Page 62 of How To Not Need You

Then Natalie’s phone rings.

The laughter dies when Natalie looks at the screen. She glances at the screen where it sits on the counter beside the flour bags, and the brightness in her face practically disappears as she registers the name of the caller.

“I should take this.” Her voice has changed. Harper gives me a look that shows she spotted it too.

She steps toward the back of the bakery, phone pressed to her ear and her shoulders already beginning to curve inward like she’s bracing for impact. I watch her go because I can’t look away.

Luca is still grinning at something Elsie said. Freya is still wielding the drill. But Harper is watching Natalie.

Natalie stops at the back counter, one hand flat against the surface like she needs it to hold her upright. I can’t hear the conversation from here, but I don’t need to. Her body is telling the story without words. The way her head drops. The way her free hand curls into a fist against the countertop, knuckles going white.

Then, clear enough to cut through the room’s noise: “That’s not true.”

It's quiet, but we all hear it. Luca stops laughing. Natalie pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at the screen.

Then she whispers, to the empty air, to the counter, to no one who can hear her except us. “He thinks I’ve been bullying Rebecca.”

For one stretched second, the bakery is so still I can hear the sound of my own pulse in my ears.

Elsie crosses the room and wraps her arms around Natalie.

I watch in shock as Natalie crumples. The sob that escapes her is so ragged and broken, the kind of crying that comes from somewhere so deep it hurts to listen to. Harper joins them. Then Freya.

Luca abandons his coffee and squeezes in too.

Within seconds, Natalie has disappeared into a pile of arms, paint-streaked clothes and women who refuse to let her cry alone.

I stay exactly where I am.

My chest has gone tight. A physical sensation, like someone has wrapped both hands around my heart and squeezed, hard enough to make breathing an effort. The sight of all that touch, all those arms overlapping, all that comfort being given and taken so freely, it makes my skin crawl in a way I can’t explain without sounding like an asshole.

I don't do group hugs. Actually, I barely do individual hugs.

I comfort people with sarcasm, alcohol and practical solutions. Sometimes all three.

This?

This is my personal hell.

Harper looks up. Catches my eye across the room. Her expression doesn’t change, no judgment or pressure, just Harper seeing me exactly as I am and loving me anyway. I shake my head. Once. Firm.

Not happening.

Then Luca’s voice cuts through the silence, loud and entirely unbothered by the fact that Natalie is still crying against Elsie’s shoulder.

“Get your fine ass in here, Liv! One hug won’t kill you.”

Every head turns. Natalie’s included. Her face is streaked with tears, her eyes red and swollen, and she is looking at me with an expression so raw it feels like being slapped.

I roll my eyes so hard I briefly see my own brain.

Luca grins.

Fuck him.

I put the roller down and then I move towards this emotional explosion in front of me.

The distance between me and Natalie feels longer than it should. My body does not want to be here. My heart, inconveniently, has other ideas.