Page 87 of Ashes of Us
Except no.
Absolutelynot.
Whatever that was, it could stay unshifted. I had tablecloths to iron, dough to prep, and zero interest in catching feelings for a man who’d already broken me once. My heart could rise like bread in the oven all it wanted—but I wasn’t serving it again.
CHAPTER 34: LIAM
The garage-gray hall I’d left last night was gone. In its place: a bakery disguised as a fire station, every table draped and polished, every surface looking like it had been bullied into charm. Even the air felt different… warm, sweet, alive.
Piper had worked her magic, and the community hall had been transformed overnight. Streamers in autumn colors hung across the beams, tables lined up in perfect rows with bright white cloths and centerpieces that glowed softly from battery candles. It shouldn’t have worked in a fire station. But somehow, because it was Piper, it did.
She moved through the room like she owned it—hair pulled back, apron tied snugly around her waist, barking friendly orders at the volunteers setting up the buffet. Her cheeks were flushed, her sleeves rolled up, and she had that look she always got when she was in her element: focused, unstoppable, radiant in a way that had nothing to do with makeup or lighting.
I tried to focus on my job. The mayor had cornered me near the coffee urns, talking about grant allocations for the firehouse expansion. A couple of guys from local companies were there too. One from the hardware store, another from the constructionoutfit that usually did our repairs. I was supposed to be networking, smiling, keeping things official.
And pretending the whole town didn’t already know I was standing twenty feet away from the woman I’d been supposed to marry in another life.
People weren’t subtle about it, either. Every so often, I’d catch a look. These were always quick and polite, curious, but still… I could tell people were dying to ask but knew they shouldn’t. Piper seemed immune, too busy managing her army of volunteers to care. Or maybe she was just better at pretending.
“She’s something, isn’t she?” the hardware guy said beside me, nodding toward her.
“Yeah,” I said before I could stop myself. Then, quickly, “She runs Rise & Shine Bakery. Been doing a lot for the town lately.”
He nodded. “Smart business. Bet she’ll be swamped after today.”
“Probably,” I said, keeping my tone neutral even as I watched Piper laugh at something Carlos said across the table. That laugh hit me like it always did… quiet but sharp, slicing through the noise of conversation and clinking plates.
The mayor turned back to me. “You two pulled this together fast. Impressive work.”
“Credit goes to her,” I said automatically. “She handled all the logistics. We just showed up with the tables and coffee.”
He chuckled. “Modest, huh? You make a good team.”
That wordteamlanded harder than I expected. Maybe because once upon a time, we’d been exactly that. Not just at fundraisers or town events, but in everything. House plans, wedding guest lists, furniture arguments in IKEA. The kind of team you think will last forever… until it doesn’t.
I gave a small nod, glancing at Piper again. She was across the hall now, wiping flour off her arm with the back of her wrist,focused, determined, beautiful. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t just see the woman I’d lost. I saw the one who’d kept going when I couldn’t.
The breakfast was chaos,but controlled chaos. Plates clattered, people laughed, kids ran between tables with syrup-sticky fingers. Piper managed it all with calm efficiency, directing volunteers like a general, only with a smile instead of a bark.
I spent the morning floating between the tables, greeting donors, shaking hands, doing the PR thing I was supposed to do. But every few minutes, I’d find her again in the crowd. Sometimes just a flash of her hair, sometimes her reflection in a coffee urn, sometimes her eyes catching mine for the briefest second before she looked away.
And every time it happened, it felt like someone had turned the oxygen up in the room.
By the time the crowd thinned and the last plates were cleared, the hall looked like a war zone of crumbs and empty cups. She leaned against the makeshift counter, finally letting herself breathe, hair escaping its tie.
I stepped beside her, careful to keep my tone light. “You pulled it off.”
She looked over at me. “Yeah. Somehow.” Her lips curved faintly. “Now we just have to clean it all up.”
I nodded. “Need a hand?”
She shook her head immediately. “The volunteers will help. We’ve got a system.”
Right, a system that didn’t include me. Maybe that was fair. Still, something in the way she said it made my chest tighten.
“Alright,” I said after a beat. “If you need anything, I’ll send a couple of my guys by after their shift. They’re good at hauling tables.”
“No need,” she said quickly. “Really. We’ve got it.”
