Page 43 of Ashes of Us
"I ate."
"Toast at four in the morning doesn't count." He leaned across the counter and kissed my cheek, casual and comfortable. "Turkey sandwich and those weird pickle chips you like. Also got you a real lunch for once instead of whatever stale pastry you were going to pretend was a meal."
"The pastries aren't stale."
"The ones from yesterday are."
I grabbed one of the bags and peeked inside. He'd remembered to ask for extra pickles. "You're annoyingly thoughtful."
"It's a character flaw." He was grinning now, his eyes crinkling in that adorable way of his. "I might have a break between calls. Thought I'd actually sit down and eat with you for once instead of inhaling a protein bar in the ambulance."
"Revolutionary concept."
"I'm an innovator." He glanced around the nearly empty bakery. "You busy or can you take ten minutes?"
I looked at the counter; clean. The pastry case; stocked. Megan was in the back, probably scrolling her phone while the coffee brewed, and Mrs. Kowalski wasn't going anywhere.
"Yeah," I said, already untying my apron. "I can take ten minutes."
We sat at the table by the window, the one with the wobbly leg I kept meaning to fix. Daniel unpacked the sandwiches, slid mine across to me, and I realized I was actually hungry. When had I last eaten? The toast, like he said. Six hours ago.
"How's your morning been?" he asked.
"Sold out of croissants by nine. Again."
"That's good, right?"
"That's very good. Means I need to make more tomorrow." I took a bite of the sandwich. "How's yours?"
"Quiet. Couple of minor calls. Nothing dramatic." He was watching me with that look he got sometimes, like he was cataloging details. Making sure I was okay. "You look tired."
"I'm always tired."
"Different tired. Like you didn't sleep."
I had slept. Mostly. A few hours, at least, before the alarm dragged me out of bed at four. "I'm fine."
"Piper."
"I'm fine," I repeated, but I was smiling. "Really. Just the usual bakery owner exhaustion. Nothing a weekend won't fix."
"Speaking of which…” He leaned back in his chair. "You're closed Sunday, right?"
"Always."
"Want to do something? Movie, dinner, I don't know. Something that isn't you working yourself to death."
"That sounds?—"
The bell above the door chimed.
I glanced up automatically, that customer-service reflex kicking in even though I was technically on break.
Liam stood in the doorway.
Taller than I remembered, broader through the chest and shoulders. A short beard now, the kind that made him lookolder, rougher. His hair was cropped short but still managed to look unruly, like he’d stopped caring about perfect. He looked… different.
For a second I just stared, heart stuttering in my chest.
