Chapter 5

EMMA:

By eight thirty, the bakery had settled into the kind of rhythm I relied on. Busy enough to keep my hands moving, calm enough that nothing felt like it might tip over into chaos. The espresso machine hissed and steamed in steady intervals, Christine moved between the kitchen and counter with practiced efficiency, and Mrs. Harris occupied her usual corner, stubbornly pretending she hadn’t been stuck on the same crossword for three days. Two university students debated whose turn it was to pay. At the same time, a small boy pressed both hands against the pastry case, his father apologizing with the weary patience of someone who had already lost that battle before breakfast.

It was ordinary in the best way. Predictable, grounded, mine.

The bell chimed, and I glanced up out of habit.

Ethan Brooks stepped inside like he had yesterday, except whatever had weighed on him then seemed heavier now. Not dramatic, not obvious to anyone who wasn’t looking closely, but there was a dull exhaustion in the way he carried himself, as if sleep hadn’t done much to help.

He offered a small, polite smile. “Morning.”

“Back already?” I kept my tone easy as I wiped down the counter.

He shrugged, the motion loose but tired. “Your coffee’s better than the apartment.”

“That’s not exactly a glowing review,” I said, but I couldn’t help smiling.

“It’s honest.”

Christine chose that moment to lean out from the kitchen, catching just enough of the exchange to be interested. “What’s honest?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, already turning back to the register.

She narrowed her eyes at both of us in a way that promised questions later, then disappeared again. Ethan watched her go with faint amusement before returning his attention to me.

“I’ll have the same thing.”

“The croissant and coffee?”

“Yeah.”

“Coming right up.”

This time there was no hesitation, no scanning the menu like he needed time to decide. He ordered like someone who had already made up his mind about the place, which was strange considering he’d only been here once. Still, I didn’t question it. I prepared his order, noticing in passing that his hair was still damp, like he’d rushed through a shower without fully waking up, and that the shadows under his eyes hadn’t improved overnight.

He thanked me, took his tray, and headed straight for the same seat by the window.

The morning carried on around him. Orders came in, coffee went out, Christine complained about something in the kitchen that I only half listened to. Mrs. Harris finally admitted defeat on her crossword and enlisted one of the students, who immediately took it far too seriously. The little boy at the counter tried to argue that cinnamon rolls counted as breakfast, and his father looked ready to concede just to end the conversation.

Through all of it, Ethan stayed where he was.

He didn’t pull out his phone or pretend to work. He didn’t seem to be waiting for anyone. He just sat there, drinking his coffee slowly and watching the street like it offered something he hadn’t found elsewhere. Every time I glanced over, he was still there, and gradually the tension he’d walked in with began to ease. His shoulders lowered, his posture relaxed, and he leaned back in his chair instead of sitting like he might need to leave at any moment.

It was subtle, but noticeable enough that I found myself paying attention.

Not because I trusted him. I didn’t. But because he looked like someone who hadn’t had a place to sit without looking over his shoulder in a long time.

When his mug was nearly empty, I refilled it without asking.

Christine caught the movement immediately. “I can do that.”

“I’ve got it,” I said, already pouring.

She gave me a look that suggested she had several opinions about that but chose not to voice them yet. I ignored her and carried the fresh coffee over.

Ethan looked up as I set it down. “I didn’t order another.”

“It’s on the house.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t get discounts.”

“Good,” I said, folding my arms lightly. “Wouldn’t want you getting used to special treatment.”

He studied me for a second, then glanced toward the window before returning his attention to me. There was a pause, not awkward exactly, but weighted with something unspoken.

I leaned slightly closer, lowering my voice so it wouldn’t carry. “So how long are you planning to hide out here?”

The shift in him was immediate. Not dramatic, but sharp enough that I felt it. His attention snapped fully back to me, alert in a way it hadn’t been a moment ago.

I lifted a hand before he could react further. “Relax. I’m not about to call anyone.”

He didn’t relax, but he didn’t leave either.

“I was just curious,” I added.

He glanced toward the front windows, scanning the street as if expecting to see someone watching. “You knew.”

“I had a pretty good idea.”

His expression tightened. “I should probably go.”

“You really don’t have to.”

He frowned slightly. “People here know who I am.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding toward the front where Mrs. Harris was now debating breakfast rules with the same kid from earlier. “They do.”

That didn’t seem to reassure him.

“But they also know how to mind their business,” I continued. “This neighborhood has bigger things to worry about than celebrities.”

He followed my gaze for a moment, taking in the scene, then looked back at me. “So nobody…”

“They’ve noticed,” I said. “They’re just not interested enough to make it your problem.”

Something in his expression eased, not completely, but enough to matter.

“Thank you.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did.”

The way he said it made me hesitate, like there was more behind it than I understood. I didn’t know what to do with that, so I shifted the conversation.

“I read the articles.”

The small bit of ease he’d found slipped, replaced by something more guarded.

“I figured.”

“My lawyer says I can’t talk about it,” he added, almost automatically.

“Convenient.”

“It is.”

I studied him for a moment, weighing how direct I wanted to be. There wasn’t much point in pretending otherwise.

“I should say this,” I said. “If those headlines are true, I don’t want someone like that in my bakery.”

He didn’t flinch or get defensive. If anything, he seemed to expect it.

“I’m not,” he said simply.

There was no performance in it, no attempt to convince me beyond the statement itself. Just something steady and worn down.

“And how am I supposed to know that?”

He opened his mouth, then stopped. Whatever answer he might have wanted to give didn’t come, and after a moment he nodded once.

“You’re right,” he said. “I can’t ask you to believe me. I just have to wait and hope time proves it.”

It wasn’t the answer I expected, and it shifted something in my perception of him, even if it didn’t change my stance.

“I guess time has a way of exposing people,” I said.

“And hopefully the truth.”

Before I could respond, the bell chimed again.

Sophie walked in carrying a bouquet large enough to obscure half her face, moving with the confidence of someone who treated every space like it belonged to her. She spotted Ethan immediately and didn’t bother pretending otherwise.

“Oh,” she said, lowering the flowers just enough to get a better look. “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

I pressed my hand briefly to my forehead. “Sophie.”

“What?” she said, entirely unapologetic.

Ethan let out a short laugh, quick and unexpected, like it had caught him off guard as much as anyone else.

Sophie pointed at him. “See? He can smile.”

Then she turned to me, already shifting topics. “I’m closing early today. Wedding consultation.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I know.”

“I thought you forgot.”

“I forget everything,” she said cheerfully, reaching over the counter to grab a croissant without asking.

“You’re not paying for that, are you?”

“I’ll pay in flowers.”

“You say that every week.”

“And every week it works.”

She winked at Ethan. “Nice meeting you.”

Then she was gone as quickly as she’d arrived, leaving the door swinging slightly behind her.

The bakery settled back into its rhythm, though it felt a little quieter without her energy filling the space.

Ethan stood, picking up his jacket. “I should go.”

I nodded, stepping back toward the counter. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Thanks for the coffee.”

“You can thank me by actually finishing it next time.”

“I’ll try.”

There was a brief pause, not uncomfortable, just uncertain, like neither of us was entirely sure how to end the interaction.

“See you around,” I said.

His smile returned, softer this time. “I think you will.”

He stepped outside and merged into the morning crowd, just another person on the sidewalk within seconds.

I found myself watching him through the window longer than necessary. Halfway across the street, a man walking his dog slowed, his attention catching on Ethan in a way that felt too deliberate. He looked once, then again, recognition settling in.

My stomach tightened as the man reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and lifted it toward Ethan.