Page 33 of Ashes of Us
Oh, he wasgoodat this.
The barista called my name and I realized Daniel had already ordered for me: iced vanilla latte, extra shot. I must have looked surprised because he shrugged.
"Maya mentioned you're very specific about your coffee."
"She's been talking about me."
"Extensively. I know about the bakery, the fact that you alphabetize your spice rack, and something about how you once made a cake shaped like a submarine for your second-grade class."
"Oh God." I covered my face. "What else did she tell you?"
"That you're the most loyal person she knows. That you work too hard. That you stress-bake when you're anxious and that your lemon bars could solve world peace." He paused. "And that you got out of a really shitty relationship last year."
There it was. I'd known it was coming, of course. Maya wouldn't set me up without giving him the full story, but hearing it out loud still made my stomach knot.
"She told you about the wedding."
"She told me you were engaged and it ended badly. She didn't give me details, just said you'd been through a lot." His expression was careful, like he was trying not to spook me. "I'm not going to ask you about it. But if you want to talk about it, I'll listen."
I took a long sip of my latte, buying time. This was the part where I was supposed to give him the sanitized version—we grew apart, it wasn't working, these things happen—so I didn't seem like damaged goods on a first date.
But I was tired of pretending it was anything other than what it was.
"I caught him cheating," I said. “Five weeks before the wedding. With someone he worked with."
Daniel's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt.
"I walked in on them at his fire station. I'd brought cupcakes." I laughed, sharp and humorless. "I'd been testing wedding cake flavors."
"Jesus."
"Yeah." I set down my cup. "So I canceled the wedding, moved in with Maya, and started baking. And now here I am, on a date that my sister set up because she thinks I've been hiding in my kitchen for a year."
"Have you been?"
"Absolutely." I met his eyes. "Is that going to be a problem?"
He considered this, took a sip of his own coffee. "I don't know. Are you still in love with him?"
The question hit like cold water. No one had asked me that. Not Maya, not my mom, not even myself in the mirror at 2 AM when I couldn't sleep.
For a second, I felt the urge to laugh. The kind of laugh that would come out wrong, sharp and bitter. In love? My brain replayed the image I'd been trying to forget for a year—Liam's hand in Jenna's hair, her legs wrapped around him, the way he'd kissed her like he was drowning and she was air. Then Daniel's question echoed back:Are you still in love with him?
The laugh died in my throat.
"No," I said. And then, more honestly: "I don't think so. But I'm not sure I trust my own judgment anymore."
"That's fair." He leaned back in his chair. "For what it's worth, I've been there. Different circumstances, but I get it."
"Yeah?"
"My ex-wife cheated on me with her personal trainer. Very cliché. Very painful." He said it matter-of-factly, like he'd made peace with it. "We'd been married three years. I came home early from a shift and found them in our bed."
"God, I'm sorry."
"It was two years ago. I'm okay now. Mostly." He met my eyes. "But I still have moments where I wonder if I missed something. If there were signs I should have seen."
"Did you?"
