Chapter 3: Fragments of Memory

Sebastian's POV

The cold hits me as soon as I step out of the cabin. The kind of cold that makes you take a deep breath and just feel alive. Snowfall Valley still feels like it’s holding its breath, frozen in a moment of calm before everything wakes up. The crunch of snow under my boots is the only sound I hear as I make my way to the car.

I’m running late. The meeting for the Winter Wonderland project is in a few hours, and I haven’t even had coffee yet. Not just any coffee, but strong coffee. The kind that punches you awake and clears the fog in your brain.

Driving through the town, I keep my eyes on the road, but my mind is already on the work ahead. Deadlines, design tweaks, schedules to meet. This project is everything, and failure is not an option. But for now, I need that coffee.

I turn a corner and stop in my tracks. There it is.

Everhart Bakery. I didn’t expect to see it open. Back when I started my career as an architect, I worked on that building. I was just a rookie back then, and I remember how nervous I was. The bakery was supposed to be shut down after the renovations, but seeing the sign still hanging above the door makes me pause. I thought it had closed for good.

Curiosity tugs at me. I pull into the parking lot and cut the engine. The snow is still falling, gentle flakes dusting everything, and I can’t help but smile at the peaceful sight. But I’ve got more important things on my mind. I’m here for coffee.

I step out of the car, heading toward the door. But then, in a rush of motion, I bump into someone.

Flour bursts into the air, dusting us both. I look down at my jacket, covered in white powder. She’s holding a bag of flour, clearly not expecting me to crash into her.

I expect her to be angry, but when she looks up at me, there’s a mix of annoyance and something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. Without thinking, I reach up and brush the flour from her cheek. The simple touch catches me off guard, sending a warm rush through me, far more intense than I expected. It’s not just the way her skin feels, soft under my fingers. It’s the way her eyes meet mine for a moment longer than necessary. She looks at me, and I can feel that small shift in the air, like the teasing, playful energy that’s always between us is suddenly heavier, charged with something new. A part of me wonders if she’s feeling it as well.

I can’t help but laugh, brushing the flour off my jacket, but it’s everywhere—on my clothes, my hair. I glance around, and I notice the people in the town square watching. There are whispers, mostly behind hands. I can hear snippets of conversation.

“Look at them. Are they a couple?”

“Is that a new look? Flour chic?”

I ignore them, not that it really matters.

I watch her brush the flour off her clothes. She doesn’t seem too bothered by it, and part of me feels relieved. I didn’t want to ruin her morning, but she handles it with a lightheartedness that makes the whole situation easier to swallow.

I stand there, unsure of what to do next, but then I see her looking at me, her expression shifting slightly. There’s something strange in her eyes, like she’s trying to make sense of something, or maybe just adjusting to the unexpected mess we’ve made.

The thought of walking around with flour stuck in my hair doesn’t sound too appealing. I’m about to say something when she gestures toward the bakery, inviting me to come inside. I hesitate for a second, not wanting to inconvenience her. But the more I think about it, the more it seems like the easiest option. It’s not every day someone offers to let me clean up in their bakery, especially after a complete mess like this.

When she offers me clothes from her ex, I can’t help but pause for a moment. It's such a casual thing to offer, and for a split second, it catches me off guard. I barely know her, so why does it even matter? I shake the thought off quickly, telling myself it’s nothing. It’s just clothes, nothing more. And yet, the idea of someone else’s presence, even in something as simple as a shirt, stirs something in me. Maybe it’s just the unexpectedness of the moment. But I don’t dwell on it. She’s trying to be helpful, and I’m not about to overthink something as minor as this. Still, it lingers at the back of my mind, just enough to make me feel unsettled, in a way I didn’t expect.

Inside the bakery, it’s warm, with the scent of fresh pastries in the air. I take a deep breath, feeling the warmth seep into my bones. Selina leads me to the back, and I start to take off my jacket. It’s still covered in flour. She’s right, I need to clean up.

I head to the small bathroom in the back and take a quick shower. As I step out, I catch a glimpse of something on the counter, a photo frame. A woman’s face smiles up at me, and my heart sinks.

It’s her. The woman from the photo. The one who used to run the bakery. Her eyes are kind, her smile warm, and for a split second, I feel like I’m looking at a ghost. The woman in the picture died in the collapse of this building. I remember the news, the accident, the weight of guilt I’ve carried ever since.

I didn’t know she was inside that day.

I stand there, frozen for a moment. Should I ask Selina about it? What would I even say? It’s a touchy subject, one I don’t want to bring up if I don’t have to. Today’s not the day for that conversation.

I take a deep breath, pushing the photo out of my mind. I finish drying off and get dressed. When I step back into the bakery, Selina’s still at the counter, rearranging things. She doesn’t look at me right away.

“Thanks again, Selina,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I really appreciate the shower offer. I’ll be on my way now, but I’ll see you soon.”

And she gives me her warm smile.

I head for the door, but before I can open it, I look back at her. There’s something about her, something real and grounded that makes me want to stay a little longer. But I know I can’t.

“Take care,” I say, giving her a small smile.

She nods, her expression unreadable. “You too.”

The door closes behind me, and I step back into the cold, but the weight of the past follows me. The guilt. The unspoken truth. It’s heavier than the snow falling outside, and I know it’s something I can’t escape so easily.

I drive off, the bakery fading in my rearview mirror. But the feeling doesn’t leave me. It’s there, gnawing at me.

It’s only a matter of time before I’ll have to face it.