Ashes of Us

Chapter 14 Piper

The coffee shop next door to Rise & Shine was called Brewster's, and I'd been there approximately eight hundred times in the past week.

It was convenient, after all. I could grab an espresso between morning rush and afternoon prep, sit at the window counter, and watch foot traffic while my feet stopped screaming.

I'd never been there on a date.

Daniel was already at a table by the window when I walked in a few minutes late, thanks to a last-minute customer who wanted to order a custom cake and didn’t seem to care that we were closed.

He looked up from his phone and stood when he saw me—tall, maybe six-one, with brown hair that looked like he’d run his hands through it a few times. The jeans and grey henley were simple, but they fit the way clothes do on someone who actually works out. Effortless, but probably not by accident.

He stood when I walked in, which somehow made the whole thing feel like a real date. Which I supposed it was… except my stomach immediately hated the idea.

Then he smiled, and it was the kind of smile that reached his eyes and made the corners crinkle. Something in my chest unclenched.

"Hey." His voice was warm, a little rough around the edges. "You made it."

"Sorry I'm late. Customer emergency." Up close, he looked exactly like someone who worked emergency shifts: alert, steady, a little tired around the eyes.

"Let me guess… someone wanted a three-tier wedding cake for tomorrow?"

"Close. Birthday cake for tomorrow morning." I dropped into the chair across from him. "I told her I needed at least forty-eight hours for custom orders, and she looked at me like I'd personally ruined her son's life."

"Did you take the order?"

"Of course I took the order. I'm a pushover." I rubbed my eyes. "I'm going to be up until midnight doing fondant work."

"Want help?"

I looked up. He was serious… leaning forward slightly, genuine offer in his eyes.

"You know how to work with fondant?"

"God, no. But I can follow instructions and I've got steady hands.

" He held them up like proof. Broad palms, long fingers, the kind of hands that looked capable.

I noticed a thin scar across his left knuckle before I caught myself staring.

"Trauma training. I'm great in high-pressure situations involving small details. "

I laughed before I could stop myself. "You're offering to spend your Saturday night doing fondant work for a stranger's kid?"

"I'm offering to spend my Saturday night with you. The fondant is just a bonus."

Oh.

Oh, he was good at this.

The barista called my name and I realized Daniel had already ordered for me: iced vanilla latte, extra shot. I must have looked surprised because he shrugged.

"Maya mentioned you're very specific about your coffee."

"She's been talking about me."

"Extensively. I know about the bakery, the fact that you alphabetize your spice rack, and something about how you once made a cake shaped like a submarine for your second-grade class."

"Oh God." I covered my face. "What else did she tell you?"

"That you're the most loyal person she knows. That you work too hard. That you stress-bake when you're anxious and that your lemon bars could solve world peace." He paused. "And that you got out of a really shitty relationship last year."

There it was. I'd known it was coming, of course. Maya wouldn't set me up without giving him the full story, but hearing it out loud still made my stomach knot.

"She told you about the wedding."

"She told me you were engaged and it ended badly. She didn't give me details, just said you'd been through a lot." His expression was careful, like he was trying not to spook me. "I'm not going to ask you about it. But if you want to talk about it, I'll listen."

I took a long sip of my latte, buying time. This was the part where I was supposed to give him the sanitized version—we grew apart, it wasn't working, these things happen—so I didn't seem like damaged goods on a first date.

But I was tired of pretending it was anything other than what it was.

"I caught him cheating," I said. “Five weeks before the wedding. With someone he worked with."

Daniel's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt.

"I walked in on them at his fire station. I'd brought cupcakes." I laughed, sharp and humorless. "I'd been testing wedding cake flavors."

"Jesus."

"Yeah." I set down my cup. "So I canceled the wedding, moved in with Maya, and started baking. And now here I am, on a date that my sister set up because she thinks I've been hiding in my kitchen for a year."

"Have you been?"

"Absolutely." I met his eyes. "Is that going to be a problem?"

He considered this, took a sip of his own coffee. "I don't know. Are you still in love with him?"

The question hit like cold water. No one had asked me that. Not Maya, not my mom, not even myself in the mirror at 2 AM when I couldn't sleep.

For a second, I felt the urge to laugh. The kind of laugh that would come out wrong, sharp and bitter.

In love? My brain replayed the image I'd been trying to forget for a year—Liam's hand in Jenna's hair, her legs wrapped around him, the way he'd kissed her like he was drowning and she was air.

Then Daniel's question echoed back: Are you still in love with him?

The laugh died in my throat.

"No," I said. And then, more honestly: "I don't think so. But I'm not sure I trust my own judgment anymore."

"That's fair." He leaned back in his chair. "For what it's worth, I've been there. Different circumstances, but I get it."

"Yeah?"

"My ex-wife cheated on me with her personal trainer. Very cliché. Very painful." He said it matter-of-factly, like he'd made peace with it. "We'd been married three years. I came home early from a shift and found them in our bed."

"God, I'm sorry."

"It was two years ago. I'm okay now. Mostly." He met my eyes. "But I still have moments where I wonder if I missed something. If there were signs I should have seen."

"Did you?"

"Probably. I was working a lot. We weren't communicating. But also…” He shrugged. "She made her choice. I didn't make it for her."

Something in my chest eased. He got it. Actually got it.

"So here we are," I said. "Two people with trust issues having coffee."

