The scent of cardamom and yeast is suffocating, but underneath it, I catch the clean bite of his cologne. It’s the same scent that clung to the sheets this morning, when I woke up alone but still somehow felt his presence. The same scent that’s been living in my lungs since the night he kissed me in this very kitchen.
He moves into the kitchen, and my body remembers the heat of his palm on my hip, the rough scrape of his stubble against my inner thigh, the solid weight of him pinning me to his sofa.
My skin prickles with the memory, a flush of pure, traitorous heat spreading under my apron, but somehow, I stay where I am behind the counter.
"Word on the street is you've been drowning your sorrows at The Leopard Lounge like some tragic country song," I say, crossing my arms.
"Yeah, well." He shrugs, not even bothering to deny it. "Turns out Lars' whiskey doesn't have any answers for me either."
“Still haven't figured out our little situation then?”
“Nope."
He takes a few steps closer, stopping at the other side of the counter. The slab is between us, a battlefield of flour and abandoned dough. His eyes drop to the envelope.
“You read it all?” he asks.
“Enough.”
“And?”
“It's pretty clear, Colt. They want relocation for headquarters. If this goes through… I’d have to move.”
He spreads his hands, a gesture of helpless frustration.
“You know what I kept thinking, while I was sitting there and everyone was telling me to take the trade?" He puffs his cheeks through a sigh. "That if I wasn’t here, you’d already be on the phone with those investors.”
"That's not true—" I start, but he's already shaking his head.
"It is, though." He stifles a stiff laugh "I'm the complication here, Zoey. I showed up in your bakery and made everything messier. You already had the plan. You had your life figured out. And now you're standing here torn in half because of me."
He drags a hand through his hair, and I watch him swallow something that looks a lot like guilt. He closes his eyes for asecond, and when they open, they’re so blue and so lost it’s like looking into a fucking ocean storm.
“Maybe if I’d just stayed away, you wouldn’t be looking at that envelope like it’s a bad thing. You’d be booking a flight, signing on the dotted line, and finally getting the goddamn empire you deserve.”
“That’s a load of crap, Colt, and you know it.”
“Do I?” His laugh is a harsh scrape of sound. “You have a blueprint for your whole damn life in that notebook, Zoey. A road map. And guess what? I’m not on it. I was never supposed to be part of the plan. I’m the detour. The messy, inconvenient, concussed detour that showed up and fucked everything up.”
"You think this isyourfault?" My voice rises, incredulous. "Colt, you baked my recipes. You flew my brothers here. You… you gave me a spa day because you saw I hadn't had a goddamn break in eight years. You're not the reason this is hard… you're the reason any of it feels possible in the first place!"
“Then take it!”
The words burst from him, so loud I flinch. His knuckles are white where he’s gripping the edge of the counter.
“This is your fucking dream, Zoey! The one you hid away because life got in the way. Don’t you dare letmebe the thing that gets in the way now. Take it!”
“Why does it have to be me taking all the leaps?” I shoot back, my own voice rising to meet his. “Why do I have to be the one risking everything while you stand there and give me permission? What aboutyourleap, Colt? What about the phone call from your agent that’s burning a hole in your pocket right now? What about the bigger stage, the bigger paycheck, the biggereverythingthat your parents probably already have framed on their damn mantel? Isn’t that the dream you’ve been chasing since you were four?”
“Don’t.” His goes deadly quiet as he cuts a dagger across at me. “Don’t bring them into this.”
“But it’s true! This is whatyou’vealways wanted, right? You want to stand there and talk about dreams. This isyourdream too.”
For a long moment, he just stares at me. His eyes search mine, and I see the performance falling away, layer by layer, until only the raw, unguarded man beneath is left.
“You're right. Itwasmy dream,” he says, his voice rough. “Until I walked into this bakery and found a different one.”
Tears spill over, tracing hot paths down my cheeks. I don’t wipe them away this time. It's too fucking hard.
