Chapter 6
Harmony
At the overlook, I stopped to stretch. The mill.
The steeple. Main Street still dark. A gull skimmed the water and yelled at nothing.
I told the past to stay where I left it and jogged home to shower.
By eight I was in the shop. Cooler door opened.
Fresh buckets. Eucalyptus first. If my hands were moving, my head didn’t have to.
By nine, Sandy came in with a paper bag and her clipboard.
“Croissant for you. List for us,” she said. “Two birthdays. One I’m sorry. And a congrats that has to feel big without costing big.”
“Got it,” I said, handing her half the croissant.
Across the street, the bakery lights were already on. Through the glass I saw Eric with his cap backward, sleeves to his elbows, moving trays. He didn’t look our way. I didn’t look long.
The bell chimed. A young girl needed flowers for her grandmother.
I gave her ranunculus and rosemary. A guy in work boots wanted an apology bouquet that “actually works” because he watched a hockey game and forgot about the date he planned with his wife.
Sandy asked two clear questions and solved it.
By ten I checked the back latch like a bad habit. It clicked clean. My phone buzzed with a number I didn’t know. I let it ring out. It buzzed again.
Old Mill Road. Ten.
I blocked it and slid the phone face down under the counter.
“Anything I need to handle?” Sandy asked without looking up.
“Not today.” I just hoped my brother would stop texting me because we had nothing to say to each other.
“Then I’ll keep my mouth shut and do stems,” she said, light on purpose.
A courier dropped a manila envelope with FESTIVAL MAPS printed on it. Inside: the public route I’d already seen and a copy with our block circled in pencil. I filed it in the vendor folder and wrote the date. Life was simple these days, as long as I ignored my brother and Nico.
By late morning the street had woken up.
I ran a bouquet two doors down and, on the way back, reached for the bakery handle the same second the door swung open.
Eric and I did that quick side-step dance.
It felt so awkward that we treated each other as mere acquaintances when, in another time, we were so much more. The distance made my heart ache.
“Sorry,” I apologized.
“You’re fine,” he said, holding the door. “Headed back?”
“Yeah.” I should’ve kept moving. I didn’t. “Do you have a minute?”
He glanced at the line, then at Maya. “Two.”
We moved one step off the door. People went by and pretended not to listen. I kept my eyes on the curb.
“I should’ve said goodbye,” I confessed bluntly. “When I left, I told myself clean was kind. It wasn’t. It was me dodging the hard thing.”
He let it sit. “You don’t owe me anything.” I watched his dark eyes grow even darker, like a shield had come over them.
“That isn’t the same as not mattering,” I said quietly.
His jaw worked once. “You did what you had to do,” he replied. “I don’t have to like it.”
“It was wrong, but. . .” I wanted to tell him that I was trying to protect him. That me leaving would anger my family and I didn’t want him to get hurt because of it but he cut me off.
“It’s fine, Harmony,” he assured, but his tone told me it was far from fine. I wasn’t going to push the matter now. Clearly, this conversation was done, so I switched it up to something lighter because a part of me still wanted him to stay and speak to me, even if it was selfish.
“Thank you for the trays at the center,” I added.
“The kids called you Bakery Guy.” Some of the girls called him Hot Bakery Guy, which was true too.
With his dark eyes and strong arms covered in tattoos, he was hot.
Add to it that flop of brown hair and the way his baseball cap sat on his head, and most girls in town were melting from him.
He almost smiled. “Sending food is the one thing I can do without blowing up my entire schedule.”
“They loved your cinnamon knots. I tried one too. They were just right.” He gave me a meaningful look.
“I learned from the best. Before we… anyway, you taught me a lot,” he muttered, reminding me how we spent time in the kitchen and I showed him Mom’s recipes.
“I’m happy to see her recipes came to good use,” I replied.
“You should be using them too,” he noted, his words stung deeply in my chest. I had wanted that so bad. My plan had been to open my own bakery shop in Montreal but it never felt right, and I didn’t have enough money anyway.
I swallowed hard. “Maybe someday.”
He nodded and glanced at the line in the shop. “I should—”
“Get back,” I finished. “Me too.” I stepped away. “I am sorry, Eric.”
He gave me one short nod. Not a door slamming. Not a promise. Enough. I was sorry, but I was also young and scared.
Near noon, a man in a fleece cut across our step and muttered, just loud enough, “You belong in prison with your father.” Then he kept walking.