"Could be worse. At least the coffee's good." He grinned. "And for the record, I still want to help with that fondant later."

"You're serious about that?"

"Dead serious. I'll even bring dinner. What do you like?"

I laughed. "You know you don't have to help me make a cake for a stranger's kid just to impress me, right? There are easier ways."

"Where's the fun in easy?" He grinned. "Besides, I want to see you in your element. Covered in flour, swearing at fondant. It sounds entertaining."

"It's really not. I get very intense about cake."

"Even better."

He was still grinning, and I realized I was smiling back. Actually smiling, not the customer-service version I'd perfected over the past year.

"So," he said. "About dinner. What do you like?"

"Anything that isn't cake-shaped."

He laughed—that sweet laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes—and suddenly this felt less like a terrifying first date and more like... coffee with someone who might actually understand.

We talked for another hour. He told me about his work.

The weird calls, the regulars they saw over and over, the dark humor that kept them sane.

I told him about the bakery, about the panic of opening week, about the woman who'd ordered six dozen cookies and then tried to pay with a personal check from 1987.

It was easy and comfortable.

Normal.

When we finally stood to leave, he walked me the thirty feet back to my bakery door.

"So," he said. "Was this completely terrible?"

"Shockingly not terrible."

"Good enough for a second date?"

I hesitated. Not because I didn't want to… I did. But because part of me was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to reveal some fatal flaw, and for me to realize I'd misjudged again.

He saw my hesitation and didn't push. "No pressure. But I meant what I said about the fondant. I'll show up at seven with Thai food and zero expectations. If you decide you want to see me again after that, great. If not, at least you'll have help with the cake."

"You're really okay with that?"

"Piper." He said my name like he'd been practicing it. "I'm not going to show up at your door with expectations and a stopwatch. I'm just a guy who wants to help you make a superhero cake and see where things go. That work for you?"

My chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with anxiety.

"Thai food sounds good," I said. "Seven o'clock."

His smile was worth every ounce of fear.

He showed up on time with pad thai, spring rolls, and a YouTube tutorial on fondant work pulled up on his phone.

"I did research," he announced, setting the food on my small kitchen counter. "Turns out there are very passionate opinions about fondant versus buttercream."

"Oh, you've entered a war zone."

"I'm Team Buttercream, for the record. Fondant tastes like sweetened Play-Doh."

"Correct opinion." I handed him an apron—one of mine, which meant it said RISE & SHINE across the front in cheerful letters. He put it on without complaint.

We ate first, sitting on the kitchen floor because my apartment above the bakery was still barely furnished. Just a mattress on the floor in the bedroom, a card table with two folding chairs, and boxes I hadn't unpacked yet.

"You really committed to the minimalist aesthetic," Daniel observed, looking around.

"I've been busy."

"Clearly." He gestured at the kitchen, which was the only room that looked lived-in. Professional-grade stand mixer, shelves of baking supplies, a collection of mixing bowls that would make any chef jealous. "You put all your energy into this."

"It's all I have right now."

He looked at me for a long moment. "I don't think that's true. But I get why it feels that way."

Then he stood up, brushed off his hands, and said: "Okay. Teach me about fondant."

Two hours later, we had something that actually looked like a superhero logo.

The lines were decent—I'd had to fix a few of Daniel's wobbly edges—and the colors only bled a little in one corner where he'd been a little too enthusiastic with the red.

Not my best work, but still bakery-window worthy. The kid would love it.

"Not bad for a first-timer," I said, stepping back to assess our work.

"I had a good teacher." Daniel was studying the cake with the same focused intensity he'd probably used on trauma patients. "Think the mom will be satisfied?"

"She'll be thrilled. Trust me."

"Optimistic. I like it."

I started cleaning up. Washing bowls, wiping down counters, the familiar rhythm of closing down the kitchen. Daniel helped without being asked, falling into an easy partnership that felt startling in its naturalness.

When everything was clean, he hung up the apron and checked his watch.

"I should go. Early shift tomorrow."

"Right. Yeah." I walked him to the door, suddenly awkward. "Thanks for... all of this. The food, the fondant, the terrible YouTube tutorials."

"Anytime." He paused in the doorway, backlit by the stairwell light. "So. Same time next week? Or is that too presumptuous?"

"Presumptuous would be assuming I need help with fondant again."

"Fair point. You're clearly a professional." He grinned. "How about just dinner then? No cake emergencies required."

"I'd like that."

"Yeah?" His smile widened, and I realized he'd genuinely been unsure of my answer.

"Yeah."

He kissed my cheek—brief, warm—and headed down the stairs. "Text me when you're free," he called back. "I'll bring better takeout next time."

"The Thai food was fine!"

"It was lukewarm by the time we ate it. I can do better."

I stood in the doorway, smiling like an idiot, until I heard the outside door close behind him.

Then I went back inside, locked up, and looked at the superhero cake sitting on my counter. My phone buzzed almost immediately. Daniel.

Made it to my truck without tripping on the stairs. Consider that a win.

Also, you have flour in your hair. Thought you should know.

I laughed and touched the back of my head, finding the telltale dusting of white powder I'd somehow missed.

Professional baker. Very put together.

Most attractive flour-covered person I've ever met.

I set my phone down, still smiling.

It had been a good night. An unexpectedly good night. And for the first time in a year, I wasn't thinking about what I'd lost.

I was thinking about what might be ahead.