Page 52

“I want to cancel the order of you making my son's cake,” she mutters with her head low. I can feel how uneasy it is for her.

“Several of friends won't come to his birthday, they won't allow their children come because they are scared of their safety,”

“But I have done nothing wrong,” I retort, my feeling stirring with a certain urge.

“Natalie,” Ollie voices calmly. “These accusations are false, we have never disappointed you with a request,”

“I know,” she exhales. “But this is my son's safety I'm talking about here. I don't want to take risks and I hope you understand,”

“I do,” I agree and watch her leave.

Daisy lowers herself slowly into a chair. I focus on the empty doorway, the empty bakery, the empty tables. Eventually I force a smile. A mistake — Ollie notices immediately. "You don't have to do that."

I throw my glance elsewhere, "Do what?"

"Pretend." The single word lands harder than expected. I busy myself with the display case, rearranging things that don't need rearranging, fixing things that aren't broken, anything to avoid looking at him and admitting how much this hurts.

The bakery door opens again, my heart jumps, then immediately sinks. Not a customer — a delivery driver, who hands over an envelope and leaves. I already know I won't enjoy what's inside. The letter confirms it: another cancellation, another standing order gone. Then a notification appears on my phone. Cancellation.

Each one feels heavier than the last, the weight settling slowly, relentlessly, until breathing requires more effort than it should.

Ollie reads my expression. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. I nod, because speaking feels dangerous — if I start talking I might start crying, and if I start crying I might not stop.

I hurry out and nearly walk straight into Gavin as I round the corner.

He stops just as abruptly, "Juniper."

For a moment neither of us says anything.

“I should let you go," he says eventually.

His expression tightens. The silence stretches.

Then I sigh before passing,"Just... be careful."

He frowns. "About what?"

I hesitate, "Marissa."

His entire posture changes immediately.

" About her, why? She's my consultant,"

"I'm serious." I hold his gaze. "You think you know her. I thought I knew her too."

His jaw tightens, "That's not fair."

"Maybe not." I shrug. "But if something ever feels wrong, don't ignore it just because it's Marissa."

For a second uncertainty flickers across his face before disappearing.

"I have to go."He replies before walking away.

I watch him leave and wonder if he'll remember any of this when it finally matters.

The bakery closes early. Not officially — there simply aren't any customers. The chairs stay empty, the register stays silent, the display case stays mostly full. I sit behind the counter staring at nothing, because the exhaustion goes beyond physical. My body isn't tired. My heart is.

Every day brings another fight, another accusation, another loss, another reminder that everything I've built can disappear. The front door opens and I don't bother looking up. I already know who it is.