Page 47 of Pack Plus One

“I understand,” he says, though the tension in his jaw suggests otherwise.

“It’s not that I don’t...” I struggle to find the right words. “It’s just that I need time. To think.”

“Take all the time you need,” he says, voice still carefully neutral.

I nod, backing into my apartment. “I’ll... I’ll call you.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he promises, and the simple certainty in his voice makes my heart skip.

I close the door and lean against it, listening to his footsteps retreat down the hall. Only when I hear the distant sound of the building’s front door closing do I allow myself to exhale.

Sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor, I pull my knees to my chest.

Silence.

Not the comfortable kind I’m used to. The kind that wraps around me like a well-worn sweater. This silence feels...wrong. Too thin. Like the air after a storm, charged with something I can’t name.

I breathe in.

My apartment smells like yeast and sugar—like home. But underneath it, clinging stubbornly to my skin:

Dark chocolate and espresso (Caleb, his hands framing my face as he kissed me breathless)

Citrus and woodsmoke (Jude, his laugh vibrating against my neck)

Old books and rain (Liam’s quiet voice murmuring praise)

Sandalwood and crisp autumn air (Mason’s steady hands guiding me)

I peel off Mason’s borrowed shirt like it’s burning me and put on clothes of my own. My leggings and oversized sweater should feel comforting, but the fabric itches. Nothing fits right.

Fernando, my sourdough starter, bubbles happily in its jar by the kitchen window. At least something in my life is predictable.

“You’re overproofed,” I tell him. “Just like me.”

My phone buzzes in my clutch. Then again. And again. Four texts in rapid succession.

With a sigh, I look at the screen.

Jude

Miss your face already, doll. Also your ass. But mostly your face. Come back? I’ll make heart-shaped pancakes.

Real hearts, not those weird lumpy ones they advertise on the package.

Liam

Let me know if you have questions about brewery partnerships for your bakery. I'm here.

Mason

Hydrate. Eat something. Call if you need anything. No expectations.

And Caleb—just Caleb, in that way he has of carving space in my chest with the fewest possible words:

Caleb

You forgot your other shoe.

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