Aubrey
Early mornings at the bakery have always been my favorite—the calm before the doors open, the soft hum of the ovens, and the quiet satisfaction of adding the final touches to the day’s sweet treats.
I take my time arranging the display case, making sure every pastry, cookie, and cake is perfectly placed, as if each one has its own little stage.
Just as I finish lining up the chocolate peanut butter cookies and turn to head back to the kitchen, a sudden knock at the door breaks the stillness.
I spin around, surprised, because there’s still an hour before we open, and spot Justin through the glass, standing there with that carefree smile of his, casually waving like he didn’t just startle me half to death.
I hesitate for a moment before unlocking the door, the cool morning air slipping in as I pull it open.
“Early start for you,” I say, giving him a curious look as he steps inside.
“First day back on site,” Justin replies, rubbing his hands together like he’s shaking off the nerves.
“Brandon mentioned you were heading back to work with them again.”
He nods. “Yeah. It’s been a while since I’ve done the real hands-on stuff.
Swapped out my tool belt for a surfboard these last few years,” he says, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“But I’m hoping it’s all still there—like muscle memory.
And with Trent out for a while, I figured it’s a good time to step in. Lighten the load a little.”
“Well, I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.” I smile, a little awkwardly. “Did you want a coffee? I just set up the coffee machine.” I step aside, holding the door open wider.
“Yeah, sounds good,” he says, stepping inside.
Justin settles into one of the booths near the counter, his fingers drumming lightly on the tabletop as I move behind the counter to get the coffee going. The machine hisses to life, filling the quiet space with the familiar scent of dark roast and something warm and grounding.
When I slide into the booth across from him, I set his coffee down first, then wrap my hands around mine, letting the heat soak into my fingers.
For a moment, neither of us say anything. The morning light stretches across the tiles, soft and golden, while the world outside still sleeps.
Then Justin looks up, his gaze steady, softened by something quieter beneath it. “How’ve you been holding up?” he asks, his voice low, careful—like he already knows the answer might not be simple.
“Uh… yeah, I’m doing okay.” I force a small smile. “Sorry I haven’t been around much. Things have just been a little crazy lately.”
“I get it. No need to apologize.”
He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing the tips of mine. Instinctively, I pull my hand back before I even realize I’m doing it.
“Sorry, I didn’t—” he starts.
“No, it’s not you,” I cut in quickly, guilt already creeping in as I catch the flicker of confusion in his eyes. “It’s me. My head’s… kind of all over the place right now.”
Justin’s great. He’s exactly the kind of guy I should want to be with—steady, kind, funny, and all kinds of thoughtful. And on the few dates we’ve been on since the Fourth of July, he’s been nothing but a gentleman.
A few days ago, I thought I was ready. Ready to let go of the past, to dive back into something new.
But now? Now I can see how unfair that would be—to him.
Because the truth is, my head isn’t in it.
My heart’s still somewhere else, no matter how hard I try to fight it.
And dragging Justin into that… he deserves better.
I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “Justin, I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you. And if the timing were different—”
“It’s okay, Aubrey,” he says gently, cutting me off before I can finish. “You don’t have to explain. I kind of figured… if I’m being honest, the way you ran to Trent’s bedside—I could tell there was more to it than just being a family friend.”
“There’s nothing going on with me and Trent,” I reply quickly, the words tumbling out faster than I mean them to.
He tilts his head slightly, his brows lifting. “No?”
“No.” I shake my head, suddenly very aware of how tight my voice sounds. “I mean, yeah, I was upset when I heard about the accident—I’ve known him for years, but that’s all. Just one friend worried about another.”
Justin studies me for a second, then nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “Okay,” he says quietly. “If you say so.”
He reaches for his coffee, then stops. Instead, he stands, sliding out of the booth with quiet finality.
“I appreciate the coffee,” he adds, his voice even, but not unkind. “And the honesty—about where you’re at.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“I’ll see you around, Aubrey.”
And with that, he’s gone, the bell over the door giving a soft chime as it swings shut behind him.
The chime of the door lingers long after Justin’s footsteps fade, leaving the bakery feeling suddenly emptier than before. I stare down at my untouched coffee, the warmth seeping into my hands but failing to reach the cold knot tightening in my chest.
I run a shaky hand through my hair, the silence pressing in, reminding me that some wounds heal on a timeline you can’t control.
Maybe it’s time to start letting go. Even If I’m not completely ready too.
As soon as I step through the front door of my brother Brandon’s house, the sharp scent of something burnt hits me like a wall. I wrinkle my nose, close the door behind me, and hang my bag on the hook—just as my five-year-old niece comes tearing around the corner.
“Auuuntie Strawberry!” she shrieks, arms flailing, a blur of energy and joy.
I grin, heart already melting, and crouch down to catch her as she barrels into me.
“Hey, sweet girl,” I laugh, scooping her up into a big hug.
“Auntie Strawberry,” she says, eyes wide with delight, “Daddy burnt the pasketti and the meatballs—so now we get to have pizza!”
