Chapter 17 Piper
The Thursday morning rush had finally died down.
I was restocking the pastry case—three cinnamon rolls left, half a dozen lemon bars, the last of the chocolate croissants—when Megan appeared at my elbow with the empty coffee carafe.
"We're out of the medium roast again," she said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Want me to brew more or switch to the dark?"
"Dark's fine. Most people are done with their morning coffee by now anyway."
Megan had been working for me for a few weeks now, ever since the bakery's opening week proved I couldn't do everything myself.
She was twenty-two, a senior at the community college studying business, and she showed up on time and didn't eat all the profits.
By my standards, she was employee of the year.
She disappeared into the back and I heard the grinder start up, that familiar sound that used to put me to sleep when I first opened. Now it was just background noise.
The bakery was nearly empty—just Mrs. Kowalski in the corner with her crossword puzzle and a cappuccino, and a guy with a laptop who'd been nursing the same americano for two hours.
The late morning lull. My favorite part of the day, after the chaos of the breakfast rush but before I had to start prepping for tomorrow.
I was wiping down the counter when the bell above the door chimed.
I looked up, customer-service smile already in place, and Daniel walked in. He was still in his EMT uniform, carrying two paper bags from the deli down the street.
My smile shifted into something real.
"Hey," he said, setting the bags on the counter. "Figured you forgot to eat again."
"I ate."
"Toast at four in the morning doesn't count." He leaned across the counter and kissed my cheek, casual and comfortable. "Turkey sandwich and those weird pickle chips you like. Also got you a real lunch for once instead of whatever stale pastry you were going to pretend was a meal."
"The pastries aren't stale."
"The ones from yesterday are."
I grabbed one of the bags and peeked inside. He'd remembered to ask for extra pickles. "You're annoyingly thoughtful."
"It's a character flaw." He was grinning now, his eyes crinkling in that adorable way of his. "I might have a break between calls. Thought I'd actually sit down and eat with you for once instead of inhaling a protein bar in the ambulance."
"Revolutionary concept."
"I'm an innovator." He glanced around the nearly empty bakery. "You busy or can you take ten minutes?"
I looked at the counter; clean. The pastry case; stocked. Megan was in the back, probably scrolling her phone while the coffee brewed, and Mrs. Kowalski wasn't going anywhere.
"Yeah," I said, already untying my apron. "I can take ten minutes."
We sat at the table by the window, the one with the wobbly leg I kept meaning to fix. Daniel unpacked the sandwiches, slid mine across to me, and I realized I was actually hungry. When had I last eaten? The toast, like he said. Six hours ago.
"How's your morning been?" he asked.
"Sold out of croissants by nine. Again."
"That's good, right?"
"That's very good. Means I need to make more tomorrow." I took a bite of the sandwich. "How's yours?"
"Quiet. Couple of minor calls. Nothing dramatic." He was watching me with that look he got sometimes, like he was cataloging details. Making sure I was okay. "You look tired."
"I'm always tired."
"Different tired. Like you didn't sleep."
I had slept. Mostly. A few hours, at least, before the alarm dragged me out of bed at four. "I'm fine."
"Piper."
"I'm fine," I repeated, but I was smiling. "Really. Just the usual bakery owner exhaustion. Nothing a weekend won't fix."
"Speaking of which…” He leaned back in his chair. "You're closed Sunday, right?"
"Always."
"Want to do something? Movie, dinner, I don't know. Something that isn't you working yourself to death."
"That sounds—"
The bell above the door chimed.
I glanced up automatically, that customer-service reflex kicking in even though I was technically on break.
Liam stood in the doorway.
Taller than I remembered, broader through the chest and shoulders. A short beard now, the kind that made him look older, rougher. His hair was cropped short but still managed to look unruly, like he’d stopped caring about perfect. He looked… different.
For a second I just stared, heart stuttering in my chest.
Liam.
He stood there like he'd been frozen mid-step, one hand still on the door, his eyes locked on mine. I watched recognition flash across his face—shock, then something like pain… then something worse.
He'd seen Daniel.
"Piper?" Daniel's voice was quiet, concerned. "What's wrong?"
I couldn't answer. Couldn't even move. My sandwich was still in my hand, suspended halfway to my mouth like I'd been paused mid-frame.
Liam took a step inside and the door swung shut behind him with a soft click.
"Piper." Just my name. But the way he said it—like it hurt to push the word out—made my chest crack open.
I flinched.
Daniel's hand found mine on the table. "Hey. You okay?"
I pulled my hand back without meaning to and set down my sandwich. Daniel's expression shifted from confusion to worry, but he stayed quiet.
"What are you doing here?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.
Liam's eyes flicked to Daniel, then back to me. "I needed to talk to you."
"We have nothing to talk about."
"Please," Liam said. "I just need five minutes. That's all."
