5. Chapter 5
Chapter five
Lina
Val wipes her hands on her apron, then tilts her head, eyes lighting up with mischief.
“Speaking of big muscles,” she says, far too casually. “Did anyone tell you about the new regular?”
I stay focused on the frosting because smothering cinnamon rolls is serious business.
“What regular?”
She snorts. “Donna and Kay haven’t briefed you yet? I’m shocked. They’ve already named him.”
I glance over and laugh. “Named who? A guy? Of course they have.”
“Mr. M,“ Val says proudly. “For Mr. Mysterious, or maybe Mr. My…My… The jury’s out.”
“That sounds about right for those two,” I mutter.
“He comes in a few times a week,” she continues. “Black coffee in the morning and something a little stronger in the evenings. Polite. Tips well. Doesn’t cling to his phone like it’s an emotional support device.”
“Wow,” I deadpan. “The bar is truly subterranean these days.”
Val laughs. “Listen, in this economy? We celebrate effort.”
“And let me guess,” I say lightly. “Tall.”
“Very,” she confirms. “Donna says he looks like he walked straight out of one of the romance books we sell. Kay claims he looks like the type of guy who helps old ladies carry groceries and rescues stray dogs on weekends.”
I snort. “These girls need to get out more.”
“They live in a bakery, bookstore folklore. Give them a break.”
I nod my head. “And…lots of people drink black coffee. It’s not a personality.”
Val is propped against the counter. “True. But not everyone settles into our shop like they’ve got nowhere they’d rather be.”
I pause mid-spread. “Meaning?”
She nods toward him. “Meaning he’s comfortable. No phone glued to his hand. No pretending to be important. Just sitting there like this is where he wants to be.”
“So?”
She smirks. “So that’s apparently enough to have half the women in here stealing glances every five minutes.”
I roll my eyes. “Thrilling.”
Val grins. “Donna did say he straightens up when you leave the kitchen.”
I laugh. “No, she didn’t.”
“She did,” Val insists. “But to be fair, Donna also thinks everyone is in love with you.”
“Donna is delusional.”
Despite myself I laugh.
“I’m not looking for anything right now.”
“Good,” Val says easily. “Maybe he isn’t either. That’s when people are at their least annoying, anyway.”
I sigh. “If this Mr. M turns out to be another hot guy handing out compliments…”
“Then you enjoy the coffee, accept the compliment, and continue being unbothered,” Val finishes. “You’re very good at that now.”
I snort. “So.”
“You can’t pretend you aren’t curious.”
I pretend to think. “Okay. Hypothetically. How tall are we talking?”
She beams.
We’re both laughing when Donna pokes her head into the kitchen. “Uh, boss ladies? Just a heads-up—the line’s wrapped around the corner.”
Val and I exchange a look.
Showtime.
She wipes her hands on her apron and grins. “I’ll take the front. You keep the ovens running. Let’s make some magic.”
I nod, adrenaline humming as the first wave of customers floods the shop.
By nine-thirty, Enchanted Nook is buzzing.
The smell of our delicious baked goods linger in the air while the cafe lights cast a soft golden glow over the crowd.
The playlist thrums gently in the background—soft indie rock. People chatter, laugh, and point out books between bites of pastries.
It’s everything we dreamed this place would be—warm, alive, full of small moments that make the exhaustion worth it.
Val moves through the front like she was born to it, chatting easily with customers, laughing with regulars, and convincing one poor man to try the new Ube roll with a smile that promises spiritual transformation.
From the kitchen doorway, I watch her and sense that familiar warmth in my chest—the one that whispers, you guys did this.
Val slips back into the kitchen between customers, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“Ube Magic is a hit! Someone literally moaned out loud.” she says.
“God bless whoever that was,” I say, sliding another tray into the oven. “We need that kind of marketing.”
“Speaking of moaning…”
“Val,” I warn, already laughing.
She holds up her hands. “I’m just saying! Maybe your next flavor should be Afterglow Almond.”
“Not very family-friendly, dear.”
“True.”
She grins, leaning against the counter. “Tell me about your little friends-with-benefits. The one you see in between dates that go terribly wrong.”
