Page 22 of Our Bay Will Come

"That's harsh," I say, feeling a flare of indignation on his behalf.

"Yeah, well. She wasn't wrong about the small-town part. Cedar Bay's not exactly a metropolis."

"But the 'nobody' part?" I shake my head. "That's bullshit."

Fox looks up, surprise flickering across his face. "You don't even know me."

"I know enough," I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "I know you build things with your hands. I know you worry about your friend even when he drives you crazy. I know you listen—really listen—when people talk."

A flush crawls up his neck. "That's just basic decency."

"You'd be surprised how rare that is." I take another bite of the cinnamon roll, gathering courage. "So what happened after the breakup?"

"Spiraled a bit. I lost my swimming scholarship. Dropped out." He shrugs like it's nothing, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. "Joined the Army and did two tours. Came back to Cedar Bay when my dad needed help with some renovations at the bakery."

"That's right. Your parents own a bakery–right?"

A smile tugs at his lips. "Four generations. Carmichael's. Best sourdough in the Pacific Northwest."

"So you're telling me you've been judging this cinnamon roll the whole time?"

"Professionally," he confirms, and that half-smile widens into something genuine. "It's decent. Ours are better."

"Bold claim."

"You'll have to come see for yourself someday."

The invitation hangs between us, weightless but significant—another piece of the future, tentatively offered.

"Maybe I will," I say, and the possibility feels terrifying and exhilarating.

Fox studies me, those gray eyes thoughtful. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask. I might not answer."

"Fair enough." He leans forward, elbows on the table. "What are you afraid will happen if you let someone in again?"

The question is so direct it steals my breath. "That's... quite a morning coffee conversation."

"Sorry." He sits back. "Too much?"

"No, it's..." I twist my napkin between my fingers. "It's a good question. I'm afraid..." The truth rises, unexpected but clear. "I'm afraid I'll lose myself again. I became so focused on being what Alan wanted that I stopped being me. And then, when it fell apart, I had to remember who I was without him."

Fox nods slowly. "And who are you? Without him?"

"Still figuring that out." I meet his eyes. "But I like her more than the woman I was with him."

"I like her too," Fox says quietly, and the simple words land like stones in still water ripples spreading through me.

We finish our coffee in a comfortable silence, watching people pass by the window. When we finally step back outside, the day has warmed, and Fox has a smudge of icing at the corner of his mouth.

Without thinking, I reach up and brush it away with my thumb. He goes still under my touch, Fox's eyes darkening. For a moment, I think he might kiss me, right there on the sidewalk.

Instead, he catches my hand and kisses my palm, so light I almost don't feel it. Almost.

"Thanks," he says, voice rough.

"For what?"

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