft fur. “We’ll find your owner, okay?”
I look around and spot an older woman walking nearby. “Excuse me, do you know where the nearest vet is?”
She smiles kindly. “Yes dear, there’s one about three blocks from here. It’s called Elite Paws Vet Hospital.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety.
I make my way to Elite Paws Vet Hospital, cradling the puppy. The place is swanky, with a sleek, modern design. It has polished floors and a spacious waiting area. The receptionist looks up as I enter. She’s young, has red hair, glasses and a friendly smile.
“Hi, welcome to Elite Paws. How can I help you?”
“I found this puppy stuck in a bush,” I explain, holding up the trembling dog. “I just want to get it checked out and see if it has a microchip, so we can find the owner.”
She nods, typing something into her computer. “Do you have the dog’s vaccination records?”
I shake my head, feeling my frustration rise. “No, the dog isn’t mine. I just found it.”
“Checkups are three hundred dollars,” she says, still typing.
“Three hundred dollars?” I echo, incredulous. “I just want to have the dog scanned to check for a microchip.”
Before she can respond, a tall man appears from the back. He has an athletic build, short-cropped black hair, and brown eyes. He’s wearing a pair of blue scrubs that don’t do much to hide his muscles from view. I can see a tattoo swirling from beneath his sleeve. He looks between me and the receptionist.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asks, his voice calm and steady.
The receptionist explains the situation and he nods, listening intently. He then takes off his gloves, sanitizes his hands, and steps forward to greet me.
“Hello, my name is Dr. Anderson. And you are?”
Wow, he is handsome.
“Millie. Amelia Taylor but I prefer Millie,” I say, feeling a bit more at ease. “I found this puppy in the park and just wanted to get it checked out.”
Dr. Anderson smiles reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Millie. We’ll take care of it. Let’s see if it has a microchip first.”
I hand over the puppy and Dr. Anderson takes it gently, cooing softly to calm it down. He scans the puppy for a microchip and frowns when nothing happens. “It seems that our little guy here doesn’t have a microchip.”
My face immediately falls. He looks at me and winks. “Don’t worry. How about we step in the back and I’ll have a look at him anyway?”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“But doctor…” the receptionist begins.
“It is okay, Victoria. I will have the paperwork squared away. Tell Charles that the kitten is all ready to go, okay?”
“Yes sir.”
And then he turns his attention to me. “Follow me please, Millie.”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Of course, Dr. Anderson.”
“Please. Call me Chase.”
“Thank you so much, Chase,” I say, feeling a wave of relief. “I was worried the dog might be hurt.”
Chase nods. “I understand. You did a good thing bringing it here.”