25. Chapter 25
twenty-five
Sadie
Iwas definitely stress baking. Like, capital-S stress.
Three dozen almond croissants were puffing in one oven, molten lava cakes bubbling in the other, and enough dough rising on every available surface to feed the entire damn county for a week.
It was also nearly three a.m.
And I felt like I’d chugged a six-pack of energy drinks, chased with anxiety and lust.
My hands were shaking. My heart hadn’t stopped fluttering since he left.
Correction: since he walked out of my bathroom wrapped in a towel, sat down at my kitchen table like that was normal, and smirked at me like he knew.
And okay, maybe he did know.
Because I was absolutely not okay.
Not with the way that single bead of water had rolled from his chest hair, down the ridge of muscle, tracing a slow, torturous path along his happy trail—
“Ugh.” I groaned, dropping my forehead to the counter like it might ground me.
I had lived for thirty-two years. Thirty-two years I had gone without combusting over a man.
I’d survived toxic relationships, fake love, polite indifference, and one guy who used to hum while he chewed.
I could survive this.
A few more… what? Weeks?
Days?
Hours?
Whatever.
It wouldn’t kill me.
Right?
...Unless he showed up again in that towel, in which case I might actually spontaneously combust and take the croissants with me.
I was writing down ideas for the chalkboard.
Because that’s what normal people did at three a.m., right?
Right.
Almond Going Nuts: almond croissants with a honey drizzle, paired with a hazelnut latte dusted with cinnamon and cardamom.
Make Lava Not War: a redemption arc for last week’s lava cake disaster—these had a gooey caramel center and would go out with a chai latte, swirled with caramel.
The bread was… just bread.
Just something to do with my hands.
I’d give the loaves away to anyone who stopped in, because the kneading helped, and the smell helped, and the heat helped.
I groaned, dropping the chalk.
This wasn’t how people processed things.
Right?
Like, was it normal to bake through an emotional crisis and name pastries like they were battle cries?
Maybe I should be tested for ADHD.
That would explain a lot.
Diesel
Amy came in humming, handing out the daily treats from my girl.
Well.
Not officially.
Not yet.
But soon.
I was going to make this right, if it was the last damn thing I did with my life.
She stopped in front of me with a raised brow and a to-go cup tucked into one elbow like it was a weapon.
“Sadie must be in a better mood,” she said, smirking as she passed me the cup. “I got you the Make Lava Not War special. Seemed… fitting.”
I took it. It was warm. Sweet.
Like her.
Even if she was pissed. Even if she was over it. Even if she was done letting me be a coward.
“Fitting, huh?” I muttered.
Amy just winked and kept walking.
I kept catching flashes of pink in my vision all day.
Sadie—buzzing around the bakery like she was made of sugar and caffeine. She was busy. Busier than usual. Now that the whole town knew about “the pinup gal with the bakery,” she was rarely without a handful of customers at any given time.
It made me proud.
She was building her dream from scratch.
And I got to watch it rise.
“Fuck me sideways,” Skunk muttered behind me. Loudly. “Diesel’s over here, actually smiling.”
Wrecker perked up like a damn meerkat. “Ooooooo did someone get laid?!”
“Grow up.”
I shook my head and tried—really tried—to kill the smile.
Didn’t work.
And no, I hadn’t gotten laid.
But I’d gotten something better:
One step closer to the girl.
And with the plans I had for tonight?
I was hoping to be even closer.
I was done letting the past dictate what I did—or didn’t do.
No more holding back.
I was going to show up. For her. For me. For whatever this could be. Because I’d been fighting it since the day she walked in. But she’d been taking me on a slow ride from the start, and I was too far gone to slam the brakes.