Page 222 of Fractured Devotion
But she isn’t gone.
That small fact roots me in place, my chest tightening with relief.
I pull out my phone and call her, pacing the room as it rings.
Nothing.
My frustration burns hotter.
I hang up and dial again, already moving back out the door.
My eyes sweep the street as I step outside, my phone still pressed to my ear.
And then I see her.
Across the street.
Inside the bakery.
Sitting in the corner by the window. Watching me.
She doesn’t hide.
Her gaze locks with mine, steady and unreadable.
She knew.
She watched me search for her. Watched me hover outside her building, waiting. Watched me call, knowing I wouldn’t leave.
My breath leaves me in a sharp rush.
I lower the phone, my pulse loud in my ears.
Without hesitation, I step off the curb, my steps deliberate as I cross toward her.
She doesn’t flinch.
I reach the bakery door, pausing for just a brief moment.
My hand presses to the handle.
Still, she watches.
I end the call with a single swipe, slipping the phone back into my pocket.
Then I push the door open. And walk inside.
The warmth of the bakery hits me the moment I step inside, thick with the scent of fresh bread and roasted coffee.
She doesn’t move.
She sits in the far corner, her hands still wrapped around her cup, her gaze fixed on me, steady as stone.
I close the door behind me, the soft chime of the bell above punctuating the thick silence stretching between us.
I move toward her, my every step dragging through a strange current, something sharp and electric threading between us.
She watches me approach, calm and unreadable.
