Chapter 14 014
EMILY
I had just slid the last tray of chocolate chip cookies into the oven when my phone started ringing loud enough to make me jump. The sound cut through the steady hum of the bakery like an alarm. Flour dusted my apron, clung to my wrists, smudged the counter. My hands were sticky with dough, sugar, and butter, and the air smelled like heaven—warm chocolate, vanilla, comfort.
I huffed under my breath, wiped my palms on a towel, and glanced at the screen.
Ryan.
My stomach flipped so hard it felt like I might actually be sick. My brows pulled together in confusion before the familiar rush of nerves kicked in. We hadn’t spoken since the hospital. Not once. Not a text. Not a call. Not even an accidental run-in.
The DNA results had come in days ago. I’d opened the email in the middle of the night, heart pounding, fingers trembling. I’d stared at the words until they blurred, until the truth settled into my bones like something permanent and heavy.
Then I’d closed my laptop.
And gone back to work like nothing had changed.
I hesitated only a second before answering.
“Hey…” I said softly.
Silence.
I rolled my eyes, irritation flaring to cover the nerves. “I’ll hang up in the next ten seconds if you don’t say something.”
“Wait…” His voice finally came through, rough and low, like he’d been dragging the words up from somewhere deep. “I’m sorry.”
I scoffed, a bitter little sound that surprised even me. “Why are you calling, Ryan?”
“Can we talk?”
I glanced at the clock mounted above the prep station. A little past five. Zara would be back any minute from her playdate with Morgan. My chest tightened at the thought of her walking I was on call, of those blue eyes lighting up, of everything becoming complicated all over again.
“Go on,” I said cautiously.
He sucked in a deep breath, and I could hear the tension in it. “I meant physically, Em. I’m outside your bakery.”
My heart slammed into my ribs.
“What?” The word barely came out.
I moved toward the front door so fast I nearly tripped over a bag of sugar stacked by the wall. The glass wasn’t completely transparent, but I could make out the unmistakable outline of a sleek black Range Rover parked across the street. Tinted windows. Clean lines. Expensive. The kind of car that screamed he’d cleaned up nicely since we split up.
My pulse roared in my ears. “You can come in,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
I hung up before I could second-guess myself.
Through the glass, I watched him step out of the car.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark jeans that fit him a little too well. A crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows like he’d done a hundred times before, back when we were still us. His hair was a little longer than I remembered, darker at the temples, but still that same wave I used to run my fingers through when I couldn’t sleep.
He looked good.
Too good.
And that made me angry.
I hurried back behind the counter, wiped my face with the back of my wrist, and for half a second almost dashed to the tiny bathroom to swipe on lip gloss. Then I stopped myself cold.
Why would I do that?
He wasn’t here for me.
He was here to talk about Zara.
The bell above the door jingled.
I turned.
Our eyes locked across the small bakery.
Time slowed. The hum of the oven faded. The soft chatter of the two customers at the front table disappeared into background noise. The scent of sugar and chocolate suddenly felt too thick, too intimate.
Just him.
Standing there.
Looking at me like he’d been holding his breath for years.
Something twisted painfully in my chest and I broke first.
“Eddie,” I called to my assistant behind the counter. “I need to settle something. I’ll be back in ten minutes, max.”
Eddie glanced between us, curiosity lighting her eyes, but she nodded easily. “Take your time, boss.”
I gestured sharply toward the back. “Follow me.”
Ryan didn’t say a word. He just did.
My office was small and cluttered, barely big enough for the desk, two chairs, and the shelves stacked with order sheets and sample boxes. A single framed photo of Zara sat on the corner of the desk—her laughing at the park, curls wild, eyes bright.
I closed the door behind us.
The room instantly felt smaller. Tighter. Like the walls were leaning in.
We sat. Him on the chair across from me, knees spread, hands clasped loosely between them. Me behind the desk, gripping the edge like it was armor.
He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “I want to have a relationship with my daughter.”
The words landed exactly where I knew they would. Right in the center of my chest. Still, my breath caught, ribs tightening like they were being slowly squeezed.
“I’m not holding you back, Ryan,” I said evenly, forcing steadiness into my voice. “I never said you couldn’t.”
“My mom wants to meet her too.”
That did it.
My eyes widened, disbelief flaring hot and sharp. A laugh tore out of me—short, brittle, almost ugly. “Really? Cecilia?” I shook my head slowly. “You’ve told her the child is mine too, right? And she still wants Zara?”
He inhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “Yes… she knows—”
He didn’t get to finish.
There was a knock on the office door.
“Come in,” I called, irritation seeping through despite my effort to keep control.
Eddie poked her head inside, her usual cheer nowhere to be found. “Boss,” she said carefully, “I have a guest. He says he came with your daughter.”
My heart skipped violently, slamming into my ribs. “My daughter’s not due back for another twenty minutes,” I said. “Who is it?”
Eddie swallowed. “He’s waiting at the front.”
A cold dread crawled up my spine, slow and deliberate, like my body already knew something my mind was refusing to catch up to.
“Send him in,” I said quietly.
Eddie stepped back.
The door opened wider.
And Frederick walked in.
The air vanished from the room. He looked perfectly composed—dark jacket, calm expression, eyes sharp and assessing. His gaze flicked briefly to Ryan, then settled on me with a familiarity that made my skin prickle.
Frederick’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.
“Well,” he said smoothly, “this is awkward.”