The next morning came heavy and gray, clouds blotting out the early sun. Isabella woke with a dull ache in her chest, Ethan still asleep beside her, one arm draped across his face to block out the light. She stared at him for a long moment, searching for the boy she had fallen in love with five years ago — the boy who used to surprise her with late-night milkshakes, who once drove across town just to bring her flowers when she'd had a bad day.
Now, she saw only distance.
By the time she slipped out of bed and dressed for the bakery, Ethan hadn't stirred. She kissed his cheek out of habit before leaving, but even that felt hollow.
The day began with its usual rush: fresh loaves stacked in neat pyramids, trays of golden croissants filling the air with butter-rich warmth, the bell chiming again and again as customers filtered in. Isabella plastered on her smile, but behind it she felt frayed, her thoughts circling endlessly around the man who had unsettled her entire world with just a few words.
And as if conjured by her thoughts, Alexander Parker walked through the door.
He was in a charcoal coat this time, his hair slightly tousled by the wind, and he carried an umbrella dripping with raindrops. When his gaze met hers, the corners of his mouth lifted in that subtle smile — the kind that wasn't meant for anyone else in the room.
"Rough morning?" he asked, his eyes taking in the faint weariness in her expression.
She gave a half-laugh. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to someone looking closely," he said, his tone low and steady.
The way he said it made her pulse jump. She busied herself behind the counter, pulling a tray of fresh danishes. "Coffee?"
"Please," he replied, settling at his now-familiar spot near the counter.
As she poured, she felt his gaze linger. It wasn't invasive, wasn't predatory — but it was intense enough to make her skin tingle, as though he saw past the apron, the flour on her fingers, straight into the heart she'd been trying to guard.
When she set the cup in front of him, his fingers brushed hers again, deliberate this time. Just enough to make her breath catch.
"Your hands," he murmured, glancing at them. "They carry more than work. They carry beauty."
Her cheeks burned. She pulled back quickly, whispering, "You shouldn't say things like that."
"Shouldn't," he echoed softly. "But I mean them."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. Isabella's heart thudded painfully in her chest, torn between running and leaning closer.
Before she could respond, the bell chimed again — a group of teenagers rushed in, breaking the moment. She busied herself serving them, avoiding Alexander's gaze, but every nerve in her body hummed with awareness of him still there.
When the shop cleared again, he stood to leave. At the door, he paused, looking back at her. His expression was calm, but his voice carried something darker beneath the smoothness.
"Don't let him dim your fire, Isabella. You deserve more than being half-seen."
Then he was gone, leaving her trembling.
---
That evening, Ethan finally appeared, late again, smelling faintly of cologne and someone else's perfume. Isabella said nothing — not yet — but the ache in her chest deepened.
They ate in silence, his eyes glued to his phone. When she tried to speak, he gave clipped answers. The distance between them felt like a canyon.
When he left later that night with some excuse about work drinks, Isabella stood at the window of her apartment, staring at the rain streaking down the glass. And in the quiet, she admitted to herself the thought she'd been trying to bury:
It wasn't Ethan who made her feel alive anymore.
It was his father.
And that realization both terrified and thrilled her.