Chapter 7
SEVEN
ELIZABETH
If someone had told me a week ago that I’d willingly wake up at four-thirty in the morning to help make donuts, I would’ve laughed in their face.
Now? My alarm goes off before the sun. And I roll out of bed with no complaint. Sometimes, if Tyler is beside me, I wake up even earlier for another mind-numbingly satisfying wakeup kiss.
The bakery has become my favorite place in the world.
Not because of the pastries. Okay... Maybe partly because of the pastries. But mostly because of the people.
His employees tease me mercilessly whenever I pipe filling too slowly.
Rachel has declared herself our “official relationship documentarian,” which means she takes approximately eight hundred candid photos a day.
I used to think I’d hate having my life posted online. But now, it’s surprisingly sweet.
Especially because everyone seems ridiculously invested in us.
The comments still make me laugh.
“Donut Daddy finally met his match.”
“Protect Donut Mother at all costs.”
“Our bakery parents.”
I even have my own nickname: Donut Mother.
Tyler pretends to hate it.
Secretly... I think he hates that he doesn’t completely hate it anymore.
That evening, I push through the bakery door carrying takeout.
“I brought dinner.”
Normally, Tyler would immediately appear from the kitchen. Tonight... Nothing.
That’s strange.
I round the corner. He’s elbow-deep in dough, shoulders rigid. He doesn’t look up.
“Hey.”
He grunts in response.
Oh no. Something’s wrong.
“Long day?” I ask.
“Mhm.”
Not good.
Tyler isn’t usually talkative. But he’s never cold. I set the food on the prep table.
“I brought your favorite.”
“Thanks.”
Still no smile. Still no eye contact.
I move closer. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He’s lying. “We both know that isn’t true. Start talking.”
His hands stop kneading for just a second. “You’ve known me a week.”
“I still know when something’s bothering you.”
He starts kneading again. Harder this time.
“Tyler.”
“What?” His tone makes me blink.
“I was just asking.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“No.”
I fold my arms.
“What’s. Wrong?”
He finally looks at me. His eyes are tired. Not angry. Exhausted.
“I’ve got fifty wedding desserts to finish.”
I blink in surprise. “I know.”
“And tomorrow’s inventory.”
“I know.”
“And three influencers showed up today asking where ‘Donut Mother’ was.”
My heart sinks. “Oh.”
“I spent twenty minutes telling people we don’t have a Donut Mother.”
“I never asked to be one,” I say a little too defensively.
He gestures toward the front. “They don’t come because of the bakery anymore.”
“They do.”
“They come because of...” He waves a hand between us. “This.”
“They come because they love the bakery.”
“They come because they love the story.”
I take another careful step toward him. “They can love both.”
He laughs once. It’s short. Bitter.
“Can they?”
“Tyler...”
He runs both hands through his hair. “I’ve spent years trying to get people to fall for my recipes.”
“I know. And you have. You’ve built something amazing.”
He scoffs. “Everyone’s more interested in us than what’s in the case.”
“They’re happy for us.”
“They’re happy for click-bait content.”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He immediately shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“No.” I hold my ground. “Finish the thought.”
He looks away. Another long silence.
Then— “What happens when this wears off?”
I blink. “What?”
“The attention.” He swallows. “What if...”
He doesn’t finish.
“What if what?”
His laugh is hollow. “What if you’re only enjoying all of this because everyone suddenly knows who you are?”
The words hit harder than I expect.
I pull back as if I’ve taken a physical, and not purely verbal, blow. “Excuse me?”
“I didn’t mean—“
I stare at him. “What did you just say?”
He closes his eyes. “I—”
“You think I’m with you for followers?”
“I don’t.”
“You literally just said it.”
“I said—”
“You think I care about likes and follows?”
“No.”
“You think I’m trying to steal your business?”
“I never said—”
“You implied it.”
His face falls. “I didn’t mean…” He reaches for me. “Elizabeth…”
I step back.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“But you thought it.”
His shoulders sag. “I’ve been reading comments.”
Everything suddenly clicks.
The exhaustion. The distance. The strange questions. The defensiveness.
“They got in your head,” I breathe. “And instead of talking to me...”I swallow hard. “...you let strangers influence you.”
His eyes are full of regret now. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No.” My voice wobbles. “You shouldn’t have.”
He takes another step. “Elizabeth…”
I press my lips together. Silence stretches between us.
I love him. I already know I do. Which is exactly why this hurts so much. I force a smile that feels nothing like one.
“I think...” I take one slow step backward. “...maybe we need a couple of days apart.”
His expression crumples. “Elizabeth.”
“I think we both need to breathe.”
“Please don’t leave.”
“I have to.” I turn before he can see my eyes filling.
His voice follows me all the way to the front door. “Elizabeth.”
I don’t look back. Because if I do... I’m afraid I’ll run straight into his arms.