She’s beaming like she’s won the lottery, but it’s the look on Brandon’s face behind her that gets me. Wednesday night dinners at his place have been a tradition for as long as I can remember—chaotic, loud, and never quite going according to plan. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Hey,” he calls out, pointing at her, “I thought we agreed that was our little secret.”
Avery giggles and buries her face in my shoulder.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
“I was hoping you’d be polite and let it slide,” he sighs, half-defeated. “But now that this little traitor spilled the beans, I’ll never live it down.”
“It’s okay, Daddy,” Avery says, patting his arm like he’s the one who needs comforting. “Strawberry can help you next time. Or Mimi. Mimi makes good pasketti.”
Brandon huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re killing me, kid.”
Brandon disappears into the kitchen, muttering something about smoke detectors and takeout menus, while Avery leads me proudly to the couch like she’s hosting a VIP guest.
We eat pizza straight from the box, Avery picking off every piece of pepperoni and offering them to me like prized treasures. By the time we finish, she’s curled up next to me with sauce on her cheeks and a tired little smile on her face.
“Okay, kiddo,” Brandon says, emerging with a damp dish towel over his shoulder. “Time to get your jammies on.”
“Can Auntie Strawberry read me a story?” Avery asks, already clinging tighter to my arm and giving her dad the classic puppy-dog eyes.
Brandon shoots me a look—half amused, half pleading. “Your call,” he says.
Avery turns her wide eyes up at me. “Pleeeease.”
I sigh dramatically, even though I’m already melting. “Well, how can I say no to that?” I say, kissing her cheek.
She squeals and jumps to her feet, then grabs both my hand and Brandon’s, tugging us toward the stairs.
“I thought Strawberry was reading to you,” Brandon says, pretending to dig in his heels.
“She’s going to read to both of us, Daddy.”
Once inside Avery’s room—which is painted the sweetest pale pink, with princesses dancing across the walls—she runs straight to her bookshelf and pulls out a book, and hands it to me.
“I’ll get my jammies on. You can practice if you want,” she says, then rushes off to the bathroom.
I stifle a laugh at her suggestion and flip through the pages of the book she picked: Peace at Last.
When Avery returns and settles under the covers, Brandon leans against the doorway while I sit down beside her bed.
Together, we read the story of Daddy Bear, who can’t sleep because all the noises in the house keep waking him up.
My voice is soft and steady as I read while Avery listens closely, her small hand resting lightly on mine. The words about Daddy Bear’s restless night echo quietly in the room, the familiar rhythm soothing both of us.
Her eyes start to droop as I turn the final page, and I tuck the blanket around her a little tighter.
“The end,” I whisper, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Just as I start to get up and put the book away, her quiet voice breaks the silence.
“Auntie Strawberry,” she says softly, “Do all mommies snore?”
It takes me a moment to realize what she means, but then I lift the book in my hand and remember—Daddy Bear couldn’t sleep because of Mommy Bear’s snoring. I glance up at her little face, a mixture of curiosity and sadness written across it.
“Sometimes mommies snore,” I say gently, “but mostly it’s the daddies who do.”
She looks down for a moment before asking, “Did my mommy snore?”
My heart aches for her. Avery’s mom left when Avery was just a year old, and this is the first time I’ve heard her ask about her. I glance toward Brandon, uncertain of what to say, and the sadness etched on his face hits me hard.
Without missing a beat, Brandon steps into the room and sits down on Avery’s bed.
“Sometimes, kiddo,” he says softly. “But like Strawberry said, it’s mostly the daddies that snore.”
Avery nods, satisfied with his answer, and snuggles down beneath her covers. We whisper goodnight and ease the door shut behind us as we slip out of the room.
I make my way into the living room and start tidying up the dinner mess just as Brandon walks back in, a look of defeat heavy on his face.
“You okay?” I ask gently, sitting on the edge of the couch and glancing over at him.
He lets out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair as he leans against the doorway. “Yeah… I knew this day was coming. But damn, it still fucking sucks.”
I shift slightly, my voice softening. “Has she asked about her before?”
He shrugs, eyes distant. “A couple of times, but nothing major. I’m expecting more questions once she starts school and sees other kids being dropped off and picked up by their moms.”
I reach out and give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “She’s lucky to have you, Brandon. You’re doing an amazing job.”
He just nods, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he snaps back into his usual serious self and begins collecting the pizza boxes.
Once the living room is back to its former glory, I say my goodbyes and head out the door. Inside my car, I glance back to see Brandon standing there—a quick wave of his hand before he closes the door.
As I drive home, I can’t stop thinking about how much Brandon must still be holding on to when it comes to Avery’s mom.
I remember the months after she left—how quiet he became, how he seemed to shrink into himself, more distant than I’d ever seen him.
I’m not sure the old Brandon ever truly came back.
But one thing I do know: that little girl is incredibly lucky to have him as her dad.
And as a family, we’ll stand by them—through every high and every low—no matter what comes.