22. Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Lina
The bakery has been extremely busy, enough to be distracting, but not so busy that things slip past Val. She braces herself against the counter, coffee in hand, eyes tracking movement with lazy precision.
She smiles at me. “So,” she says.
I glance up. “What is it, Val?”
She tips her chin subtly toward the front of the shop. Alex is talking to a customer, calm and attentive, but his gaze flicks my way more often than strictly necessary.
I shrug. “What? He was coming into the shop before he helped me.”
Val shakes her head in agreement. “Right...that’s not what I’m referring to.”
I sigh. “Val.”
She sets her coffee down and turns fully toward me. “You two have been eyeing each other all day, like you’re both afraid one of you might disappear.”
“That’s not what’s happening.”
“You looked up the exact second he did,” she says. “That’s not a coincidence. That’s awareness.”
I show my annoyance.
“It was a rough night. He’s checking in. I appreciate it. That’s all.”
Val smiles like she’s indulging a very transparent lie.
“Right,” she says. “And the connection I feel across the room?”
“There is no connection,” I insist. “There’s…gratitude.”
She snorts. “Lina, he looks at you like he wants to bend you over so you can show him how thankful you are.”
“Val!” I say, embarrassed, as if he can hear us.
She realizes something. “Hey, I think we brought that into existence by manifesting it yesterday morning.”
I fold my arms. “Oh please. You’re reading into it.”
“Maybe,” she says lightly. “Or maybe you’ve gotten so good at telling yourself things are trivial and temporary that you don’t recognize something potentially real when it stands still long enough to be noticed.”
I don’t answer.
Val’s tone softens. “It’s okay if it’s just kindness. Truly. After what you went through, kindness should be the bare minimum.”
I nod.
“But,” she adds gently, “it’s also okay if it’s more than that. You don’t have to keep hiding behind one-off dates that you already know won’t amount to anything.”
I glance back toward the front. Alex looks up, as though sensing my gaze.
“There are good men out there,” Val says. “Men who don’t punish you for being seen.”
I exhale. “I’m not looking for that right now.”
She smiles. “I know. You’re being cautious.”
A beat.
“Just don’t convince yourself cautious isn’t closed,” she adds.
I lift my gaze to Alex, and he smiles at me. I can’t help the smile that forms on my face in return.
Val grins again, “Wow, you two are making the room noticeably warmer.”
I huff a laugh despite myself. “You’re impossible.”
She winks. “I’m observant.”
About an hour before closing, the noise ebbs, and the shop exhales.
The rush has thinned into a manageable hum, long enough for the space to breathe, to wipe counters slowly, to restock without someone instantly undoing it.
I begin my closing ritual. Counting the till, checking the ovens, flipping signs, small rituals that remind me this place is still mine.
I catch glimpses of Alex from behind the counter. His laptop is closed now, his second coffee long finished, but I don’t get the chance to talk to him. Not really. Customers linger long enough to keep us moving, and by the time there’s a break, he’s already shifted seats or stepped outside.
I noticed how uncomfortable he was when people recognized him this morning. The way his posture changed. The way his eyes tracked exits. He accepted the gratitude but didn’t absorb it. Like praise slid right off him instead of sinking in.
By evening, something changed. No one noticed him anymore.
It was subtle, but unmistakable. The crowds of people that clocked him instantly earlier this morning now walk right past his table without a second glance.
No whispers or stares. It’s odd.
I chalk it up to fatigue at first. People lose focus after a long day. Their attention drifts.
But this feels too deliberate. Like someone flipped a switch.
One moment Alex is the center of every conversation. The next, he disappears into the background with unsettling ease.
I finish wiping the counter and glance his way again. He looks relaxed, almost ordinary.
The bell chimes one last time as the final customer heads out. Val flips the lock behind them, and the familiar click signals the end of another day.
I brace my hands against the counter for a moment, every muscle protesting. The aches settle deep into my shoulders, my feet, my back.
When I look up again, Alex is watching me.
Our eyes meet.
There’s a question in his expression, one he never voices. I lift my eyebrows, silently inviting him to ask, but after a beat, he looks away and slips his laptop into his bag instead.
So I let it go.
I turn back to the kitchen, finishing the last of the closing tasks while trying not to wonder what he almost said.
A few minutes later, the deadbolt clicks into place, echoing through the now-empty shop.
Val tests the handle once before resting her forehead against the glass. “We’re going to need a real alarm system.”
I glance at the Ring sticker in the corner of the door. “I know.”
“Cameras are great after something happens,” she says. “I’d rather stop it before it starts.”
I nod. “We’ll start getting quotes this week.”
She gives the handle one last tug, satisfied it’s secure, then steps away from the door.
Val heads toward her car, keys already in hand. I sling my purse over my shoulder, drop the shop keys inside, and make my way to mine.
“Call me tomorrow,” she says over her shoulder. “And don’t you dare show up at the shop. You need to rest.”
“Yeah... yeah...” I mumble.
The cool night air brushes against my skin as I cross the parking lot.
I’m halfway to my car when footsteps echo behind me. Every muscle in my body tightens.
I spin around, a breath catching in my throat.
Then I see who it is.
The air rushes back into my lungs.
