Chapter 9
Avery
Avery stared at the mixing bowl like it had personally betrayed her.
Flour coated the counter. And the floor. And her hair. And somehow the ceiling.
The batter in front of her looked… wrong. Like glue. If glue had lumps. And a questionable smell.
She groaned, dropping her forehead onto her arm. “I used to be good at this.”
It’d taken a few weeks, but Sweet Treats was warm for the first time since she’d returned, sunlight spilling through the windows, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. She’d cleaned enough to make the place feel almost alive again.
Almost.
She straightened, grabbed the bowl, and marched toward the oven.
“Okay, you stupid thing,” she muttered. “Let’s try this again.”
She opened the oven door.
A wave of heat blasted out — too hot, way too hot — and the moment the bowl tilted, the batter sloshed over the edge and splattered onto the open door, sizzling like it was trying to escape.
Avery yelped and jerked back.
The bowl slipped.
Time slowed.
“No, no, no…”
It hit the floor with a wet, catastrophic splat.
Batter exploded everywhere.
On her shoes. On the cabinets. On the wall. On her soul.
She stared at the mess in stunned silence.
Sweet Treats used to be the one place she never felt out of place. Now even the oven seemed to know she didn’t fit anymore.
Then—
A low voice behind her: “…What the hell happened in here?”
Avery spun around.
Noah stood in the doorway, expression somewhere between horrified and amused. His cut hung open, his T-shirt stretched across his chest, his hair slightly messy like he’d run his hands through it on the way over.
He looked good.
Too good.
Seven years of silence pressed against her chest. She’d left him with nothing but a wave and a lie about being fine.
Avery scowled. “Don’t laugh.”
He didn’t listen.
A slow, deep laugh rumbled out of him, a sound that wrapped around her and pulled her in. It hit her straight in the chest.
“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Stop.”
He stepped inside, boots crunching on dried flour. “Aves… what were you trying to do? Summon a demon?”
“I was trying to bake.”
“Looks like the baking fought back.”
She threw a towel at him. He caught it easily, still grinning.
And for the first time since she’d come home, Avery laughed too.
It felt good. It felt dangerous. It felt like remembering.
Noah crouched beside the oven, frowning. “This thing’s overheating.”
“It hates me.”
“It hates everyone.” He tugged the oven door gently. “It’s warped. Probably hasn’t been serviced in years.”
“Like everything else in here.”
He glanced up at her, eyes softening. “You’re doing good, Aves.”
Her chest tightened.
He didn’t say things like that anymore. He didn’t say things like that to her.
He stood and tugged a screwdriver from his back pocket. “Hold this.”
She raised a brow. “You still walk around armed with tools?”
He shot her a look. “Prepared.”
“For what? Random appliance emergencies?”
“For anything,” he said, and the way he said it made her chest tighten.
She held the oven door while he worked, his shoulder brushing hers every few seconds. Each touch sent a warm, unwelcome flutter through her stomach.
He muttered under his breath as he tightened a screw. “This thing’s a death trap.”
“You’re very encouraging.”
“I’m honest.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stubborn.”
Their eyes met.
The air shifted.
He reached for another screw at the same moment she adjusted her grip on the door. Their hands brushed, warm skin against warm skin.
They both froze.
The moment stretched. Quiet. Breathless. Charged.
She shouldn’t feel this. Not after the way she’d left him standing on that curb.
Avery’s pulse fluttered. Noah’s jaw tightened. Neither of them moved.
And then she remembered:
Sweet Treats, after closing. The air warm with cinnamon and sugar. The lights low. The world small and safe.
She wiped down the last table while Noah stacked chairs, the warm scent of cinnamon lingering in the air. The lights were dim, the world outside quiet.
She turned… and nearly collided with him.
He caught her waist without thinking. She grabbed his forearm to steady herself.
They froze.
His hand was warm. Her heart pressed hard against her ribs. His eyes dropped to her mouth, just for a second, but enough to make her heart stutter.
“Noah…” she whispered.
He swallowed hard. “Yeah?”
She didn’t know what she was going to say. She didn’t know what she wanted. She only knew she wanted him close.
He leaned in, slow and hesitant, like he was giving her time to pull away.
She didn’t.
Their noses brushed. Her lips parted. His breath mingled with hers.
And then Aunt Clara called from the back room, “Kids, lights off when you’re done!”
They jumped apart like they’d been burned.
Avery blinked, breath catching as the memory washed over her.
Noah’s eyes widened, like he was remembering the same moment.
Their hands were still touching.
Too warm. Too familiar. Too much.
She’d walked away from the boy who almost kissed her — and being this close to the man he’d grown into made that choice ache in a way she hadn’t expected.
He pulled back too quickly, like the contact shocked him, clearing his throat. “Oven’s fixed.”
“Right,” she whispered. “Okay.”
He wiped his hands on his jeans. “You should try again.”
“With what confidence?”
His mouth twitched. “I’ll stay. Make sure you don’t burn the place down.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
She grabbed a new bowl, trying not to smile. “Fine. But if this one explodes, it’s your fault.”
He leaned against the counter, watching her with an expression she couldn’t read, something held tight behind his eyes.
“Deal,” he said.
And as she measured flour, as he quietly corrected her grip on the whisk, as their shoulders brushed again and again, Avery felt something she hadn’t felt in years.
Hope.
And something else, too.
Something warm. Something dangerous. Something sweet.
They remembered who they were.
And neither of them knew what to do with it.