I forced a smile and didn’t argue even though I wasn’t entirely convinced.

I had a feeling that I would never see Rowan again.

* * *

It turned out that staying late at the bakery, cleaning it from top to bottom, would’ve been the safer option.

I should’ve known... The universe wasn’t exactly well-versed in giving me a break. Not that I wallowed in that. The universe had given me plenty. Or I had made the most of every single, however small, opportunity it vaguely flung in my direction.

My life was good. Great even. But that didn’t mean I was going to be the girl who could catch a break.

That was made apparent when I walked into my kitchen and my ex-fiancé was sitting there.

“What are you doing here, Nathan?” I sighed.

I wasn’t entirely surprised. He’d been calling me nonstop, not getting the message. And today was the day we had planned on getting married. Before I called off the wedding, that is.

He was the last person I wanted to deal with right now. I was still sufficiently rattled and mortified by the interaction with Rowan, still trying to convince myself that I’d imagined the interest in his gaze.

I was confused. Amped. But also exhausted. My day started at four in the morning, as it had for years. It was second nature to me now, getting up, making coffee. Stretching… if I could force myself to act like I was a little bit interested in exercise. Driving to the bakery, opening up, tying on my apron and getting to work. Mornings were my favorite. No one else was up. It was just me. Me in my element. In the place I felt safe, confident, secure.

But because of those early mornings, I was in bed by nine. Ten at the absolute latest. I could function off six hours of sleep, but I preferred a minimum of seven. I worked until the bakery closed at four p.m., then spent another hour shutting things down. It was a long day. Work I adored, but it took a lot out of me.

My evenings were mine too. When I would pour a glass of wine. Make something to eat or pick at whatever was in the fridge. I’d turn on the TV, sink into the cloudlike cushions of my sofa, let the last of the sun stream through the windows of the home I’d created. The home I loved.

The home that Nathan was polluting with his presence.

“How did you get in here?” I asked before he could answer my original question. He had been sitting on one of the barstools at my kitchen island, again, polluting one of my favorite rooms in the house. The largest because, well, it needed to be. The kitchen was my heart and soul. Where I created, where I entertained, where I found calm amongst chaos.

The room with windows that looked out onto the rugged seascape. The room that always had fresh flowers sitting on various surfaces. Recipe books were lined up along the counters, the hammered white backsplash peeking out from behind them.