Page 97 of Just This Once

Whip King wasin love with me.

So in love with me that he yelled it at me and then left me on the side of the road.

I sighed and dropped my head into my hands.

What. The actual. Fuck?

He was in love with me, and I took the coward’s way out by tucking tail and running to my lonely apartment rather than finding a way to fix things with him. After turning off my phone, I cried myself to sleep and woke up feeling like total shit.

No part of me wanted that job in Ann Arbor, but what choice did I have?

I lightly banged my head on the tabletop of the window seat at the Sugar Bowl and groaned.

The bakery buzzed with the low hum of conversation and the clinking of coffee mugs. I sat alone at the window, anxiously stirring my latte. The air was thick with the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans, and soft jazz music played in the background.

A soft hand at my back drew my attention, and I sat up. Sylvie stood beside me with a warm smile. Her eyes held a genuinekindness, and though we weren’t friends quite yet, there was a certain understanding between us.

We’re Bluebirds.

An aching warmth passed through me.

Sylvie set down a triangular slice of cheesecake in front of me and gestured toward it. “You looked like you could use a pick-me-up. This one’s white chocolate with raspberries—personal favorite.” Her voice carried the warmth of a friend as she winked. “On the house.”

I smiled and slid the plate closer. “I didn’t realize you still worked here.”

Sylvie leaned a hip on the counter beside me and sighed. “Now you sound like my husband.” Her hand wiped across the white countertop. “I enjoy watching life unfold in this town.” She leaned down and lowered her voice. “You see a lot when no one thinks you’re watching.”

A shameful blush heated my cheeks as I wondered how many people had seen our little public meltdown last night. “Did you see us?”

Her laugh was breathy and light. “Of course I did.” She gestured toward the large picture window. “There’s a lot you can see from this window.” She tapped her nose. “But I know all about keeping secrets.”

I smiled, remembering the story of how she’d begun a relationship with a Sullivan and hidden it for nearly a year before getting pregnant. A tiny seed of hope burrowed into my chest.

Sometimes impossible things worked out, didn’t they?

I sighed and dug my fork into the cheesecake. After the delicate flavors exploded on my tongue, I let out a soft moan. “Oh my god,” I mumbled around the delicious bite.

“Told you,” she singsonged.

I frowned down at my dessert as I swallowed. “This is hard, Sylvie.” I couldn’t look up from my plate as I confided in her. “I know he wants me to stay, but I don’t know what to do. My whole life has been working hard and being the best teacher I could be.”

Sylvie softly nodded, giving me the space to ramble on. “On one hand, I’d do almost anything to stay—not just for him but all of it. My parents, this town, and yeah... for him too. But what does that say about me if I give up everything that I’ve worked so hard for?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think it has to say anything. The only person you have to answer to is yourself.”

The door chimed open, and in walked Russell King. His commanding presence was like an ice storm brewing on the horizon, zapping any warmth from the bakery. I tensed, feeling a shiver run down my spine. Sylvie noticed my discomfort and squeezed my shoulder as we both tracked the man’s movements in the small bakery.

Russell exuded an air of authority that drew people in like a magnet. Townies and curious onlookers alike flocked to him, as if he was the most important person to walk through those doors. The bakery became a sea of excessive adoration, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of discomfort. Whip’s father had a way of commanding attention, and it did nothing but make my skin crawl.

As Russell made his way through the smiling crowd, his eyes locked onto mine. I could see a flicker of recognition, but it was quickly overshadowed by his apparent disinterest. From my side, Sylvie shot him a subtle glare of thinly veiled disgust. She knew better than anyone the emotional scars he’d inflicted on his children.

How many tiny cuts had he inflicted on Whip to cause so many scars?

I hated him.

I observed Russell, seemingly oblivious to Sylvie’s disdain, as he continued his regal march through the bakery. His eyes scanned the room, and when they finally met those of his daughter, he simply looked away, as if she were invisible.

Sylvie’s gaze lingered on her father for a moment, something swirling in her eyes. I couldn’t help but feel an ache for her—the daughter yearning for acknowledgement from a father who seemed too wrapped up in his own world to notice. Sadness washed over me when I realized Russell King didn’t even acknowledge his own daughter’s existence. But when I looked up at her, she didn’t look all that sad about it.

---