Chapter 28 028
EMILY
I pulled into the little parking lot behind Sugar Rush just after eight, the morning sun already warm on the roof of my car. The sky was too blue for bad things to happen. The air smelled like fresh bread and vanilla drifting from the street, the familiar scent wrapping around me. For one small, stupid second, everything felt normal. Safe. Mine.
Then I saw Eddie.
She stood right outside the front door, arms wrapped tightly around herself, shoulders hunched like she was bracing against cold even though the morning was warm. Her face was pale, eyes darting toward the door like it might bite her. The second I parked and stepped out of the car, she rushed toward me like she’d been holding her breath.
“Emily,” she said, voice small and tight. “There’s… there’s a notice. It was taped to the door when I got here.”
My stomach dropped so fast it felt like my insides shifted.
“A notice?” I repeated, even though I already knew. I could feel it in my bones.
She nodded quickly and held out a white envelope. The kind banks use. Thick paper. Official. I took it from her, my fingers suddenly numb, like the blood had drained out of them. The envelope felt heavier than it should have, like it was filled with bricks instead of paper.
“I didn’t open it,” Eddie said softly. “I waited for you.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, though my voice sounded far away, like it belonged to someone else.
I tore it open.
The words jumped out at me in bold, unforgiving print.
NOTICE OF DEFAULT AND RIGHT TO CURE.
Everything after that blurred together even as I read every single word.
My name. My business. The loan number. The amount past due. $18,740.26. The deadline. Twenty days. The list of consequences were laid out in cold, bullet-point certainty.
The paper shook in my hands.
The ground tilted beneath my feet, just slightly, like the world had decided it didn’t want to sit straight anymore.
“Emily?” Eddie’s voice cut through the fog. “Are you okay?”
I looked up at her. Her eyes were wide, worried, and filled with the kind of concern that makes you want to lie so no one else has to carry your fear.
I forced a smile. It felt like cracking glass. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just… open up, okay? I’ll be right in.”
She hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I said again, firmer this time. “I just need a minute.”
She nodded slowly and unlocked the door, the bell chiming softly as she stepped inside. The sound echoed louder than it should have.
I walked back toward my car on legs that didn’t feel like mine. Each step felt delayed, like my body and brain weren’t communicating properly. I slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door.
And then I cried.
Quiet tears. Fast tears. The kind that burn your cheeks and clog your throat without making a sound. The kind you cry when you don’t have the energy to fall apart properly.
Sugar Rush was everything.
It was the thing I built when Ryan left. The thing that kept me sane when Zara was a newborn and I was surviving on caffeine and broken sleep and sheer will. The place where I poured every ounce of grief, hope, and stubborn determination I had into something tangible.
And now the bank wanted to take it.
I wiped my face with the sleeve of my hoodie and took a shaky breath. Panic threatened to crawl up my chest, tight and suffocating, but I forced it down. I didn’t have time for a breakdown. I had twenty days.
I pulled out my phone with trembling fingers.
Aaron’s name stared back at me from my contacts. The same Aaron who’d stopped me at the gala. The same Aaron who’d been calm and sharp and quietly kind. Ryan’s best friend. The investor.
I hesitated for half a second.
Then I hit call.
He answered on the second ring. “Emily,” he said, sounding surprised but warm. “How are you doing?”
My throat closed. I swallowed hard. “Aaron… are you… are you still willing to invest in my business?”
There was a pause. Long enough for my heart to drop into my stomach. Long enough for me to imagine him saying no. Long enough for my chest to ache.
“Well…” he started, and my grip tightened on the phone.
Then he said, “Yeah. Sure. Come over to my office. I’ll be leaving soon, but we can talk.”
Relief hit me so hard my eyes burned again. “Thank you,” I breathed. “Thank you so much. I’ll be on my way now.”
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll text you the address.”
The message came through thirty seconds later.
I wiped my face again, checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes were red, my skin blotchy, but concealer could fix that. It had to. I needed to look like a businesswoman, not a woman who was one missed payment away from losing everything she’d built.
I stepped back into the bakery. Eddie stood behind the counter, apron on, trying very hard to look normal.
“I have to run out for a bit,” I told her. “You’ve got this, right?”
She nodded immediately. “Yeah. Of course. Is everything… okay?”
“It will be,” I said, hoping confidence could be faked into existence. “Just hold down the fort. I’ll be back soon.”
She nodded again, still worried.
I got in the car and drove.
Traffic was mercifully light, but my thoughts were anything but. Numbers ran through my head. Rent. Payroll. Inventory. Zara’s school fees. Every mile closer to downtown felt heavier, like the city itself knew what I was about to ask for.
Fifty minutes later, I pulled into a sleek parking garage surrounded by glass and steel. The building screamed money.
I checked my makeup one last time, smoothed my hair, and took a deep breath that tasted like resolve and fear tangled together.
Inside, the lobby was bright and quiet. The receptionist looked up with a practiced smile. “Can I help you?”
“Emily Thompson. I’m here to see Aaron Buckler.”
She made a quick call and nodded. “He’s expecting you. Elevator to the fourteenth floor.”
The ride up felt endless. My heart pounded harder with every passing floor.
When the doors opened, Aaron’s assistant was waiting. She led me down a hallway lined with modern art and massive windows overlooking the city. Everything was clean and sharp and intimidating.
Aaron’s office sat at the end. Glass walls. City view. He sat behind a wide desk, sleeves rolled up, looking exactly like the man I’d met at the gala. Calm. Collected. In control.
He stood when I walked in.
“Emily…,” he said warmly, coming around the desk. “Come in. Sit.”