Silk, Secrets, and Cinnamon Buns

Nova

The wind whipped through my curls as I sped through the streets, Maya clinging to my waist with both arms like her life depended on it. She was screaming something behind me, probably a mix of joy and fear, but the helmet muffled most of it. I couldn’t help the small smile that curled at my lips. There was something wild and freeing about riding like this. No traffic jams. No fake smiles. Just the road and the engine and the sky above.

We pulled into the mall parking lot, and I slowed the bike, parking neatly near the entrance. Maya hopped off, tugging off the helmet with wide eyes and a breathless laugh.

“That was insane,” she said. “You didn’t tell me you ride like you’re escaping a movie scene.”

I shrugged. “Gotta make errands interesting somehow.”

We walked into the mall together, her eyes already scanning the shops like a girl on a mission. I had told her I needed a dress for a fancy dinner, left out the whole ‘my father is hosting a billionaire birthday gala’ part. I didn’t want to explain it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Maya, though, clearly lived for this kind of thing. She led me from one boutique to another, listing off designer names and styles like she was born in a runway catalog. I tried on dress after dress. One was too shiny. Another was too tight. One looked like it belonged on a bridesmaid. The fourth made me look like I was going to prom. I was starting to lose hope when Maya pulled a red dress from a rack tucked at the back of a small boutique.

“Try this,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Trust me.”

I stepped into the fitting room, pulled the dress on, and looked at myself in the mirror.

It was perfect.

The red was deep and smooth like wine. The fabric hugged my curves without suffocating them. The neckline dipped just enough to be bold, and the slit at the thigh gave it that little dangerous edge. It was elegant but sharp. Soft but bold. It felt like me. The me I didn’t always let people see.

I stepped out of the changing room and looked at Maya.

“This is the one,” we both said at the same time.

I stood there for a moment longer, turning from side to side in the mirror, smoothing the fabric over my hips like I couldn’t quite believe how well it fit. For a second, I didn’t feel like the girl scraping tips behind a counter or dodging unwanted glances at work. I didn’t feel like someone who had to check her account before every grocery trip or stretch her scholarship money across tuition and textbooks and tampons. In that dress, I looked like I belonged to a world I usually watched from the outside. The one with chandeliers and string quartets and champagne in tall glasses. The one with polished tables and people who never had to worry about rent. I wasn’t sure if I loved that world or hated it, but standing there, breathing in the warm hush of the boutique lighting, I felt like maybe I could walk into it without being swallowed whole. Not as Nova Coldwell, daughter of the rich and absent, but as something sharper. Something earned. Something dressed in blood-red silk and unapologetic skin.

She laughed. “I knew it. You look like you’re about to steal someone’s soul.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Too much?”

“Not at all,” she grinned. “What kind of dinner are you going to anyway? Some rich guy’s mansion? Is this a sugar daddy thing?”

I rolled my eyes and laughed, brushing her off. “It’s just a dinner.”

I didn’t want to tell her the truth. Not because I didn’t trust her, but because I didn’t trust people in general. The second they knew who I was, everything changed. Their tone. Their interest. The way they tried to fit into my space. Like I was a door they needed to unlock.

I paid for the dress, ignoring the tight pull in my chest when I saw the price. It would be worth it. It had to be.

Afterward, we stopped at a little stall near the food court and got iced coffees and warm cinnamon buns wrapped in wax paper. We sat on a bench just outside the mall entrance, legs crossed, talking about nothing important. Maya told me about her little sister’s dance recital. I told her about a poem I was working on. We talked about annoying professors and Cassandra Voss being a walking privilege parade.

Maya had to leave first. She hugged me before she left and gave a small wave as she disappeared into the crowd.

I stood there for a minute after she was gone. Then I tossed my empty coffee cup and headed back to my bike. My shift started in less than an hour.

The café wasn’t too busy when I walked in. The usual low music played from the overhead speakers, and the warm smell of coffee beans and syrup filled the air. I tied my apron around my waist and clocked in behind the register.

Greg was there.

Of course he was.

He was leaning against the counter, pretending to check the inventory sheet. He always hovered. His eyes always lingered too long. His comments were never enough to report, but always enough to make my skin crawl.

“Evening, Nova,” he said with that smile that made my stomach turn.

“Hey,” I muttered, brushing past him toward the back room.

“You look nice tonight. That skirt is something else.”

I didn’t answer. Just grabbed a clean cloth and started wiping down the counter.

Later, while I was counting receipts at the register, he leaned over my shoulder, his breath too close to my neck.

“Let me know if you ever want extra hours. I could pull some strings.”

I stiffened. “I’m good.”

He stepped back with a fake laugh. “Just being friendly.”

I didn’t respond. I just moved away, tucked the receipts into the drawer, and kept my eyes down.

He didn’t touch me. He never touched me.

But it was getting harder not to feel like he wanted to.

I glanced up at the clock. Two more hours. That was all. Two more hours and I could go home. Take off the apron. Wash the coffee smell out of my hair. Maybe log in and escape into someone who had power and control. Someone who didn’t have to smile at creeps just to keep a paycheck.

I refilled a coffee cup, wiped the counter again, and forced my face into something close to calm.

Almost done. Almost free.