Chapter 46 046
EMILY
Aaron cleared his throat the second he saw me standing in Morgan’s doorway, like the sound might somehow buy him time or soften whatever expression was already written all over my face.
“Em,” he said, forcing a smile that did not quite make it to his eyes. “I never knew you were around.” His voice sounded awkward. Too careful. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other like a teenager caught somewhere he absolutely should not be.
I leaned against the doorframe and let a slow smirk spread across my lips. It came easily, the kind that looked playful but carried teeth if you looked close enough. “Well,” I said lightly, tilting my head, “I never knew you were so close with my friend.”
The effect was immediate.
The color drained from his face and then rushed right back in like it had changed its mind. His ears went pink first, then his cheeks, then the heat slid down his neck in a way that was honestly impressive. He rubbed the back of his neck and stared hard at the porch railing, like it had personally betrayed him and owed him an apology.
For a second, I almost laughed.
Almost.
But I did not wait for him to recover. I had no patience for awkward explanations or nervous chuckles or sentences that started with “It’s not what it looks like.” I turned back inside, grabbed my phone from the coffee table, and called over my shoulder, “I guess I’ll see you guys later.”
Morgan followed me out onto the porch, barefoot and flustered.
“Erm. I’ll call you,” she said, uncertain, like she was balancing on the edge of something delicate and trying not to tip it over.
I stopped and turned to her.
I glared, not in anger, but in warning. Then I pulled her into a quick, fierce hug. The kind that squeezed tight and said a hundred things without saying any of them out loud. I love you. Do not lie to me. Do not make this worse.
“You better,” I murmured into her shoulder.
She hugged me back just as tightly. “Promise.”
I pulled away, gave her one last look, and walked off the porch without looking back at Aaron. I did not trust myself to speak again without my voice cracking or my words turning sharp and ugly.
I did not want pity.
And I definitely did not want to hear him talk about his friend.
I slid into my car and shut the door with more force than necessary. My hands trembled as I started the engine. I told myself I was going to the bakery. I even signaled out of habit, like my body was still pretending everything was normal. But my car had other ideas.
Every time I pictured Sugar Rush, my chest tightened. The empty shelves. The quiet ovens. The smell of sugar that no longer felt comforting. The bank clearance we were waiting for. So I kept driving.
Morgan’s words echoed in my head, calm and frustratingly wise. Have a proper conversation with Ryan. Tell him how you feel. Let him talk about his feelings too.
The road curved toward his place before I could argue with myself. My heart picked up speed as his apartment building came into view. I hated how familiar it still felt. Like muscle memory. Like something my body remembered even when my mind tried to forget.
I parked and sat there for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel.
Last night crept back into my thoughts uninvited. The way his voice had softened when he said my name. The way he had looked at me like I was fragile and powerful all at once. My lips still tingled when I thought about it. My skin still remembered his hands. My chest fluttered like I was sixteen again and terrified of how deeply I felt.
I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. Smoothed my top. Fixed my hair. Added an extra spritz of perfume, knowing full well it would not change anything. Then I stepped out of the car.
I rang the doorbell.
I waited.
Two minutes passed, stretching thin and uncomfortable, each second tightening the knot in my chest. I rang again, my finger lingering longer this time, like that might somehow change what waited on the other side.
A soft voice floated through the speaker. “Coming.”
Relief and nerves tangled together instantly. I straightened without thinking, smoothing my top, lifting my chin, and forcing a breath into lungs that suddenly felt too small. The door opened.
And everything stopped.
Miranda stood there, framed by Ryan’s doorway like a scene I was never meant to witness. She wore his white button-down. The sleeves were rolled up casually, the top buttons undone. The hem barely reached her thighs. Her hair was messy in a way that did not come from rushing or carelessness. It was intimate. Too intimate. Her lips were slightly swollen. She looked relaxed. Comfortable.
She looked like she belonged there.
For a split second, my brain refused to catch up. It felt unreal, like watching something through thick glass. Distant. Muted. As if I were standing outside my own body, observing a moment that could not possibly be happening to me.
Then it hit.
Wow.
Just… wow.
Silly me.
My body moved before my heart could shatter completely. I turned and started walking toward my car, fast, too fast, like if I slowed down even a little, I might collapse right there on the pavement.
My heart hammered so loudly it drowned out everything else. My ears rang. My eyes burned, hot and wet. My throat closed tight, like it was being squeezed from the inside.
I almost made it.
Almost.
“Emily. Em.”
His voice cracked through the air behind me, urgent and panicked, and it hurt more than the sight of Miranda in his shirt. Footsteps followed, uneven and rushed. A hand caught my arm, gentle but firm, stopping me before I could escape.
I spun around.
Ryan stood there, breathless, his face flushed, eyes wide and frantic, like he was afraid I would vanish if he let go. “Wait. Wait. It is not—” he started, the words tumbling over each other, desperate and unfinished.
I looked up at him, tears spilling freely now, pride abandoned, defenses gone. There was no strength left to pretend I was fine. My chest ached. My hands trembled.
“What do you want?” I asked, my voice shaking despite every effort to steady it.