The following week rolled by in a blur of flour, sugar, and restless thoughts. Isabella threw herself into the bakery with a determination that bordered on desperation. If she kept her hands moving, maybe she could silence the voices in her head. Voices that asked why Ethan's kisses felt colder these days, why his touch lingered less, and why her mind kept drifting back to Alexander Parker's eyes.
The morning rush had passed, leaving the bakery quiet. Isabella wiped down the counter, humming under her breath, when the bell chimed again.
She didn't need to look up to know who it was.
Alexander's presence filled the room like warmth spreading through cold air. He was dressed more casually this time, in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, exposing strong hands. He carried himself with the same effortless confidence, but today his smile was gentler.
"You hum when you work," he observed, stepping closer.
She laughed nervously, setting the cloth aside. "Bad habit."
"Not at all," he said, his gaze steady. "It's… charming. It makes the place feel alive."
Her chest tightened. Stop it, Isabella. Don't read into his words. But the way he looked at her, as though she was more than a girl behind a counter, made her heart flutter dangerously.
"What can I get you?" she asked, needing to anchor herself.
"Coffee. Black. And whatever you recommend."
As she prepared his order, she found herself stealing glances. There was no denying it anymore — she liked having him there. Liked the way his presence steadied her, the way his voice softened the edges of her loneliness.
When she set the cup before him, he didn't reach for it immediately. Instead, he leaned slightly closer. "Do you love what you do?"
The question caught her off guard. "Of course. Baking is… it's not just work. It's me. It's everything I am."
"And Ethan?" Alexander's tone was careful, but the question landed like a stone in her chest.
Her lips parted, then closed. For a moment, she didn't know how to answer. Finally, she whispered, "I used to feel like we were building something together. Now I'm not sure if we're even on the same path."
Silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Alexander's eyes softened, his jaw tightening as if holding back words he shouldn't say.
The bell chimed again, and Isabella startled. Mrs. Greene shuffled in for her usual cinnamon roll, breaking the moment. Isabella busied herself serving the woman, her heart racing, aware of Alexander's gaze still resting on her.
When the older woman left, Alexander stood, placing money on the counter. "Don't let yourself be diminished, Isabella," he said quietly. "Not by anyone."
Her throat constricted. "Why do you care?"
For the first time, his composure cracked just enough for her to see something raw flicker in his expression. Desire. Protectiveness. Something deeper.
"Because," he said softly, "you deserve to be seen."
Then he turned and walked out, leaving her trembling behind the counter.
---
That night, Ethan came over for dinner. Isabella had cooked — roasted chicken, vegetables, a pie for dessert. She hoped, foolishly, that maybe the meal would bridge the gap forming between them.
But Ethan spent most of the evening scrolling on his phone, laughing at messages from colleagues. When she asked about his day, his answers were brief. When she tried to talk about the bakery, he nodded absently, his eyes never leaving the screen.
"Ethan," she said finally, frustration leaking into her voice. "Do you even hear me?"
He glanced up, annoyed. "Of course I do. You're always stressing about something, Bella. Relax."
The dismissal stung sharper than she expected. "I'm not asking for the world. Just… your attention."
"God, Isabella," he snapped, setting his phone down. "I'm working hard so we can have a future. Do you want me to throw it away just so I can sit here and listen to you talk about cupcakes?"
Her heart cracked at the contempt in his tone.
She stood abruptly, her chair scraping the floor. "They're not just cupcakes, Ethan. They're my life. My dream. And if you can't respect that, then maybe we've got a bigger problem than I thought."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Ethan sighed, rubbing his temples. "I don't want to fight. Can we not do this tonight?"
She turned away, her hands trembling. She didn't answer, but inside, a truth took root — a truth she was too afraid to admit: the man she had loved for five years no longer saw her.
And the man who shouldn't matter at all — his father — did.