Page 6 of Bittersweet

No sooner had the words come out of Savannah’s mouth than the bells on the door announced someone’s entrance.

Harper’s heart jumped into her throat at the sight of Logan strolling into their little shop. She leaned across the counter and whispered, “Won’t touch me, huh?”

Savannah’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. “Is that him?” she replied quietly.

Harper turned slowly and faced him. She had never dared let herself imagine him stepping foot in this place she’d worked so hard to build. If he hadn’t left, she would have loved sharing all of this with him. But he had. He was no longer her everything—this place was—and seeing him walking through that door was extremely unsettling.

Logan stood before them with two to-go cups. “Hi there. You must be Savannah. I’m Logan Riggs.” He handed a cup over the counter to her. “Caramel macchiato.”

Savannah got a goofy grin on her face. “How’d you know?”

“Wendy said it was your favorite.”

“She’s good.” Savannah looked over at Harper. “I don’t even remember telling her that.”

Logan held out the other cup to Harper. “Chai tea latte.”

It killed her that he still remembered her favorite non-coffee beverage. She thought about refusing it, even though she knew Logan made the most delicious lattes. Instead, she took the cup and set it on the counter, determined not to drink it.

“Hi again.” Logan’s words were just above a whisper, which felt a little too intimate.

Harper wished she was on the other side of the counter with Savannah.

“How’s your hand?” He reached to touch it, and she flinched away. His hand fell to his side, and he took a step back.

“It’s fine. Bruised knuckles never killed anyone.”

Savannah took a sip of her coffee. “Mmm. Oh my gosh, that’s good.”

Harper’s mouth watered. She was tempted to take a sip of hers.

“Did you stop by to talk baked goods? I bet you’re dying to try some of our stuff. I heard the ones I sent ended up on the ground.”

Logan made eye contact with Harper and winked.

“Right this way.” Savannah came around the counter and corralled him away from Harper and behind the display case, where she started handing him some of their goodies. “I hope you’ve got an empty stomach because you won’t when you leave here.”

Harper appreciated Savannah’s timing and the distance between her and Logan. She stood watching for a few minutes as Savannah gave him a tour of the place, showing off the ovens—their pride and joy—and all the other amenities of the beautiful kitchen they had designed together.

Every once in a while, Logan looked over at her and caused her heart rate to spike. She should’ve been getting the morning muffin batter ready, but she couldn’t focus on baking at the moment, so she escaped to the office instead.

She sat at the desk, opened the laptop, and checked emails, which were in need of her attention. She stared at the screen and tried to focus on the words before her, but she could not focus with Logan in the same building as her. Her eyes skimmed over the same sentence three times before she stood and paced around the room.

“This is madness,” she finally whispered to herself as she sat down again, straightened her back, and set her sights on the emails.

One requested a price list for a wedding cake—Savannah’s specialty. Another had questions about a large cupcake order for a birthday party—cookies and cupcakes were Harper’s domain. The emails were easy enough to answer. But instead, she found herself craning her neck, trying to hear what they were saying in the other room.

What is wrong with me? She shouldn’t care what Logan was saying. What she should care about were the emails from the customers whose orders would keep their shop in business.

The bells on the door chimed again, and Harper walked over and peeked out of the office. Savannah was behind the counter again, and Logan was gone, as if he hadn’t been there at all.

4

The delicate line of icing Harper was attempting to draw onto a sugar cookie looked like a five-year old’s crayon drawing. Where her lines were usually straight and even, applied with a steady hand, they were now bumpy and squiggly in places, delivered by her shaky grip on the icing bag—and it wasn’t only because of her bruised knuckles.

She knew what was bothering her, even though she was stubbornly trying not to admit it. Logan had left the shop yesterday without saying goodbye. He had walked out without acknowledging her or her feelings. It was like a flashback to four years ago when he left without a word.

But then, hadn’t she done the same to him yesterday? Hadn’t she walked out of his food truck without looking back? Her reason had been purely survival instinct, not to hurt Logan in any purposeful way … well, maybe a little. She just couldn’t stand there one second longer, knowing he’d used the kitchen layout she’d dreamed up, and not give him a piece of her mind. She couldn’t stay in that space, so near to him, and not simultaneously want to hold him and punch him in the nose. The truck looked amazing, but she hated that he’d taken her ideas and brought them to life. All it did was remind her that Logan had left before they’d had a chance to make any of their dreams come true.

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