Geez, people were all starting to sound the same around here.
Didn’t they have something original to say?
I didn’t respond or give him my face to enjoy.
Instead, I handed a bouquet to the customer, who’d actually come for flowers, and went back to trimming stems. My hands shook for a minute after.
Across the street, Eric set a baking sheet down harder than necessary and focused on his tray.
Maybe that was for me. Maybe it wasn’t. By six, the light had gone soft and gold.
Sandy flipped the sign to CLOSED and gave me the look that usually meant she’d already decided something.
“Dinner,” she said.
“I’ve got soup upstairs.”
“Not that kind. Dinner at Phoenix’s. Seven. Come with me.”
“That’s your boyfriend’s family,” I reminded. “I’d just be intruding.”
“You’re with me. You need a night that’s about food, not ghosts,” her smile was warm and caring.
I hesitated, but a part of me wanted to go.
The last time I came home scared, and on the run again, it was Pierre Thorne who opened his house to me.
The police director everyone respected, the man my father hated.
He’d met me at the city line and took me to the station to get my statement about the men who were following me.
Then he asked me if I had a place to stay.
He knew the answer before I responded. He offered me his daughter’s room, since she was away at school.
I wasn’t in a position to reject the offer, despite knowing Eric’s room was next door.
The whole situation had been awkward and stressful, but Pierre, Phoenix, and Elyna did everything to make me feel at home.
Even Eric was kind, but I knew not to expect much after I basically blindsided him that night.
The Thornes were a kind family. They always had been.
Sandy stood watching me with her brows raised as she waited for an answer.
“Okay, thanks.”
“Good.” She grinned.
So I found myself riding across town in the passenger seat of Sandy’s car.
I had only met her for that brief visit home the last time.
She and Pierre had been a fairly new couple back then, but she somehow gave grace to a complete stranger, and for that I was thankful.
Phoenix and Elyna’s house glowed against the dusk, the windows fogged from heat and laughter.
The air smelled like roasted garlic and woodsmoke.
Elyna opened the door, smiling. “You made it!”
“She didn’t have a choice,” Sandy grinned.
“Perfect,” Elyna teased. “Come in. Watch out for Braden, he’s fast and sticky.”
A giggle answered her as a blond toddler barreled past in pajamas. “Hi, cutie,” I said automatically.
He stared at me with solemn curiosity, then shoved a cracker in my hand like it was payment.
“Thank you,” I said gravely.
Pierre stepped forward. He gave Sandy a kiss that made me blush and then focused on me. “Harmony, it’s good to have you back.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thorne.”
“Pierre, please,” he corrected. “Glad you could make it for dinner.”
Something inside me loosened. “Thank you.”
From the kitchen came the sound of Phoenix laughing. “Dinner’s ready! Sit before Cooper eats the sides.”
A man with a British accent appeared, a sharp grin and messy hair. “Baseless accusation,” he said, clearly the culprit. “I’m Cooper. Resident charm, part-time brewer, occasional menace.”
“Occasional?” Elyna called.
He winked. “Depends who you ask.”
Angela and Dominic arrived next, followed by Asher. Dominic was calm, Angela kind; Asher immediately began some half-serious story about rescuing a raccoon, complete with sound effects.
Eric came out last, sleeves rolled, carrying a loaf of bread and a plate of twisted pretzels. His hair was still damp from a shower and slicked back. He paused when he saw me, like he hadn’t prepared for that part of the evening.
“Bread?” he asked, voice low.
“Always,” I said. Our fingers brushed as the plate changed hands. The contact was brief but unreasonably warm.
Dinner was loud in the best way. Pierre listened more than he spoke, Phoenix teased Elyna, Cooper added sarcastic commentary that made even Becket grin.
I sat between Sandy and Asher, answering Angela’s gentle questions about the shop, laughing when Braden threw a spoon and everyone acted like it was a national emergency.
Across the table, Eric didn’t speak much.
But every time I glanced up, he was watching, not in a way that claimed, just in that quiet way he always had, like he was trying to memorize what steady looked like.
At one point, when Phoenix made a joke about the wedding toast, I stretched my legs out across the table.
Our toes rubbed. He didn’t pull back right away. Neither did I.
“So how are the wedding plans going?” Pierre asked Elyna and Phoenix.
“We’re very ready,” Phoenix answered.
“I have the flowers covered. Thanksgiving weekend is going to be unforgettable this year,” Sandy assured.