I feign annoyance, but I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. It’s automatic—muscle memory at this point. Humor as armor. “EJ? He’s…fun. Simple. No expectations, and we are definitely on the same page about this only being friendly benefits.”
“I’m just glad you didn’t let the second asshole of your love life ruin you for good.”
Before EJ, there was him.
He, who shall not be named.
Eight months of something that was supposed to stay casual and somehow didn’t. Eight months of charm and attention and enough vulnerability to make me lower my guard.
He wasn’t meant to be serious. None of it was. But he talked like it could be. Settling down. Building something. Futures voiced quietly enough to render them substantial.
He basically love-bombed the hell out of me.
Who knew words without actions could be so captivating?
That’s the thing nobody tells you. Love bombing isn’t always extravagant gifts, surprise vacations, or grand gestures. Sometimes it’s promises. Attention. Future plans. Carefully chosen words that evoke a sense of being seen, understood, and cherished.
Someone with that kind of charm can paint entire futures with their mouth.
The problem is that words are cheap. Actions require effort.
Looking back, his words seldom matched his actions.
He could tell me I was his priority while making me seem like an inconvenience.
He could swear he loved me while repeatedly choosing everything else first. He could promise change, growth, commitment—whatever I needed to hear in that moment—yet somehow nothing ever materialized beyond the conversation itself.
And because the words were so beautiful, I kept waiting for the actions to catch up.
They never did.
That’s what makes it so dangerous. You don’t fall in love with who they are. You fall in love with the version of them they describe. The version that always seems just one more chance away from becoming real.
And for a time—longer than I want to admit—I let myself believe in it. I didn’t need him, but he made it so easy to imagine something good.
Then I found the videos.
Him with other women, doing very private things to one another. Proof living casually in his phone like it hadn’t detonated my reality.
The worst part wasn’t even the cheating—it was the scale of the lie. The oil field schedule that never quite made sense. The gaps I’d noticed but didn’t interrogate. Turns out he didn’t only have other women. He had a whole fucking family.
I wasn’t heartbroken when I kicked him out of my life. Not even close. That part was almost…painless. Immediate. No bargaining or second chances.
What hurt the most was the damn time.
Eight months, I wouldn’t ever get back. Eight months led me to wonder—briefly—if I was the problem. If I missed something completely and utterly obvious. If wanting more had somehow invited the deception.
That was a complete disaster.
So now? Now I choose fun.
Fun doesn’t promise what it can’t deliver. Fun doesn’t lie about who it is. Fun doesn’t waste my precious time pretending to be deeper than it is. Fun isn’t Lord Voldemort lurking in the shadows, plotting my emotional demise.
And more importantly, fun doesn’t make me doubt myself when it ends.
That’s the rule now. And that’s the point. No future implied, no emotional negotiations, and no silent tests that indicate I’m failing.
Val nods. “Translation: convenient D.”
“Exactly,” I smirk. “He’s not the boyfriend type, but he knows what he’s doing. And right now, that’s all I need.”
I chose that arrangement. Someone compassionate, detached enough to never demand more. Someone who doesn’t study me like I’m a puzzle to solve or a role to fill.
“You ever think you’re avoiding something real because of a couple of bad choices?”
The question lands softer than it could have. Val’s good at that.
“Constantly,” I say easily. “And it’s working beautifully.”
Avoidance is secure and real means risk. Real means slowing down—and I’ve only learned how to breathe at my own pace again.
She snorts. “I swear, you are the most self-aware disaster I’ve ever met.”
I grin. “And yet, thriving.”
Val smiles and shakes her head at the hot mess I am.
But I am. In ways I never expected. Thriving.
Thriving isn’t always a straight path forward. Sometimes it looks like choosing ease over intensity—like letting pleasure exist without consequence, and not turning every connection into a referendum on my worth.
The timer dings, the ovens exhale heat, and for a little while the entire kitchen smells like heaven—warm, sweet, and grounding.
I glance at Val before she walks back out to the front when called.
When I unlock the back door to let in the morning breeze, the line has thinned, and sunlight spills across the floor in golden ribbons.
I rest my weight on the counter, watching flour dust float through the air like glitter, and smile to myself.
For once, I’m not rushing toward what’s next.
This is where I truly wish to be.
And that’s enough.