Chapter 8
The moment Ryan walked out the door, a strange heat flushed through me–like my body had only just caught up with what had happened. I gripped the edge of the counter, trying to steady my breath, the smooth marble cool beneath my fingertips.
Outside, the snow swirled gently past the wide bakery windows, muffling the usual street sounds.
Inside, the low hum of the espresso machine mixed with the clatter of glassware and the sweet scent of rising dough and cinnamon sugar.
The warmth of the oven fogged the glass slightly, cocooning the space in a haze of comfort that I didn’t quite feel.
What just happened?
My heart still pounded, too fast, too loud. It wasn’t just from the embarrassment of spilling coffee on a stranger–it was the way he’d looked at me. Not angry. Not even annoyed. Just… calm. Steady. Kind.
That threw me more than anything else.
How he didn’t lose his temper or flinch at my awkward apologies was beyond me.
I pressed a napkin to my cheeks, trying to cool the heat spreading across them. My thoughts flicked, uninvited, to Reid. If I’d done something like that in front of him? He would’ve lost it. Called me stupid. Made me feel two inches tall. My throat tightened.
Stop. This isn’t that. You’re safe.
Still, my stomach churned as I glanced around, waiting–half-expecting Benny to come out of the kitchen red-faced and ready to fire me on the spot.
The door creaked.
I straightened, instinctively bracing for impact.
“Harper,” Benny called out, stepping into view with a tray of muffins balanced on his hips and a raised brow. His tone was teasing, but I flinched anyway. “You’re about three seconds away from hyperventilating. Did Mr. Flannel Shirt break you?”
My laugh came out breathy and strained. “I’m fine. I just… I’m sorry, Benny. I didn’t mean to cause a scene. If you need to take it out of my paycheck or anything–”
“Woah, woah, slow your roll,” he interrupted, setting the tray down and walking toward me with exaggerated care. “You didn’t break the espresso machine. You spilled a coffee. You think this place has never seen a hot drink accident before?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but he held up a hand.
“Also,” he added with a sly grin, “if you’re gonna dress a customer in caffeine, I gotta say–you picked a good one. He could wear a burlap sack and still look like a lumberjack catalogue come to life.”
I ducked my head, cheeks blazing again. “I should have seen Peaches sneak in here. I’ll make sure to always check. I swear I’m not usually this clumsy.”
“Sugar, it’s only been a week. You don’t have to prove anything to me. Besides…” Benny leaned in, lowering his voice dramatically. “He didn’t even blink. That man stood there like a golden retriever who’d just been told he was a good boy.”
Despite everything, I let out a soft, shaky laugh. “He was… really nice about it.”
“Nice?” Benny scoffed, dramatically pressing a hand to his chest. “Honey, that man is more than nice. He’s a damn unicorn in flannel. Handsome, polite and single. Although, he is pretty quiet and keeps to himself. And… I’m pretty sure he lives in some sort of enchanted cabin in the woods.”
I shook my head, still flushed and flustered, but a small smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. Benny disappeared back into the kitchen, humming something upbeat as the scent of sugar intensified around me.
I exhaled and turned back to the counter, my palms still a little sweaty.
Get it together, Harper.
A few minutes later, Benny reappeared, a flour-dusted towel slung over one shoulder and a tray of cinnamon rolls in his hands.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Winterfest.”
I blinked. “Winterfest?”
Benny’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Our town’s annual ode to snow, sugar, and controlled chaos. Vendors set up booths, there’s a tree lighting, carolers, sleigh rides, fireworks, and get this–a hot cocoa tasting competition. I’m entering my peppermint mocha bombshell.”
“Sounds… festive,” I said slowly, already picturing crowds and noise.
He tilted his head, catching the hesitation. “Look, no pressure. I’d love some help setting up my booth this year. I’ve already signed up for a corner spot near the kids’ craft area, and want it to be fabulous.”
I hesitated. The idea of being around that many people made my chest tighten, but the way Benny was looking at me made it hard to say no.
My mouth opened to respond, but the soft jingle of the front door cut through the air.
The hair on the back of my neck rose before I even turned around.
A man stepped in–broad shouldered and imposing in a dark police uniform, the badge on his chest catching the morning light.
