The moment Cara saw Daniel cross the threshold of her bakery, she knew two things: her ex-boyfriend Marcus was standing three feet behind her, and her heart had just done something deeply inconvenient. It had leapt — not for Marcus, but for the infuriating, broad-shouldered man now ducking under the low door frame with flour on his jacket and a smirk that made her want to throw a croissant at him.
Daniel Reyes was not supposed to be here. He was supposed to be at his own café, two streets away, doing whatever it was that insufferable competitors did on a Tuesday morning. He was not supposed to be standing in her shop, holding a brown paper bag, looking startled and then — annoyingly — amused.
Cara turned back to Marcus. He was mid-sentence, something about closure and timing and how he had been doing a lot of thinking. She had been doing a lot of nodding, the way you nod when someone is talking but you are actually calculating how quickly you can end the conversation without a scene.
“Cara.” Marcus touched her elbow. “Are you even listening?”
“Every word,” she said. She had heard approximately none of them.
Behind her, she heard the soft creak of the glass display case as Daniel leaned against the counter. He was browsing. Slowly. With great apparent interest in the almond tarts.
She turned. “Can I help you?” The words came out sharper than she intended.
“Just looking.” His dark eyes slid from the tarts to her face with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. “Don’t mind me.”
“You have a café,” she said.
“Mine’s closed for a pipe repair. Thought I’d see what all the fuss was about.” He picked up a small card from the counter — her business card — and turned it over in his fingers. “Nice place. Smaller than I imagined.”
“It’s cozy,” she said tightly.
“Cozy.” He nodded, like he was filing that away.
Marcus cleared his throat. Cara had almost forgotten he was there, which was probably the most honest thing she had felt in the last twenty minutes.
“Sorry,” she said, turning back. “Marcus, I think — I think we’ve said everything that needs saying. I really do wish you well. I mean that.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he exhaled, something releasing in his shoulders. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay. Yeah, I think I knew that.” He gave her a small, sad smile, the kind that reminded her why she had liked him once, and then he left. The bell above the door chimed softly behind him.
The shop was suddenly very quiet.
Cara pressed both palms flat on the counter and stared at the almond tarts. She could feel Daniel still there, a warm, irritating presence to her left.
“That looked fun,” he said.
“Don’t.” She didn’t look up.
A pause. Then, more carefully: “You okay?”
She glanced at him. He wasn’t smirking anymore. He was watching her with something that looked almost like concern, which was so far outside her established understanding of Daniel Reyes that she didn’t quite know what to do with it.
“I’m fine,” she said. “He’s my ex. It was just — he needed to hear it again. Sometimes people do.”
Daniel nodded slowly. He set the business card back down on the counter, precisely where he had found it. “For what it’s worth, you handled it well.”
She blinked. “Was that a compliment?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
She almost laughed. Almost. “What’s actually in the bag?”
He looked down at the paper bag in his hand like he had forgotten it existed. “Cardamom rolls. From the place on Vine Street. I was — ” He stopped. Started again. “I was going to leave them on your doorstep. Anonymously. Because your oven was broken last week and you had to cancel your morning orders and I thought —” He set the bag on the counter. “It doesn’t matter.”
Cara stared at the bag. Then at him. “You brought me cardamom rolls.”
“It’s a competitive market. I need you at full capacity or my win means nothing.”
“That is the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Probably.”
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