Trades.
Big-market hockey.
Real life.
Not Briar Cove.
Not us.
The silence stretches too long between us while snow falls harder around the alley lights.
Finally, Colby says quietly, “It’s complicated.”
A laugh almost escapes me. Everything always becomes complicated right before somebody leaves.
“I should finish with the clean up,” I say.
His expression shifts. Not angry. Hurt. And somehow that hurts me too.
“Sadie—”
“Goodnight, Colby.”
I walk back inside before he can say anything else.
Coward.
Complete coward.
But if I stay out there another minute, I might ask the one question I absolutely cannot survive hearing answered. Would you have stayed?
The rest of the evening feels wrong after that. Too quiet. Too careful.
Colby comes in and helps finish cleanup inside the bakery like always, but now every tiny thing hurts.
The way he automatically rinses frosting bowls, the way he reaches past me for towels without bumping me, the way his voice lowers instinctively around Jillie.
Temporary.
Temporary.
Temporary.
I repeat the word in my head like armor, because if I let myself forget even once, this will destroy me.
Worse: it will destroy Jillie.
That thought steadies me instantly. Not me. Her.
Protect her first. Always.
So, I start pulling back immediately.
I stop teasing him. Stop lingering beside him at the counter. Stop letting my fingers brush his “accidentally on purpose” when we reach for coffee mugs.
I step away first now.
And Colby notices every single change.
