Chapter 22
Ella
It’s been three hours since Nathan walked out of here like a walking fever dream, and Ashton is still buzzing like she downed five espresso shots and started her own conspiracy podcast, which is not a bad idea, all things considered.
She’s been giving me side-eye from the front counter while pretending to organize macarons by mood.
“So…” she finally says, voice low and loaded. “How was the storage room?”
Ah, there it is. I don’t look up from restocking the croissants. “Fine.”
“Fine?” she echoes, like I just told her I watched a meteor hit the earth and shrugged.
“Yep.” I smile to myself.
“Because you look like someone who got pinned to a wall and then blessed by a Roman god.”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing.
Ashton leans on the counter. “Just give me a detail. A single detail. A location? A sound effect? Did the belt come off again? Because I saw the state of that shelf and—”
“Enough,” I say, holding up my hand. “You can guess all you want, but my mouth is sealed.”
She gasps. “So, your mouth wasn’t sealed earlier…OH MY GOD, ELLA…”
I throw a muffin at her.
She catches it midair like a gremlin and takes a bite with a grin. “You’re glowing, by the way. Like suspiciously radiant. What’s it like?”
I roll my eyes but feel the warmth rising in my cheeks. She’s not wrong. Ever since Nathan left this morning, I’ve been humming inside. Like my cells are vibrating. Like the air around me is lighter somehow.
Moments later, I spot my awkward, regular, high school hopeless, seated with his ever-present chocolate muffin, nervously tapping his foot under the table.
I get ready to walk over and bring him his hot chocolate when, like fate, the door opens and in she walks. The girl.
Same seat.
Same quiet focus.
Same intention?
He freezes. I hold my breath. He stares into his muffin even harder, like it’s holding the secrets of the universe.
Move, damn it! Do something!
I grab a plate, one blueberry muffin, and her usual caramel latte, the same order she’s made a dozen times, and carry them over to her table.
She frowns up at me and blinks slowly like she’s doing a hard math problem. “Oh…I didn’t order this.”
I nod toward the lonely guy. “I know. He did.”
Her eyes widen. Slowly, she turns her head. He was sitting there like a deer in headlights, face redder than the strawberry scones.
She smiles, soft, surprised, showing gratitude for his gift. He manages, just barely, to lift his gaze to hers. “Uh … y-you’re welcome.” His stammer is absolutely adorable. I fight my own smile.
She grins wider. “Thank you.”
Their eyes hold for a beat, and for the first time, I see something shift. Like maybe the wall between them isn’t so tall after all.
I catch his glance, wink, and walk back behind the register, pretending my chest didn’t ache just a little at how easy it looked for them.
Something about the innocence of two high schoolers captures me in the most vulnerable and painful way.
It’s easy when you’re young, or at least that’s how I remember it.
All it takes is a muffin, a winning football game, a smile across the hall, and boom: love.
When you’re an adult, you can still have all those things, but you also have years of baggage you’re carting around despite therapy and alcohol.
The day drags on in slow motion. Every latte I make feels like it takes a year. Every customer who walks in feels like a delay. All I can think about is seven p.m.
Nathan said he’d come back.
And for once, I actually believe he will. I believe the way he looked at me, the way he focused in on asking if I was closing. See? Simple. The entire thing. But what comes after, not so much.
At 5:02 p.m., my phone lights up on the prep table beside me.
Nathan: Hey. I’m so sorry, my last meeting ran late, and the day got away from me. I won’t be able to make it tonight.
I stare at the message for a full thirty seconds.
A sigh escapes before I can stop it. My hand shakes as I drop my phone to my side.
Disappointed? Of course. But also… grateful. He told me. He explained. That’s a first. He said something.
Still, I deflate like a sad soufflé.
I quickly text him back.
Me: No problem! Thanks for letting me know.
There, that sounds mature and not like I’m ready to cry into the newest batch of chocolate chip cookies. I decide to distract myself with cleaning, and before I know it, it’s already time to close up.
The “Cup he’s now officially the number one wide receiver in the NFL.
And in other Bishop news, he was spotted out last week with pop sensation Riley Cruise… ”
I glance up, and that’s when I see her.
Ashton. Standing in the middle of the bakery, mop in hand, staring at the screen like it just told her the meaning of life. Her eyes are locked in like laser beams. Bishop’s smiling photo, the kind they use on sports reels where the player looks charming and just slightly cocky.
But Ashton’s expression… is new.
Not her usual dry, I-know-everything-in-the-room-before-you-even-open-your-mouth look. Not her law-student, give-me-a-case-file-and-a-cup-of-coffee focus. No.
It’s a damn spark.
I lean against the counter with a smirk. “I’ve never seen that look before.”
Her head snaps toward me. “What look? There wasn’t a look.
“Oh, there was a look, I’m not buying it,” I tease, grinning. “Don’t even try to deny it. You like him, don’t you?”
Ashton’s cheeks burn the faintest shade of pink, which, for her, is basically a flashing neon sign.
I sigh.
“It’s not like he’s tall, handsome, charming, and the best football player in the league,” she says sarcastically, turning back to her mop like the floor is suddenly the most fascinating thing in the room.
I gasp and then do a triumphant scream into my hands. “Ah! I knew it. You do like him.”
Without missing a beat, Ashton walks to the counter, grabs the remote, and switches the channel from the sports broadcast to an episode of Dexter.
“No, I don’t,” she says in the calmest, most unusual Ashton voice I’ve ever heard. It’s eerie as the sound of a murder scene starts in the background. She keeps mopping like we’ve just been talking about the weather.
I grin and do a little dance. “Uh-huh. And I’m the Queen of England.”
Ashton doesn’t look up, but I swear I catch the ghost of a smile.