To the silence.
I picture her again. Polished. Effortless. The kind of woman who probably doesn’t own sweatpants with flour on them.
But that’s just a picture. A few curated angles and good lighting. Not a life.
My brain keeps trying to turn it into a story anyway.
Someone like her doesn’t end up in a man’s phone by accident. Someone like her is intentional. Chosen.
The thought sits heavy for a moment before I catch myself. This is what I do when I don’t have information—I start inventing it.
I don’t actually know anything about her. Or about what she and Nathan are. I know a name. What she looks like in a few photos. And the fact that she is in his phone.
That’s it.
And somehow my mind is already halfway to a verdict.
I stop what I’m doing and take a slow breath.This is how you spiral. This is how you build something out of nothing and then let it start hurting you like it’s real.
I force myself to let it go—not because it’s easy, but because I can feel how close I am to becoming someone I don’t recognize.
I’m halfway through stacking napkin sleeves when I hear it, three soft knocks at the front door.
I freeze.
No one knocks this early.
Wiping my hands on my apron, I walk toward the storefront. My heart stutters when I see him through the glass.
Nathan.
Of course, it’s Nathan.
My heart seriously needs to get a grip, but it can’t. It’s screaming. He’s here. Nathan’s here. I refuse to believe it’s because I’m starved of a relationship. But is it because I genuinely see something in him I really like?
He looks...haunted. His jaw’s tight. Eyes tired.
I unlock the door. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he says softly, eyes scanning my face. “Sorry… I know you don’t open till eight, but I really need a coffee.”
It’s all he says.
No explanation. No apology. Just need. And somehow, I understand that better than anything else right now.
“Come in,” I whisper. “I can do that. Just let me finish putting these last few boxes away.”
He nods and follows me toward the storage room.
As he steps inside behind me, his foot accidentally kicks the doorstop wedged underneath. The rubber wedge skitters across the floor, and the door swings shut behind us with aclick.
I spin. “No, wait!”
Too late.
The latch clicks.
“Damn it,” I mutter.
