The next morning comes way too fast. I slept horrible. I hit the street speedwalking to the bakery, hair a disaster, mascara from last night still smudged under my eyes, praying I won’t be late. My head is pounding with the aftershocks of tequila, and I’m silently swearing off alcohol for the ninety-third time in my life when…bam.
I collide with someone. “Sorry!” I blurt, rubbing my temple.
Then I look up.
“Larry?”
Except it’s not the homeless Larry I know. This Larry is clean-shaven, dressed in slacks and a crisp button-up, smelling faintly of soap instead of the city. He looks like… a different man.
His whole face lights up. “Hey!”
My jaw drops. “Wow. You look… great.”
“Thanks.” He grins, straightening his tie. “You were right. It’s never too late. Life is full of second chances.”
I just stare, dumbfounded, while he glances down at his watch. “Oh, sorry…I’ve gotta run. I’m almost late for work.”
Before I can say another word, he flashes me one last smile and jogs off into the crowd, disappearing.
I stand there on the sidewalk, goosebumps prickling my skin, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like maybe the world still has a little magic left in it.
As I walk the last stretch toward the bakery, keys in my hand, I’m still thinking about Larry and his smile and how weirdly good that felt.
The bakery door is right in front of me.
I don’t move for a second, thinking about how crazy all this is.
Then I go inside, my head pounding like a drumline. I’m not built for tequila or really drinking at all. Thirty minutes into opening, my apron is already dusted in flour, and Ashton is still nowhere in sight. My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Ashton:I’m so sorry. Running a little late. I’ll be there in about 45 minutes. I feel like a bag of dicks.
I let out a groan and text back:Same same. See you soon.
Of course, today would be slammed. The morning rush feels heavier than usual, like every person in the neighborhood conspired to show up when I’m solo and nursing the hangover from hell. My regulars give me sympathetic smiles, and one even quips, “Rough night, Ella?”
Lovely. Nothing like being reminded I look like a corpse holding a coffee pot.
And then I see them.
I lean against the counter, taking it in like a photograph I never wanted to forget. This kid, the one who couldn’t even imagine saying hi, holds the hand of the girl he thought was untouchable.
Corner table. Same as always. Only this time, there’s no distance or stolen glances. My awkward regular…just not so awkward anymore sitting across from her, both of them leaning in, fingers laced together across the table like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
They’re laughing. Easy, unguarded.
I look at them and feel something close up quietly. I get lost in the moment when the door chimes, and in walks Bishop Towns. Of course. Because the universe loves to kick me when I’m down.
He doesn’t have the swagger he usually wears in interviews or game clips—he looks… almost nervous, which is odd.
I force a bright, brittle smile. “How can I help you?”
He scratches the back of his neck, then glances around like he’s checking if Ashton is here. “Uh, Ashton’s not in yet?”
“Nope. Unfortunately, she won’t be in for about forty-five minutes.”
Something flickers across his face, disappointment, maybe? He nods, then lifts a book in his hand and sets it on the counter between us.
“I was hoping to give this to her myself, but… could you make sure she gets it?”