“Hey,” Alex says, hands up.
A grin pulls at my mouth. “Hey.”
I glance past him, then back at his face, an eyebrow lifted. “How long have you been out here?”
He tilts his head, pretending to think.
I clasp my arms, amused. “Have you been standing in the shadows since closing, or did you just magically appear again?”
His lip curls slightly. “Does it really surprise you after everything?”
I move my head side to side, smiling. “You know, if you wanted to walk me to my car, you could’ve asked before closing. You don’t have to lurk in the dark.”
“Good to know for next time,” he replies easily.
He steps closer, “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Tired. But…okay.”
“Good,” he says quietly. “I guess I just wanted to make sure.”
I gesture toward the empty lot. “Ah…so this was a stakeout?”
He meets my gaze, something warm and unreadable there. “Absolutely.”
I smile again, softer this time.
We walk side by side in comfortable silence, our strides finding the same rhythm. It feels strangely familiar, despite this being the first time.
“I’m glad you’re still here,” I say. “Again. I feel like I keep saying it, but—“
“You don’t have to,” he cuts in gently.
“I know,” I reply. “I just don’t know what else to say I guess.”
We stop near my car’s trunk, and I hesitate before I add, “Also, I noticed how uncomfortable you were earlier. With the crowd. I’m really sorry about that. Small town.” I gesture vaguely. “People mean well, but they don’t know how not to stare.”
He exhales a short laugh. “Yeah. I noticed.”
“I swear, by tomorrow they’ll be onto something else,” I say. “That’s the one upside.”
“I’m counting on it,” he says, smirking.
“What are your plans now?” He asks.
“The usual,” I say. “Gym.”
His brow lifts slightly. “You sure? You could probably use some rest.”
“I’m fine,” I admit. “I need to work the ache out before it creeps in and owns me.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Fair.”
“What about you?” I ask.
“I was heading to the gym myself.”
I glance at my car. “I always keep a gym bag in here,” I say, popping the trunk. “Extra clothes, shoes, all of it. Habit.”
“Prepared,” he notes.
“Always.”
“I go to the small gym down the road. It has everything I need. What about you?” I ask.
“Are you talking about Eddie’s Fitness?” He asks.
“That’s the one,” I say. “I’m not a big fan of the big commercial ones.
They get so crowded, and I have to wait in line for a machine.
Eddie’s is small but has everything. It’s never crowded when I go.
At least I don’t think it ever is. I’m usually in the zone.
I get my workout in and then head home.”
“Yeah, Eddie’s is the one I go to as well. I’m surprised we haven’t run into one another there.” He smiles.
“Really? That is strange.” I say.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you there in a few.” I smile back.
We drive separately but arrive within minutes of each other, parking under the soft yellow glow of the parking lot lights. The gym is quiet. Friday nights usually are. Most people take the night off or go out.
Inside, the air smells faintly of rubber mats and disinfectants. Familiar. Comforting.
I shoulder my bag, stretching carefully. My body protests, but it’s a good kind of pain, the type that signals I’m still alive.
Alex scans the room out of what looks like instinct. He seems to relax when he realizes it’s only us and a couple of distant figures on treadmills.
“Looks like we picked the right time,” I say.
“Looks like it,” he replies.
Quiet. Focused. No audience.
Exactly what I need.
“I need to change. I’ll see you in a few.”
Alex nods and walks to the men’s locker room.
I head into the ladies’ locker room and pull out my workout clothes, moving slower than usual, stretching carefully as I swap out jeans for leggings and a loose t-shirt. My body complains, but it’s the familiar kind of ache. The sort that makes me remember I’m still capable.
When I step back onto the gym floor, I spot Alex.
I stop short. Damn.
He’s already on the mat, sweatpants hanging on his hips, T-shirt clinging to every muscle on his body. He’s doing push-ups. Controlled, like every movement has been practiced a thousand times. His back muscles flex through his shirt with each rep, shoulders broad and defined.
I watch longer than I should.
There’s something hypnotic about the way he moves. No wasted motion, no showboating. Just strength, contained and deliberate.
He finishes a set and rises to his feet. That’s when he notices me. His gaze skims over me—quick, respectful, but not blind—before he gives a single nod.
“You good?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, hoping it sounds steadier than I feel. “About to warm up.”
“Try and take it easy tonight,” he says. “Listen to your body.”
I smile. “I always do.”
I move toward my usual area, slipping my headphones over my ears. But I don’t turn the music on right away.
Normally, I disappear into my own world here. Music loud. Focus narrow. Everyone else fades into background noise. The gym is my sanctuary because it’s where I don’t have to notice anyone.
But tonight, Alex is impossible to miss.
I catch him in the mirror as I stretch. See the way he transitions from one movement to the next without breaking stride.
I’m aware of him in a way that feels oddly grounding—like sharing the same space means something different now that I know he’s here with me.
He’s not watching me or looming over me. He’s just…present. And it throws me out of balance.
I force myself to turn the music on, Swim by Chase Atlantic, to focus on my own workout. But even then, I’m aware of him nearby. His quiet intensity, the steady cadence of his breathing, the way the room seems to shrink.
The gym is typically my personal escape, but not today. It’s a shared space. And that changes everything.