Chapter 6
RYLIN
Iwoke up with worry clenching my stomach, the same way it had every morning since Micah saw my secret recipe notebook.
I’d spent three years guarding that little spiral journal like it was a piece of my soul. Which, when I really thought about it, it kind of was.
Then, with one slip of my fingers, Micah had seen the messy notes and half-baked ideas I’d never shown another living person. And he hadn’t laughed as I expected.
He’d looked at those pages like they meant something.
And when he told me I had talent, it had inspired a confidence inside that I’d never felt before.
Which scared the heck out of me because there was nothing I could do about my dreams right now.
I needed to keep my focus on earning enough money to get Reese away from our mom.
I’d gone back to my apartment feeling raw and exposed, swearing I needed distance before I did something ridiculous. Like throw myself at Micah. Especially after the kisses he kept stealing from me.
But the universe had apparently decided to mess with me because he had popped in for a minute the following morning, just long enough to talk to the manager in the back and say a quick hello on his way out.
Yesterday, he only came through to grab food before heading to Long Island to watch game tapes. I’d barely caught a glimpse of him.
I should’ve been grateful that he made it so easy to avoid him, but I didn’t feel relieved. Instead, I kept catching myself glancing at the door as if expecting him to appear. Wanting him to. And that was the problem.
Without my noticing, seeing Micah had somehow become part of my routine, and the space had left me feeling off-balance.
By the time I pushed through the front door of The Tight Line for my afternoon shift today, I’d given myself at least three pep talks about staying focused on work. But the second I stepped inside, something felt off.
Two of my coworkers hovered near the front chalkboard, whispering to each other. Maya’s eyes were wide, and Derek’s lips were pursed together.
“Hey,” I greeted them cautiously.
They both whipped their heads toward me at the same time.
“Why didn’t you tell me you could bake like that?” Maya asked, her eyes sparkling. “I totally would’ve paid you to make a birthday cake for my boyfriend last week. Mine was a total disaster.”
Before I could ask what she meant, Derek grabbed the edge of the big chalkboard sign at the end of the counter and spun it around to face me.
I gasped when I saw what was written in bold white chalk.
RYLIN’S SIDELINE BARS
A fan-favorite: A sweet pastry with a buttery crumble, sweet apple-cinnamon filling, and a honey glaze.
For a split second, my brain outright stalled.
“What is this?” I choked out.
Maya bounced on the balls of her feet. “Almost every customer who came in today has bought one! Or more! We’re definitely going to sell out of them.”
“My name is on the board.” My voice came out an octave too high.
Derek snorted. “Yeah, we noticed.”
I felt heat flood my cheeks, quickly spreading into a full-body flush that made me wonder if I was about to spontaneously combust. Pride and panic tangled in my stomach until I couldn’t tell which was stronger.
Micah did this.
He put my recipe on the menu.
Without asking or giving me time to freak out over the possibility of customers hating them.
Instead of backing off as I thought, he’d been busy organizing this surprise.
Unsure of how to react, I mumbled something unintelligible and slipped into the employee break room, where it was quiet. I pressed my hands against the nearest table edge, inhaling deeply as I tried to steady myself.
The door swung open behind me.
I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Micah’s presence filled the room before he even spoke.
“Told you they’d be good.”
I whirled around, my jaw dropping. “Micah! You can’t just…just put my recipe on the menu!”
“Why not?” he asked with an arched brow.
“Because.” I gestured wildly with my hands, words momentarily failing me. “Because it’s mine. And you didn’t even tell me you were thinking about it. Now people are going to expect things, and I…I don’t know why you did this.”
He stepped closer. “Because you came up with something incredible, and people should taste it.”
Emotion swelled so fast I had to blink against it as my throat tightened. Micah truly believed in me, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
He didn’t say anything else at first. He just reached up and brushed his thumb lightly over my lower lip. It was the faintest stroke, almost like he wasn’t even fully aware he was doing it, but my breath still caught in my throat.
“I hope that seeing how fast those bars are selling helps you start believing in yourself the way I do.”
Butterflies swirled in my belly, but before I could manage a reply, he turned and walked out like he hadn’t just shifted my world on its axis.
I spent my shift off kilter, blushing each time a customer asked me about the bars. Then I distracted myself by coming up with a new recipe that night in bed—lemon blueberry blondie bars that I was only willing to admit to myself were partially inspired by Micah.
The next day, after the dinner rush, I headed back to clock out and grab my tote.
When I opened my locker, I froze, then slowly turned around.
On the table in the center of the room were a baking sheet, a piping set, a whisk, a small bottle of real vanilla extract, and chocolate that definitely did not come from the budget shelf. It was all top of the line.
A small yellow sticky note was propped against the stack.
For Rylin.
— M
He bought these for me.
As I reached for the whisk, a dozen emotions hit at once—wonder, disbelief, warmth, then panic because I didn’t know how to politely accept what he’d done for me.
I was still staring when the door opened behind me.
“You found them.”
I whipped around so fast the whisk almost flew from my hand. “Micah! I feel like a broken record, but you can’t just buy me things.”
He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. Looking completely unbothered and maddeningly patient. “Why not?”
“Because it’s too much.” I waved the whisk between us like it could express the chaos in my chest. “And I don’t want people thinking—”
I cut myself off before the rest could tumble out.
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “You let me get away with using your recipe. It’s only fair you get something in return.”
“That’s not how it works,” I sputtered even though he’d made a good point.
His voice gentled further as he added, “These are just tools. Ones that’ll make it easier for you to whip up more of those incredible treats.”
“You can’t do things like this,” I whispered, more breathless than angry.
He didn’t stop looking at me as though my flustered irritation delighted him. “I’m going to keep believing in you, whether you’re ready for it or not.”
I retreated a step, suddenly overheated and completely unsure what to do with the storm inside me. But when he left me alone, I very carefully tucked the supplies into my tote bag before going home.
Micah’s text came in the following morning while I was shoving my hair into a ponytail before work.
Micah: Hope you put those supplies to good use while I’m out of town this weekend.
I stared at the message longer than I should have.
The regular season had just started, and their first game was an away one. Which meant I wouldn’t see him for two whole days. And that bothered me more than it should.
I shoved my phone into my tote and told myself I was being ridiculous.
Missing Micah wasn’t part of the plan. I needed to keep my focus on Reese. My sweet sister, who was holding on by her fingertips in a house neither of us had ever felt safe in.
The plan was simple—save every dollar, work as many shifts as I could survive, keep my head down. Falling for the guy who owned the deli where I worked didn’t fit into it anywhere.
I sank onto the edge of my bed and pulled out my recipe notebook from where I’d left it under my mattress last night. When I flipped it open, a small square of yellow paper fluttered out and landed in my lap.
I traced the edge of the sticky note with my fingertip. I could have thrown it away. It would’ve been the smart thing to do.
Instead, I tucked it gently back between the pages, right beside the sketch of the lemon blueberry blondie bars I had drawn last night.
A quiet exhale slipped out of me.
As much as I kept telling myself nothing could change, I was starting to realize something terrifying. Somewhere in the middle of the rush and exhaustion of my life, Micah had slipped inside places he shouldn’t fit.