Page 2 of Never Enough

“I’ve done a lot of work on myself,” he continues. “Therapy. Reflection. I’ve grown a lot.”

Caroline makes a soft, skeptical sound behind me. I love her for it. It feels like armor sliding into place.

My girls have my back. I never have to question that.

“I’m not the same guy,” Andrew says. “And when I heard you were still here, still single⁠—”

“I never said I was single.”

His smile falters for half a second. Recovers quickly. That’s new. Or maybe I just never noticed it before.

“That’s fair. I guess I just hoped…” He reaches into his jacket pocket.

My stomach drops.

Oh no.

No, no, no. Not this. Not now.

“Oh wow,” I say before I can stop myself. “You didn’t even ease into the emotional whiplash. Bold choice.”

He ignores that and drops to one knee.

The bakery goes silent. Even the espresso machine seems to have gone quiet.

“I love you,” Andrew says, solid and sure, like all you have to do is say it loudly enough to make it true. “I always have. And I want to do this right.”

He opens the box.

The ring is pretty. Of course it is. Classic. Expensive. The kind of thing meant to make women cry in a good way.

Three years ago, I probably would have cried. But so much has changed in these years since Andrew left me. And looking at that ring and him on his knee, I feel absolutely nothing.

“I—” I start, already planning my escape, when the bell over the door jingles again.

Heavy footsteps pound across the bakery floor, each one landing like a punctuation mark.

“Gracie Lynn”

Henry Blankenship stands on the other side of the glass display case. His jaw is set, and his eyes are locked on me, completely ignoring the man who, for all intents and purposes, is at his feet. Relief hits me so fast, it’s almost dizzying. I don’t know what I think Henry is going to do about this, but maybe he’ll just scare Andrew off.

Henry’s gaze drops. First to the ring, then to Andrew on his knee. Then he slowly looks back at me. Something dark and dangerous flashes through his expression. My pulse stutters in response.

Henry moves. With purpose. He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t rush. He simply steps forward, hooks a hand in Andrew’s collar, and hauls him upright like he weighs nothing.

“Hey—” Andrew starts.

“You’re too late,” Henry says calmly.

The room holds its breath.

“What do you mean I’m too late?” Andrew asks.

Then, Henry does some kind of action-hero nonsense where he swings himself over the counter in one smooth move. The second he’s behind the counter, he strides towards me. He slides an arm around my waist and pulls me into him. The blood is whooshing through my ears and I think I might be hallucinating.

Henry looks down at me in his arms.

One of my hands rests on his chest, and he’s so warm and solid beneath my palm. His heartbeat is steady, and instinctively, my own chaotic heartbeat slows to match his. I don’t know exactly what’s happening, but his blue eyes search my face, and he gives me a ghost of a smile.