"No." I pressed my hands flat against the table to keep them from shaking. "You don't get to show up here. You don't get to…" My voice cracked and I hated myself for it. "You need to leave."
Daniel stood up then, still calm but moving to my side of the table. He didn't know who this was, but he knew something was very wrong. "Piper asked you to leave."
Liam's jaw clenched, but his eyes stayed on me.
"I know I don't have the right to be here.
But I drove two hours and I've been sitting in my truck for twenty minutes trying to figure out if I should come in, and I just—" He stopped.
Swallowed hard. "I needed to say I'm sorry.
I needed you to hear it from me. In person. "
Daniel went very still beside me, and I felt the moment he understood.
"You're Liam," Daniel said.
Liam's eyes flicked to him, then back to me. "Yeah."
The silence stretched. Mrs. Kowalski's newspaper rustled in the corner. The laptop guy's fingers had stopped clicking. Even the espresso machine seemed to quiet.
Daniel's hand touched my shoulder, gentle. "Do you want me to make him leave? I can—"
"No." I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. My hands were still shaking, but I forced myself to look at him. Older. Broader. Beard shading his jaw, tension in his stance like he was bracing for impact. "Five minutes. Then I want you gone."
Something that might have been relief crossed Liam's face. Or maybe just pain. I couldn't tell anymore.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
I stood up. "Outside. Five minutes."
"Piper—" Daniel started.
"I'm fine." I wasn't fine. But I couldn't do this here, with Daniel's hand on my shoulder and Mrs. Kowalski pretending not to stare and Megan probably watching from the back. "Just... give me five minutes."
Daniel's jaw was tight but he nodded. "I'll be right here."
I walked toward the door and Liam stepped aside to let me pass. I caught a whiff of his cologne—different from what he used to wear, something woodsy and unfamiliar—and my stomach twisted.
The door chimed behind us as we stepped out onto the sidewalk. Main Street was quiet this time of day, just a few cars passing, someone walking a dog across the street.
I crossed my arms and turned to face him. Still, I kept three feet of distance between us.
"Start talking," I said.
He ran his hand through his hair. Couldn't look at me.
"I fucked up. I know saying sorry doesn't—it doesn't fix anything. But I cheated on you. For months. While you were planning our wedding." His voice cracked. "You were making cupcakes at five in the morning and I was—" He stopped. Swallowed hard. "You trusted me and I lied every single day."
He finally looked up. His eyes were red.
"You keep saying that like it’ll sound different if you mean it harder." I shook my head. "But it doesn’t. It doesn’t change what happened, Liam. There’s no fixing it. No going back."
Liam nodded. "I'm not here to ask for anything. I just needed you to know it wasn't your fault. It was all me. You were always enough."
I stared at him.
He thought—what? That I'd been waiting a year to hear that? That I needed him to tell me I was enough?
"Are you fucking kidding me?" The words came out sharp, louder than I meant. A woman walking past with a stroller glanced over. I didn't care. "You think that's what I needed to hear? That I was *enough?"
Liam blinked. "I just meant—"
"I know what you meant." My hands were shaking again but not from fear this time. From rage. "You think I've been sitting here for the past year wondering if I did something wrong? If I wasn't pretty enough or interesting enough or—what? Good enough in bed?"
"No, that's not—"
"I didn't open this bakery to prove anything to you.
I opened it because you destroyed my life and I had to build a new one.
" I took a step closer. "I know what I'm worth, Liam.
I figured that out the second I walked out of our apartment.
The second I decided I'd rather start over with nothing than spend one more day with someone who looked me in the eye and lied. "
His face crumpled. "Piper—"
"You don't get to come here and grant me absolution. You don't get to tell me I was always enough like that's some gift you're giving me." My voice cracked but I pushed through. "I don't need your fucking validation."
He stood there. Just stood there and took it. Didn't argue. Didn't try to explain.
When I finally stopped, chest heaving, he was quiet for a long moment.
Then his eyes moved past me to the bakery window. I didn't turn around but I knew what he was seeing. Daniel, standing inside, watching us. Probably ready to come out here if I gave any signal that I needed him.
Liam's jaw tightened. His hands flexed at his sides, then stilled. When he looked back at me, something in his face had shifted. Shut down.
"You're right." His voice was quiet and flat. "You're absolutely right."
He looked at the bakery again. At the yellow awning, the logo I'd designed myself, and everything I'd built without him.
"I'm sorry." A pause. "I'm sorry I came here. I thought—" He stopped and shook his head. "It doesn't matter what I thought."
Another beat. He was looking at me but somehow past me at the same time, like he was already gone.
"I'm sorry for everything." His voice cracked on 'everything' but he kept going. "I won't bother you again."
He turned to leave. Took two steps down the sidewalk, then stopped.
Didn't turn around.
"He seems like a good guy." Barely audible. "I'm glad."
Then he walked away.