Page 17 of His Orders

The bagel shop is just around the corner from her rental. The scent of baked dough lingers deep in the wood-paneled walls, steeped into the grain like memory. A brass bell above the door announces each customer with a chime, and behind the counter, a man with sleeves rolled and hair thinning at the crown arranges bagels by hand into woven baskets. The floor creaks under every step, and the display case, scratched and slightly fogged, glows faintly from within, its glass shelves crowded with knishes, crumb cakes, and onion bialys like something out of acity decades past. I order while Ivy grabs a table by the window, pulling her sleeves over her hands as she watches the street outside.

When I set her bagel in front of her, she eyes it critically before taking a bite. The moment she does, she pauses. It’s slight, but I don’t miss it—the way her body goes still for half a second, the slow exhale through her nose like she doesn’t want to admit she’s impressed.

I settle into my seat and tear a piece off mine. “That good?”

She takes another bite, chewing like she’s considering whether I deserve an answer.

“You’re blushing.”

Her cheeks actually go red, just for a second, before she glares at me.

I don’t bother hiding my amusement. “Oh, yeah. That’s the face of someone who isn’t in love with her bagel.”

“Shut up, Ethan.”

“Adorable.”

She groans, but it’s drowned out by her coffee as she takes a sip.

We eat in silence for a few minutes, letting the morning settle around us. The street outside hums with life, people moving past in coats and scarves, steam curling from cups in gloved hands.

I wait until she’s halfway through her bagel before setting mine down and meeting her gaze. Its probably foolish, but I need to try once more. “So, are you going to tell me why you’re really back in Valleria?”

The change is instant. Her body tenses, her fingers tightening slightly around the coffee cup.

Her gaze doesn’t meet mine. She doesn’t have to say anything. Whatever drove her away hurt more than she’s ready to admit, and it’s clear it hasn’t let her go. I reach across the table and gently lift her chin with two fingers, coaxing her to meet my eyes.

“Was it that bad?” My voice is quiet, rough. “Bad enough that you need to keep all your walls up?”

That earns a breathless laugh from her. “It was too good,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “That’s the problem.”

A tightness gathers in my chest. I want to pull at the thread she keeps so tightly wound, to make her unravel just enough to let me in, to trust me with whatever she’s carrying.

But then she leans back, reclaiming her space, retreating into a version of herself that’s polished, controlled, carefully put together. I let my hand drop, watching as she takes another sip of coffee, her face smoothing into indifference.

The moment slips away. I lean back and run my thumb along the edge of my coffee cup, watching her watch anything but me.

She shifts in her seat, fingers tracing an idle pattern against the ceramic. “I should get going,” she says, her voice carefully casual. “I have some things to take care of.”

I tilt my head slightly. “Like what?”

There’s a fraction of a pause. It’s small, but I catch it before she covers it with a shrug.

“Work,” she says lightly. “Emails. Calls. Important things.”

I narrow my eyes, unconvinced. “You? Prioritizing work over avoiding real-life responsibilities?”

She exhales, flashing a tight, almost playful smile, but I see the way she’s already preparing to escape. “I’m full of surprises,” she says, pushing back her chair. “Thanks for breakfast, Ethan.”

That should be it. But something about the way she says my name—too light, too easy, like last night never happened—grates against my nerves.

“You’re always running, aren’t you?” I say, my voice lower, testing.

She pauses, just for a second, but that’s all I get before she offers me a noncommittal shrug of her shoulders. “And yet, you always find me.”

She turns before I can respond, walking away with the same careless grace she always has, leaving me sitting there, staring after her, my coffee turning cold.

I watch until she disappears around the corner. Then I sit back, exhaling slowly, dragging a hand through my hair.

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