His dark eyes swept the room like he owned it.
A heavy mustache twitched above a mouth set in a permanent smirk.
He moved slowly, confidently, the kind of man used to being obeyed before even speaking.
My pulse quickened, dread rising in my throat like bile. I knew–deep down–that Reid wouldn’t involve the police. It would draw too much attention, risk too much exposure. Still… seeing that uniform, that authority, sent a jolt of fear straight through me.
I forced my gaze back to the counter, hands tightening around the edge.
He stopped in front of the counter, casting a slow, appraising glance around the bakery before speaking. “Morning, Benny. Smells like you’re trying to bribe the whole damn town with cinnamon.”
Benny didn’t miss a beat. “Morning, Chief. Just trying to keep Brookhaven sweet.”
The officer huffed a dry laugh and looked over at me as Benny started pouring his coffee. “New around here?”
I nodded once, keeping my voice steady. “Just started last week.”
“Right.” His eyes lingered a second too long. “Well, welcome.”
I managed a polite smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Thank you.”
Without another word, he grabbed the coffee Benny had placed on the counter, dropped a few coins on the counter, and turned on his heel. His presence disappeared through the door, but the unease he left behind lingered like a bad aftertaste.
Benny waited a beat, then leaned in and muttered, “Chief Dawson. Asshole.”
I exhaled shakily, blinking hard.
“He’s all puffed-up ego in a uniform. Doesn’t know when to shut up and definitely doesn’t know how to read a room.” Benny added.
I nodded slowly, the tension in my chest beginning to ease. My hands were still clenched, but at least I wasn’t shaking.
“Anyway,” Benny said, his brightness returning like flipping a switch. “Connor will absolutely love Winterfest.” He winked and turned to grab the tray again.
My heart tugged at that thought. “I’ll be there, Benny.”
Benny stopped mid-step and turned, the grin that spread across his face softer this time. “I’d love that, Harper. Really.”
He gave me a little nod before heading back through the kitchen doors.
The afternoon at the bakery had been quiet, thankfully. Just a slow, steady stream of regulars, which meant I had plenty of time to wipe down already spotless counters and rearrange the pastry display at least five times.
By the time my shift ended, my nerves had settled just enough to fake normal. Barely.
I headed home, threw together grilled cheese and soup, helped Connor change, and then we were back out the door, hockey bag in hand.
It was only his second practice since we’d moved here, but hockey had always been his thing.
The second his skates hit the ice, it was like everything else faded away–he was in his element.
He was already fitting in with the team–laughing, skating, throwing himself into drills like he was chasing a dream. And watching him out there, so full of energy and ease, made something in my chest loosen.
I was starting to find a rhythm too. Our mornings had followed the same simple pattern: walking Connor to school, then heading straight to the bakery where the scent of sugar and yeast had begun to feel like home.
I’d spend the day making coffees, manning the counter, and trading banter with Benny, the steady hum of routine slowly soothing the part of me that was always braced for chaos.
After work, I’d pick Connor up, and we’d head home for dinner and homework, or on nights like this, straight to the rink for practice. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was predictable. Safe.
Our next-door neighbour, Mrs. Knox, had introduced herself on our second day with a tray of homemade lemon bars and a handwritten list of important phone numbers–hers at the top. She’d offered to watch Connor any time, swearing it was no trouble.
She’d dropped off soup when it snowed over the weekend, muffins this morning, and a sense of quiet reassurance.
Little by little, things were beginning to settle. The chaos in my chest was still there–probably always would be–yet it no longer swallowed me whole.
Sitting in the bleachers with Nina, sipping our coffee and laughing at her sharp, unfiltered commentary, had become a sort of comfort. There was something easy about being around her. I hadn’t known her for long, but some people just… get it. Get you.
By the time we stepped into the rink, the familiar blast of cold air hit us.
The scent of metal, rubber, and faintly sour hockey gear filled my lungs, oddly comforting in its own way.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a pale glow over the scuffed ice and worn wooden bleachers that lined the perimeter.
Connor took off down the tunnel toward the dressing room, hockey bag slung over one shoulder, not even sparing me a backward glance. He was already calling out to one of his teammates before he disappeared around the corner.