Aubrey
Ican’t help scolding myself as I walk up to Trent’s house.
Don’t get me wrong—I genuinely like Hazel, his mom, and I haven’t seen her in ages.
But after yesterday’s run-in with Trent in my office—and all the memories it dragged to the surface—I should be doing everything possible to keep my distance.
What’s worse is that he definitely used Hazel as an excuse to get me to cave. And even though I knew exactly what he was doing, here I am anyway, marching up his front steps with a box of pastries and cookies balanced in my hands.
Most annoying of all? I’m doing this to prove—to him, to myself, to the universe—that I’m not avoiding him.
Which, of course, I absolutely am. But that’s not the point.
With a long exhale, I shift the box in my arms, adjust my grip, and knock twice.
Moments later, the door swings open to reveal Hazel—petite, with a perfectly kept brownish gray bob and eyes so unmistakably like Trent’s it steals the breath from my lungs for a second.
“Oh, Aubrey, sweetheart! How lovely to see you. Come in, come in—Trent will be over the moon,” she says warmly, pulling the door open wider to let me step inside.
As soon as I cross the threshold, a wave of anxiety rushes through me—the scent of the house, familiar and unmistakably him, hits me like a punch to the chest.
Hazel doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she does and keeps quiet anyway, which somehow makes me even more uneasy.
“Let me take those,” she says, reaching for the pastry box I’m holding. “You always spoil us. Honestly, I don’t know how Mayridge survived before that bakery of yours.”
I manage a small smile, shrugging slightly. “I figured if I showed up empty-handed, you might just slam the door on me.”
Hazel laughs, light and warm. “Oh, please. You could bring nothing but a bad mood and I’d still let you in.”
She turns and heads toward the kitchen, chatting as she goes, but I don’t follow.
I stay rooted to the hallway floor, the air thick with something I don’t want to name.
Then I hear it—slower footsteps, uneven. The dull, familiar rhythm of crutches hitting hardwood. And then his voice.
“Hey.”
I stop short. He’s standing in the living room doorway, balanced awkwardly on both crutches, shoulders tense but gaze steady. He looks at me like he’s trying to decide if I’m real or just a ghost from the past.
“Hey,” I reply, softer than I intended.
A pause stretches between us, and for a moment I just take him in—fuck, he’s still so handsome.
His dark hair sits somewhere between tidy and unruly, longer on top and the sides grown out just enough to soften the edges, the back brushing his neck.
The dark stubble along his jaw only adds to the roughness.
He towers over me, all six-foot-two inches of him, while I barely reach five-five. His broad shoulders fill the doorway, making me feel small and, oddly, exposed.
Then his eyes light up with a smile—the first genuine one I’ve seen in a long time. That’s when I notice the hoodie he’s wearing. My hoodie. The one I stole from him back when everything was simpler.
He catches my gaze and glances down at it, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You were right. It is soft.”
My heart stutters. I open my mouth to say something—anything—but nothing comes out.
“It’s yours anytime you want it back, Bree.”
Just then, his mom bursts back into the hallway with plates of pastries in her hands.
“What are you two doing standing around here? Come on, let’s go sit down.”
My chest tightens, and I can’t shake the sudden rush of everything crashing in—the memories, the tension, the way Trent looks at me like I’m still part of his world. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. It’s too much, too soon.
I shake my head quickly, forcing a small smile. “Oh, actually, Hazel, I can’t stay. I just wanted to pop over with some baked goods and check in.”
I feel Trent’s eyes flick to mine, surprise—and maybe a flicker of hurt—shining there. I quickly look away unable to look at him, because if I don’t, I’ll break down in front of him and his mom.
“Oh, well, if you’re sure, sweetheart,” Hazel says, smiling gently, though I can see the disappointment lingering in her eyes. “The box of goodies was a lovely thought.”
She wraps me in a warm hug, and I keep my gaze low, even though I can still feel the heat of Trent’s eyes burning into me.
Hazel gives me one last reassuring squeeze before turning to Trent, “I’ll just go grab some drinks,” she says with a smile, heading back toward the kitchen, leaving me and Trent alone.
He steps a little closer, his voice low. “Don’t go. Stay a little longer.”
I swallow hard, the weight of everything pressing down on me. “I can’t. I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”
His brow furrows. “Where?”
Without thinking, I blurt out a lie. “I have plans with Justin.”
I know it’s not fair—Justin and I aren’t even dating anymore. But it’s the only thing I have.
Trent’s eyes darken with a quiet hurt, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. For a flicker of a moment, his smile falters—as if the words hit him harder than he let on. He forces a nod, but his voice is distant. “Right. Well, better not keep him waiting.”
I nod stiffly and turn toward the door. Hazel gives me a warm smile and a small wave from the kitchen as I step outside.
The moment the door clicks shut behind me, I lean against the frame, catching my breath.
I stay there for a second, pressing my lips together, willing the tears not to fall.
Then I push myself upright and make my way to the car.
It isn’t until I’m safely inside, the door shut and the silence closing in, that I finally let go.
The tears come hard and fast, and I sit there for a moment, unable to move, unable to breathe properly as everything I’ve been holding in collapses all at once.
I can’t help wondering if being around Trent will always hurt this much.