Chapter 15 #2
For the first time since the review, the bakery feels awake.
It’s not frantic, like it’s been in the past. But alive.
People are smiling and asking for the specials by name.
They order the latte and take photos with it.
Mrs. Alvarez tells me that sweetness is a weapon if used correctly, which feels like something she would put on a pillow.
But the prep is easy. The day flies by, and at the end of it all, Warren is right. Which annoys me.
By three, the rush has softened into a gentle afternoon lull. Lisa is wrapping extra cookie dough, Dev is wiping down tables while humming a song that may or may not be from the musical he’s supposed to go see this weekend, and Marley is in the corner answering comments.
Warren is gone.
He left fifteen minutes ago to check on something next door, which I assume means he’s standing next to Oliver in silence until Oliver gets annoyed enough to talk to him.
I carry a tray of clean cups toward the back and stop.
Because there, half-hidden in the narrow alley between Bitter Bloom and Saints you can handle it.”
Fire. Everywhere.
And the ground is dropping out from under me.
I open my mouth to argue, but the side door to Saints & Sinners rattles.
We break apart like teenagers caught in the act, Warren pulls his hand from my waist and grabs the coffee while I reach for the tray of cups.
Oliver’s voice comes through the door before it’s open all the way. “If either of you are doing something stupid in my hallway, I’m getting the hose.”
The door opens further, and Oliver’s face appears, unimpressed and exhausted as I hold the tray against my belly.
His eyes move to Warren, then to me, then to Warren’s latte, and back to me.
“Nope,” Oliver says, and he shuts the door.
I stare at the closed door before facing Warren. His jaw is tight and his ears are bright red.
From the other side of the door, Oliver says, “I can still hear the tension!”
I close my eyes, and when I open them, Warren’s mouth curves into a small smile.
“Do not laugh,” I hiss.
“I’m not.”
“You were thinking about it.”
Warren watches me as I take a step back, his expression sobering as I put more space between us. Neither of us says what we both know.
That the kiss from the other night didn’t end anything. It made things ten times worse.
That I know his name. I know he’s the one who stepped up and took care of his sister when his parents didn’t. I know how willing he is to help me without judgment.
That every list, every latte, every pastry, every argument over structure and sweetness is making this thing between us harder to pretend isn’t there.
That he’s still supposed to leave.
That I’m still not supposed to care.
That I do.
I look at the drink in his hand. “Your secret is safe,” I say.
His gaze holds mine.
“For now.”
He smiles.
I slip through the door before he can respond, smiling so hard it hurts.
When I get to the front counter, Marley looks up immediately from her table.
Her eyes narrow. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She studies my face. “You’re lying.”
I pick up my towel and wipe down the counter with the focused dignity of a woman who was absolutely not just pinned against the side of her bakery by her best friend’s older brother.
“Your brother likes coconut lattes,” I admit.
Marley gasps so loudly that Dev drops a stack of napkins.
“He what?”
“Large ones.”
Her mouth falls open, and Dev clutches a napkin to his chest. “The black coffee empire has fallen.”
From the kitchen, I hear Warren say, “Halston!”
Every part of me goes warm.
Marley’s eyes grow wide. “Oh my god. Why did he just say your name like that?”
I think on my feet. “Because he’s embarrassed.”
Marley’s brows furrow. “About the latte?”
I nod solemnly.
I wipe the same spot again and bite back a smile.
Maybe sweetness alone can’t sustain a legacy.
But it can start a delicious fight.